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“So, what’s good here?” I ask her. I am genuinely hungry, and from what Connor has said, the pastries are incredible. I could flirt with her all day, of course, but I don’t want to overwhelm her.

“You mean besides the coffee?” she asks me, giving me a knowing look. “Everyone is obsessed with Connor’s brand.”

I chuckle. “Ourbrand. We created it together.”

She slams her hand down on the counter in excitement, catching me off guard. “Okay. It’samazing!It’s the best coffee I’ve ever had, and I’m a coffeesnob.I’ve been drinking coffee since I was twelve, and this is just perfect. It’s smooth, and the notes are rich, warm, anddelicious.” She plucks a large cup of iced coffee from under the register and places it on the counter. “This is the decaf roast. I’ve had my caffeine limit for the day already.”

My eyes widen.

She freezes after her outburst. “That may seem a little strange to be so passionate about it,.” She laughs awkwardly. “Sorry. Sometimes I get too loud about things.”

Yeah, this girl could speak for twelve hours about how grass grows, and I would hang on to every word.

“I love it.” I chuckle. “Connor says I’m too loud all the time—you’re at a normal volume to me. And besides, coffeeisamazing. It’s a billion-dollar industry for a reason.”

“Exactly.Thank you for proving my point.”

“I’m happy to prove any point you want to make going forward, babe.”

Her smile grows, and I’ve become just as smitten as Connor.

“So, what are you in the mood to eat?” she asks, her gaze falling to the pastries.

I raise an eyebrow.

“Truthfully?” I ask, and her brows shoot up at the realization of what she asked me. Her scent intensifies, and a hint of honey compliments her vanilla essence.

Fuck. It’s her arousal.

“I…” she stammers, her face turning scarlet.

“You’re famous for your macarons, right?” I say, desperate to distract my inner Alpha from the potent scent of her slick.

It was the right thing to ask, because the excitement returns to her eyes. “Yes! We make fresh batchesevery morningand come up with new flavors each week. What are you in the mood for?”

Those lovely, earnest eyes don’t seem to understand the mistake she made by asking me that.

You, baby. You.

But I can’t scare her off. I can hear Connor in my head telling me to back off, to not find the double meaning in everything she says.

“Whatever you want to give me, sweetheart. I’ll bring some home for Connor, too.”

She grins, and the sight is decadent.

There are so many things I want to ask her. There’s so much I’m dying to know about her.

What her hobbies are. Who her friends are.

I want to know every possible detail about her and listen to her talk about whatever makes her eyes light up with passion.

Actually, it’s not a want.

It’s a fucking need.

But the door to the café opens, and I count at least ten fucking people coming in at once.

What the fuck.