Page 7 of Falling for Him (Honey Leaf Lodge #3)

Fifi

The smell of espresso and cinnamon rolls hit me the moment I walked into my favorite coffeeshop, and my soul just about left my body with joy.

I’d claimed my usual table in the back corner, next to the shelf of puzzle books and the bulletin board with hand-drawn ads for everything from yoga classes to missing chickens. My laptop was open, with a honey latte on one side and a blueberry muffin the size of my head on the other.

I’d told myself I was going to look over room assignments for the week. Maybe draft the newsletter. You know— productive things.

But instead, I’d been staring out the window like a lovesick Jane Austen character waiting for her brooding gentleman farmer to ride by.

Which was absurd.

I didn’t have time to moon over guests. Especially not ones like Ben Jensen , who came with eyebrows that could scowl in five languages and a jawline sharp enough to slice brioche.

But that dang beard.

I took a long sip of my latte and tried to shake him off.

The door opened behind me with a jingle, and I didn’t turn.

I wouldn’t turn.

The energy in the place shifted, and little prickles of excitement skated over my body. This was nuts. I was a strong, independent woman with a muffin and an agenda.

Except—

A blur of movement suddenly appeared in my periphery. A body, tall and fast, beelined past my table toward the counter like he was on a mission. I started to scoot my chair back, and that’s when it happened.

He nearly ran me over.

His arm grazed mine, and the corner of his coat caught the edge of my laptop.

“Oh, watch it!” I squeaked, grabbing my cup before it could take a nosedive into my lap.

“Sorry,” came the low, gruff voice.

There was no eye contact, no real pause. The only thing that sounded was a deep rumble of a word that sounded like it had been reluctantly extracted from a cave.

I blinked up.

And of course, it was him.

Ben Jensen.

Flannel. Beard. The whole gruff outdoorsman fantasy package, complete with an expression like he’d rather wrestle a bear than engage in small talk.

I opened my mouth and closed it again. Because honestly, what was I going to say? “Hi, I’m the woman you probably still associate with barnyard trauma and soap mishaps. Welcome to my haunt!”

He moved past me to the counter and muttered something about espresso. I tried not to notice the way his voice made my spine tingle. Or the way his dark hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck like it was contractually obligated to be sexy.

Nope. Not thinking about that.

I refocused on my laptop and promised myself I was totally fine.

Totally composed.

Totally…flushed.

I touched my cheeks. Oh my gosh. They were on fire.

I was on fire.

From behind the counter, Abby, the owner and high priestess of this caffeine cathedral, gave me the look.

You know the one.

The I saw that and I have questions , look.

She raised one perfectly penciled brow and walked over to me.

“Well, well,” she whispered. “Is that your mysterious guest lumbering in for espresso like he’s got unfinished business with the beans?”

I groaned. “No comment, Abby.”

She grinned. “I’m just saying, Fifi. You’ve got that emotionally-rattled-by-flannel glow.”

“I do not ,” I hissed. “And how do you know he’s a guest at our place?”

“Your sister called and told me a hunk was on the way to grab espresso and to make sure you were still here before he arrived.” She grinned wider.

“So ridiculous. He’s not my type. He’s a grump on steroids.”

“Your ears are pink.”

“They run warm!”

Abby poured espresso as if she were casting a love spell. “So. You up for book club later?”

I blinked, grateful for the change in subject. “Oh. Maybe? I’ll have to see what time we finish prep at the lodge.”

“We’re starting at six. If you show up late again, you have to bring wine and a dramatic reading voice.”

I smiled, relaxing into the familiar cadence of our banter. “Deal. What are we reading again?”

“Enemies-to-lovers wilderness romance. Lots of unresolved tension and pine trees.”

I deadpanned. “Too soon, Abby.”

She winked. “I’ll put you down for chapter six in a week.”

Ben, meanwhile, had accepted his espresso without so much as a smile and was making his way toward the door again. He brushed past my table with that same unintentional grace-meets-grit thing he had going on, and this time… he glanced at me.

Just for a second.

Our eyes met.

I felt it like a jolt, a recognition, an awareness, and something unspoken that buzzed in the air and hummed down to my fingertips.

He gave a polite nod, but still no smile.

And then he was gone. Out the door, into the crisp morning, leaving nothing but the scent of coffee and confusion in his wake.

Abby clucked her tongue like a matchmaking hen. “He’s broody, I’ll give him that. You sure you don’t want to slip a scone into his glove compartment?”

I rolled my eyes and reached for my muffin. “Absolutely not.”

But by the time I finished my latte and breakfast and headed back to Honey Leaf, the man wouldn’t leave my mind.

I had one earbud in, with my favorite cleaning chaos playlist queued up, and a caddy full of supplies in my hand when I turned the corner and nearly smacked into a brick wall made of flannel.

“Whoa!” I yelped, stumbling back a step.

The wall grunted, except it wasn’t a wall.

It was Ben.

Of course, it was Ben.

Why was it always Ben?

He blinked down at me, dark brows furrowing like I’d personally offended him by existing in the same hallway.

He had his keys in hand and a slightly damp, towel-draped look like he’d just finished a shower.

The scent of his soap, something woodsy and warm, hit me straight in the chest like a slow-motion body slam.

Obviously, our soaps smelled good on him.

“You again,” he muttered.

I held up the cleaning caddy like a peace offering. “Surprise. I live here now.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you following me?”

I blinked. Then burst out laughing. “You’re joking, right?”

“Not really.”

“You think I followed you here? To your room? With a toilet brush?”

He looked pointedly at the toilet brush.

“Well, now that you mention it,” I said, adopting my best scandalized Southern belle voice, “I have always dreamed of cleaning stranger bathrooms as a form of seduction.”

He didn’t laugh.

Of course not.

But the corner of his mouth twitched like a smirk was attempting an escape.

“Remember, I work here,” I said, more gently this time. “Your room is on the second-floor rotation today. Room refresh. I checked you in yesterday. Ring a bell like ding-a-ling-ling?”

“Right.” He stepped to the side, still eyeing me like I was going to hex his bath towels. “Just seemed like I keep… running into you.”

I shrugged. “I’m extremely huggable. People gravitate.”

He gave a low noise that might’ve been a laugh, or indigestion, then turned down the hall toward his room, boots thudding softly on the hardwood.

I watched him go, biting back a grin.

It wasn’t just that he was attractive. Though, to be clear, he was dangerously attractive. It was more the way he acted like he didn’t know what to do with kindness, as if I were some walking confetti cannon, and he kept bracing for the pop.

I counted to ten.

Gave him enough time to put some space between us.

Then, because it was on my list, and okay, because I couldn’t help myself, I walked down to room four and knocked.

Three short taps. A pause. Then one more.

I just couldn’t let someone walk the halls of Honey Leaf acting like that. We prided ourselves on cheering people up, bringing out the best in them, and this?

I didn’t know what this was, but it was unacceptable in my book.

“Let me guess,” came the voice through the door, dry as a bone. “You forgot your hex potion and came back for round two.”

I grinned.

“I hate to break it to you,” I called through the door, “but it’s time for your room refresh.”

A beat.

Then the door creaked open, and there he was.

His hair was still damp from minutes before, and his expression was mildly amused.

I could sense it.

I cleared my throat and held up the caddy. “Towels, new soaps, and an optional pillow fluffing package. Add-on includes a three-minute TED talk on cranky men.”

He opened the door a little wider and leaned against the frame. “Is this standard service?”

“Only for the guests who grumble like forest cryptids.”

“Good to know,” he said, deadpan.

We stood there for a moment, the air weirdly charged. Every part of my body was keenly aware of him.

I should’ve said something breezy, made a joke, and moved on.

But instead, I blurted, “You smell good.”

WHY, brAIN. WHY.

His eyebrow went up slowly, and I wanted to rewind time and slap my mouth shut.

“Thanks. Your soap,” he said, voice low. “That… part of the refresh?”

“No,” I muttered, already retreating. “That’s just me forgetting how to be an innkeeper. Don’t mind me. I’m wildly professional.”

He said nothing.

Just watched me.

Which somehow made it worse.

“Anyway,” I added quickly, gesturing to the inside of his room, “I can refresh now or come back later if you need some... flannel time.”

“Flannel time?”

“You know,” I said with an overly casual shrug, “alone time. Man time. Sulking by the window with a book you pretend not to like.”

Another flicker of something crossed his face.

Amusement?

Curiosity?

Murder?

Unclear.

“I’m good,” he said finally. “Go ahead.”

He stepped aside and let me in.

The room was tidy, naturally. He had a shirt on the chair and a single paperback by the window. It was Of Mice and Men because, of course, he’d read Steinbeck and make it look noble, and a mug with traces of coffee still inside.

I moved efficiently, swapping towels, fluffing pillows, and replacing the tiny soap on the counter with a new bar that smelled like cedar and citrus.

He leaned against the wall near the window, watching me like I was a puzzle that didn’t come with instructions.

“You always this…” he gestured vaguely, “bright?”

I looked up. “Is that a compliment or a concern?”

“Haven’t decided.”

I gave him my most dazzling smile. “Let me know when you do. I’ll add it to the memory guestbook.”

He didn’t smile back, but his eyes softened.

Just a little.

It was enough.

As I headed toward the door, he said, “Thanks. For the soap. And… whatever that was.”

I paused, hand on the knob. “Anytime. I’m a full-service ray of sunshine.”

And then, before I could say something even more embarrassing, I slipped out the door and back into the hallway, cheeks warm and heart doing something inconvenient behind my ribs.

Maybe he didn’t smile, but he hadn’t stopped me.

And somehow, that felt like progress.