Page 2 of Somehow You Knew (Carrington Cove #5)

Chapter one

Hazel

Present Day

“Keely, you’re a lifesaver.” With outstretched hands, I intercept the double-shot espresso from her, eager for the extra boost of caffeine to power through my work.

“Saving the world one cup of coffee at a time.” She winks before scurrying back behind the front counter to help a waiting customer.

Most days, I work from my studio or my couch, but when I found myself reaching for my phone for the third time in ten minutes, I knew I needed a change of scenery.

So, I came to Keely’s Caffeine Kick to push through the last of the wedding photos I shot a few weeks ago.

I love my job, capturing the most important moments in my clients’ lives, but editing can be a beast.

I lift the mug to my lips and take a cautious sip, smacking my lips together as the sweet nectar of life hits my tongue. I swear, Keely must put a pinch of crack in her coffee because it never tastes this good when I make it at home.

My computer finishes loading the gallery as I take another sip, and I pop my earbuds in, pressing play on the latest album from the one and only queen herself, Taylor Swift. Music hits my ears, and I dial in, ready to tackle these photos so I can stay on track for the rest of my projects.

When I started Hazel Sheppard Photography four years ago, I never dreamed I’d be as busy as I am, but you won’t hear me complaining. I know how lucky I am to make a living doing what I love. Some people never get that opportunity, so I practice gratitude often when it comes to my work.

But even my job can’t fill some voids that always seem to be lurking under the surface—the doubt, the loneliness, the insecurities that I’m too much, not enough, or just not one of the lucky ones who finds their person like my friends, clients, and even brothers have all managed to do.

The picture of the couple’s first kiss as husband and wife pops up on my screen, twisting the knife in my chest even further.

Will I ever find someone who looks at me like that? Like I’m their whole world, universe, and existence all wrapped into one?

Sighing, I pick up my phone and see a message from Derek, the latest guy I matched with on one of the many dating apps I’ve reluctantly joined. Even though online dating is quickly becoming the bane of my existence, it’s how people meet these days.

I swear, if my father knew what I’ve been through in the past four years, he’d want to throw my phone into the ocean for me.

“What do you call two spiders who just got married?” A voice to my right cuts through my music, startling me.

Plucking out an earbud, I turn, and when I look up to see the man the voice belongs to, a wave of electricity radiates from my chest, freezing me in place.

Holy mother of God. How on earth did DNA configure itself to create this specimen of a man so flawlessly?

The corner of his mouth lifts. “So you weren’t ignoring me.”

“Huh?” I find my voice, grateful my brain is still firing some cylinders since my heart is beating so fast I can barely manage to breathe.

“I’ve been trying to get your attention for the past few minutes.”

Blinking, I glance back at my computer. “Um…Well, I was working.”

He slides into the chair across from me, leaning back and resting one hand on his knee, the other draped over the back of the chair. “I can see that, hence the joke,” he says, gesturing to the picture of the bride and groom on my screen.

“Joke?”

“Yeah. What do you call two spiders who just got married?” he repeats.

“Oh. Uh, I’m not sure.”

“Newly-webs.” He smirks, clearly pleased with himself.

I can’t help but smile, even though his presence still makes me feel off-balance.

I’d know if I’d seen this guy around town before because there’s no way I’d forget him . God, he looks like the embodiment of every teenage girl’s fantasy—the definition of tall, dark, and dangerous. The epitome of a bad boy, especially given the way his arms are entirely covered in tattoos.

“Did you need something?” I ask, not sure how I’m supposed to react to this perfect stranger interrupting my work, even though my libido isn’t complaining. In fact, this is the most alert the button between my legs has been in a long time.

He huffs out a laugh before tilting his head, eyeing me. “Actually, I do.” He leans forward now, locking his electric green eyes on me, such a contrast to his jet-black hair and all-black attire. “I wanted to know if I could draw on you? ”

My head jerks back slightly, brows knitting together. “What?”

He reaches for my hand, gently laying it on the surface of the table. “I’d like to draw on you, if that’s okay with you.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat, trying to figure out if this is really happening or if Keely does, in fact, slip something into her coffee.

“You want to draw on me?”

He nods while pulling a marker from his pocket, uncapping it with his teeth.

Jesus. Was that supposed to be that hot?

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just say, I have a list of things I’m trying to cross off, and this is one of them.”

“A list?”

He nods. “Yup. So, care to help me?”

Watching as he gently takes my hand and places the tip of the marker against my forearm, I debate if this is as harmless as it seems. I mean sure, I don’t know this guy, but it’s not like he busted out a tattoo gun.

As the heat of his touch sears through my skin, I nod, unable to stop myself even if I wanted to. My mind spins as I wonder how the hell my choice to work at the coffee shop today has turned into the most exhilarating interaction with a stranger I’ve ever had.

And not just any stranger. A hot stranger—the type of man wet dreams are made of.

He flashes me that smirk again, the perfect boyish charm to counterbalance his rough exterior. “ Excellent.”

I lean forward, studying his every move and memorizing every detail of his face, willing myself not to forget any aspect of this moment. “Wh—what are you going to draw?”

He lifts his eyes to mine just long enough to say, “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, you’re no fun.”

He chuckles. “I might have heard that a time or two.”

Silence grows between us and butterflies take flight in my stomach as my mystery guy zeroes in on the drawing he’s sketching on my skin.

The pinch in his brow is so deep that I wonder how he doesn’t have wrinkles.

But then again, he can’t be much older than me.

His nails are clean, his hands are remarkably soft, and after he drags the marker over my skin, he goes back over what he drew with his thumb, smoothing and buffing out the lines, like he has far too much experience doing something like this.

A piece of his dark hair falls over his forehead, coming apart from the combed back style he walked in here with.

His jaw is covered in black stubble, the kind that offers beard burn in the most delicious way, a way that I’m fantasizing about the longer I sit here and watch this man mark my skin with intense concentration.

But when the marker stops moving and sits back to admire his work, I look back down at my arm to see what he drew—and my stomach drops.

“What do you think?” he asks as I fight to keep my composure, the sting of tears building behind my eyes.

Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I manage to clear it and meet his eyes. “It’s beautiful.”“Not bad for a marker, huh?”

I drag my finger over the lines. “It’s remarkable.”

Before I can say anything else, he stands from his chair, staring down at me with that same pinch in his brow, like he’s just as confused by this encounter as I am. But all he says is, “Thanks for helping me out.”

Then, just as suddenly as he appeared, he’s gone, leaving me staring after him in stunned silence.