He wished she had taken off her goggles and swim cap, but he understood. The female swimmers he knew always complained about the outfit’s sexlessness.
It hadn’t covered up her beaded nipples. He suspected her reaction was from more than cold, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d seen the interest in her eyes before her goggles had fogged up. God knows, his trunks had gotten tight looking at her wet skin and tight body.
Then she’d totally frozen him out and run off.
Maybe she was married.
Maybe he needed to focus on what he’d come here to do.
Still, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She had a few freckles scattered across her skin, a mole under her right shoulder blade, and a tight, rounded bottom. He’d wanted to connect the dots when she’d turned to reach for her towel.
He didn’t know her name, but he wanted to know it. He’d admired some women in and around town, but this woman—well, there was something about her. And her voice. It was like sipping Baileys, creamy, soothing, with a kick at the end. She was feminine but strong, exactly how he liked his women.
Well, he’d see her at the pool again. Perhaps he’d even run into her beforehand.
Too bad he couldn’t do anything about it, he decided. He couldn’t go out with other women here, not when he was trying to make Meredith Hale fall in love with him or spend time with him or whatever the hell he was going to do to get Sommerville off his fucking back.
With that in mind, he took off to the coffee shop owned by Meredith’s sister, Jill, which Sommerville’s file had mentioned as a good place to run into his “target.” He pulled into a parking space on Main Street. The shop already had a slow but steady stream of patrons. God, he hoped it wasn’t some fruit loop place that only carried sprouts and organic shit. If it didn’t have fucking whole milk, he was going to be really pissed.
He pushed the door open, his nose twitching at the smell of the pungent dark roast. After a quick scan, part of him was glad none of the patrons was Meredith. He begrudgingly headed to the counter.
Is this what his life came down to? Being attracted to some anonymous swimmer, stalking someone’s ex, and craving whole milk?
Richard Sommerville was going to pay.
***
Jill manned the cash register with a swing in her step. She tapped her foot to the Harry Connick, Jr., song pouring through the loudspeakers. It wasn’t Abba, but Jemma had won the morning music coin toss. She wasn’t going to fight it. A bitchy barista made bad coffee.
She called out another order as the door chimed. When she caught sight of the customer, her eyes opened wide, like she’d just downed an espresso shot. It was the guy who Mere had liked at Hairy’s Pub. Oh yeah! Sista Pimp could do some matchmaking this morning and make up for what had happened the other night.
When he stepped up to the counter, studying the pastry case, she gave him a big smile. “Hi there. You’re new in town, right?”
His eyes lifted from the long line of muffins. “Yes, how’d you guess?”
“When you work in a coffee shop, you tend to know everyone. I’m Jill. What’s your name?”
He straightened, giving her a curious look through deep chocolate eyes. Mere sure could pick them. He was easily a decade older than Jill, but she could still appreciate his good looks. He was a total Clooney—he’d aged well and would probably keep doing so. Mere was so going to owe her.
“I’m Tanner.”
“Hi Tanner, what can I get you?”
He scanned the chalkboard menu. “Please tell me you have whole milk.”
“Of course. It’s only called Don’t Soy With Me. It’s a—”
“Play on words. Got it. How about a grande mocha with an extra shot of chocolate?”
So he had a sweet tooth to match those eyes. “Whipped cream on top?”
“Yes, please.”
Oh, a man who said please. After working retail for a while before opening the shop, she knew how rare that was. She called out his order to Jemma. “Here or to go?”
“To go.”
“What else?”
“What’s the best pastry in your opinion?”
She hummed. “Well, if I were going to splurge…Are you going to splurge, Tanner?”
His mouth twisted into a cute grin. Mere was a goner. “Splurge on…?”
“Calories. I have to watch myself.” She pointed to herself. Her size eight looked good on her because she was on the tall side, but she knew she could easily pack on weight if she didn’t watch it.
“You women worry too much about that crap. You look fine. And yes, I plan to splurge. How’s the éclair?”
“Not my favorite. How do you feel about jelly donuts? This one has fresh huckleberry compote in it.”