.

turned on her heel and pushed through the kitchen’s swinging door. Time to serve breakfast to her imaginary boyfriend.

      * * *

      Wyatt sipped his coffee and flipped through the reports he’d printed out last night. The profit margin was still in decent shape, but their client numbers had suffered a significant dip over the last two quarters. Their competitors Merrill and Mead were doing some mighty fast talking and had stolen two of Austin and Associates’ top clients—two clients who Wyatt had been making a shitload of money for. So God only knows what Tony Merrill had promised them to get them to leave. Or maybe Merrill was outright spewing lies about A&A. That’d be his style. The whole thing was giving Wyatt a twitch and a headache.

      “Egg white omelet with spinach and cheddar and two slices of turkey bacon, extra crispy.”

      Wyatt looked up from the papers, momentarily startled at the interruption. Damn. Usually he made a point to watch Kelsey’s swaying walk over to his table, and he felt a pang of disappointment over missing the morning highlight. That walk and smile were a big part of the reason he’d started driving four blocks past his building to eat breakfast at the Sugarcane Cafe.

      His brother, Jace, had introduced him to the place and to Kelsey a few months ago, and Wyatt hadn’t been able resist the temptation of being served by her each morning ever since. The woman could make that retro blue-and-white diner uniform look as sexy as high-end lingerie—not that it had stopped him from picturing her in the latter anyway. “Thank you, Kelsey. This looks great.”

      “My pleasure. Anything else I can get you, Mr. Austin?” She smiled with a head tilt that made her blonde ponytail swing behind her.

      He’d imagined very, very naughty things involving that ponytail one too many times. Cool it, Austin. “Tell me about the muffin du jour.”

      She leaned over and grabbed the discarded sweetener packets he’d used in his coffee, inadvertently giving him a glimpse of the golden curved flesh peeking through the collar of her shirt. “Of course. Thinking of breaking tradition and ordering one today?”

      He raised an eyebrow.

      She shook her head, but there was humor glinting in those blue eyes. “It’s fresh raspberry made with a touch of vanilla and a citrus-infused simple syrup poured over the top to make them extra moist and tart.”

      “Sounds delicious.”

      “But you don’t want one,” she said, confirming his standard answer before he could give it. “You know, one day I’m going to bake one that sounds so enticing, you’re not going to be able to help yourself.”

      “Is that right?” he asked, fighting a smile. Truth was, he didn’t eat sweets that often. He kept his diet as regimented as his schedule. Discipline in all things. But he loved hearing her describe her food and watching the pure pride that starched her shoulders and brightened her eyes.

      “Yep. It’s a personal mission of mine,” she said resolutely, her hand on her hip.

      “What is?” he asked, leaning forward onto his forearms, holding her gaze. “To tempt me?”

      Her eyes held his for a long beat before they shifted away. She pressed her lips together, smoothing her gloss. “Um …”

      He realized too late how low his words had come out, how laced with innuendo. He quickly straightened in his seat, dragging his attention back to his work in front of him. Too young. Too sweet. Too messy. “Bring me one of those muffins, Kelsey.”

      There was dead air for a moment, as if she were righting her thoughts, then she said, “Oh, of course. Right away, sir.”

      But when she turned on her heel to go, a soft curse passed her lips. She spun back around, and he looked up to find her wearing a please-don’t-hate-me expression. “What’s wrong?”

      She peeked back toward the kitchen. “I forgot. They won’t be ready for another fifteen minutes. I got in a little late from my overnight job and didn’t get them started on time.”

      He frowned. “You work an overnight shift and then spend all morning here?”

      “I only do the other job a few nights a week,” she said hastily. “Usually the timing works out, but there was an accident on the interstate this morning and …”

      He held up a palm, silencing her. “I’m not worried about muffins not being ready, Kelsey. But I am wondering when you find time to sleep and take care of yourself. And frankly, I’m a little concerned that you’re driving a car and working in a kitchen with no rest. That’s dangerous.”

      Her gaze darted downward, a pink tinge washing over her cheeks. “It’s fine, really. I’m used to crazy schedules and don’t really need a lot of sleep.”

      “And both jobs are necessary?”

      She looked back at him, and he could see her lingering embarrassment over the conversation. He should be polite and let her off the hook. Her personal business was her own. But the thought of this vibrant girl working herself to the bone to get by wasn’t sitting well with him.

      “I’m saving up for culinary school. This job pays for the basics. The other goes into my school savings.”

      “I see.”

      “Excuse me,” a nasally voice called from a few tables over. Snapping fingers accompanied the annoying interruption. They both turned. A pinched-mouthed woman had her bony hand in the air, trying to get Kelsey’s attention and beckoning her like she was an errant puppy. “I’m out of coffee.”

      Wyatt sent the woman a quelling look, and she quickly looked down at her cream-cheesed bagel with a well-I-never huff. He brought his attention back to Kelsey. “Go ahead and take care of your tables. God forbid anyone has to wait a second for something. And let me know when the muffins come out.”

      “Yes, sir,” Kelsey said, clearly relieved to be released from the conversation.

      And though he was always at his desk by seven sharp, he lingered over his omelet today, taking the time to enjoy the hum of conversation around him and the sight of his favorite waitress doing her job.

      Kelsey checked on him once and brought fresh coffee, but in between that, she was a nonstop machine of smiles, banter, and serving prowess. Even when she got something wrong, Wyatt watched in fascination as she won the person over to her side. Hell, she had one older man smiling and apologizing to her when she served him oatmeal instead of cheese grits. He’d patted Kelsey’s arm and joked that his wife must’ve put her up to it since he was supposed to be cutting back on calories anyway.

      It was like watching a master-level demonstration in social sparkle. If he had to make all that small talk and feign interest in all these people’s woes and requests, he’d lose his fucking mind. But Kelsey seemed to thrive on it, like she fed off the energy in the diner. She was magnetic to watch.

      By the time she made her way back to him with the fresh-out-of-the-oven muffin, his reports and laptop had gone untouched. She set down the plate and laid a fresh napkin next to it. “Hope it doesn’t disappoint after all this time.”

      “Oh, I have no doubt it will have been worth the wait,” he said, watching her instead of looking at the muffin.

      “Anything else I can get you?”

      A hotel room and an hour of your time. Maybe two hours. Or a weekend. But he shook off the tempting thought. Yes, he came here every day to enjoy the presence of his pretty waitress. But he’d always done it with the knowledge of look but don’t touch. Like enjoying a fine piece of art. Meant to be observed, appreciated, even turned on by, but not meant for consumption. Beyond the fact that she was probably at least a decade younger than his thirty-seven years, Wyatt had learned to steer clear of the ones who nudged that old, buried desire that lay sleeping in the recesses of his past. And Kelsey didn’t just nudge it; she fucking assailed it.

      “No,