Discretion has never been my strong point. I blame it on my photographer’s heart. I can’t help but envision the perfect shot when I’m met with beauty. I can’t look away until I have it set up in my head and it’s as if the image has already been printed and framed on the wall. I just really hope my tongue isn’t hanging out of my mouth as I take mental picture after mental picture of the DILF in front of me.

“He’s probably here to find his wife and kid at story time,” I say to Elsie without looking away from Mr. McHotterson. “He’s clearly looking for somebody.”

And he definitely is. Even from across the room, I can see his eyes scanning the store.

Which sucks for me because even though I don’t really have a type—or, honestly, standards—per se, if I was forced to pick, my type would be this guy. He stands next to our bookshelves, and his head hovers above them, putting him at a solid six feet tall. His tan skin jutting out of his short-sleeve button-up—which could look a little goofy on most people, but on him just looks hot—points to a Mediterranean heritage. Black hair right on the verge of being too long falls in thick waves over his forehead. And even though it’s covered in scruff, nothing can hide the hard, cutting lines of a jawline that up until this point I’ve only seen on movie screens. I half expect to see paparazzi (which I’ve never seen in Denver) chasing after him, the flashes from their cameras pulling me from whatever lust-induced fantasy he’s thrown me into.

“No way he’s married. If he had a wife, she would’ve already snatched his behind up and been wearing him like a freaking trophy.” Elsie nudges me forward, but my feet are stuck. “Trust me. When Brandon walks into a room, I make sure everyone knows he’s mine.”

It’s not that I have confidence issues. I’m not a supermodel or anything. Unlike Daisy, I got Gran’s height and topped out at an impressive five foot, two inches tall. I also have an undying love for baked goods and French fries that keeps my abs of steel nice and protected, but YOLO or whatever the kids are saying these days. No matter, I’m still nothing to sneeze at. It’s just that this guy is H-O-T hot and I can’t be rejected in my own damn store.

Talk about embarrassing.