“Oh, um, from your résumé,” he says. “That’s not creepy, is it?”

And frankly, if he wasn’t a super hot guy I had two perfect meet cutes with, it might be, but as it stands, my heart pounds in my ears as I say, “Not at all. So, what’s up?”

“Do you mind coming into the store? I kind of want to talk to you about something,” he says.

And there’s a million and a half things that something could be. Maybe Amy changed her mind about giving me the job, or maybe he couldn’t sleep last night, images of me running through his head and making him lose his breath. Maybe it was all he could do to wait until this morning to finally place the call, to bring us closer together again.

“Sure, I’m in.”

This time around, I walk a little faster, excitement driving my every step. I get to the shop in just about twenty minutes and peek through the window to spot Drew standing at the register counting money. When I tap on the glass, his eyes shoot up, and a grin creeps over his face as he spots me.

After slipping the money back in the register, he slides over to the door, unlocking it long enough for me to enter.

“You got here faster than I expected,” he says.

I smile. “Well, I was in the area, so it wasn’t a big deal.”

“I can go make you some coffee if you want.”

I smile as I plop down onto the carpet next to an open box of books. They’re from the local authors section, this particular title called The Blonde Conspiracy. “Thanks!” I say, and as Drew heads to the back to brew me a latte, I stare at the artfully illustrated book cover and wonder what it must feel like to have a published book sitting in a local bookstore. Before the Diary, I used to try writing new projects every time the inspiration struck, but I always abandoned them. They just never felt all that inspired, like they didn’t have any real life to them.

Drew comes out with another cup of coffee and passes it to me. I smile again, noticing the little recyclable symbol on the bottom. I’ve always wanted a guy who fights for a cause, so this just feels like another sign. I take a sip, careful not to burn myself before saying, “So, why did you want me to come in?”

“I kinda want to ask you something, if you don’t mind,” he says.

I say, “Go for it,” before taking another sip.

“Do you run the Meet Cute Diary blog?”

I choke, coffee running from my mouth down the front of my shirt. Drew slips around the counter and returns with some napkins, but I’m still coughing up a lung.

How the hell does he know about the Meet Cute Diary?