“I’m Rip, so that makes you Beth?” His voice was low, throaty, but with a warmth threaded through it. A warmth that sparked fire in my belly and places much lower than that.

Holy. Fucking. Fuck.

Did he just say that?

He just said that.

I let out a burst of laughter that sounded like it came from a hysterical teenager.

“I own a few sundresses and a couple of pairs of cowboy boots because I am a Midwestern girl, but that’s as close to Beth as I’m ever going to get,” I said, going for a casual, joking tone yet failing abysmally.

I wanted greatly for the earth to swallow me up.

He kept looking at me with a warmth in his mesmerizing eyes, with a slight upturn to his plump lips.

“Would like to see those sundresses and cowboy boots,” he murmured, crystalline eyes staying on mine.

My heart was hammering away in my chest, my feet felt like they were glued to the floor, captured by his stare. I was surprised that I hadn’t melted into a puddle yet.

He’d just told me that he’d like to see me in a sundress and cowboy boots. And he’d said it in a way that made it seem like, after that, he’d liked that sundress and those cowboy boots on his bedroom floor. The words had been dripping with sexual interest.

But that was insane. A rugged, manly man like him could not be interested in an eccentric bakery owner who babbled about TV characters, was virtually afraid of her own shadow, always thought she was dying of something, and was generally just a complete dork.

No, he definitely needed a Beth type. Strong, sexual, unable to be rattled or scared by anyone or anything.

“I, um…” I cleared my throat, looking to Tina for help.

She had abandoned all pretense of making coffee and was staring at the two of us with folded arms and a wide grin I really wanted to hate her for.

Get it together, Nora.

I straightened my spine and forced myself to look at him. Or rather the general shape of his face. Getting trapped in his gaze was how I got in this situation in the first place. This situation would be ingrained into my brain for the rest of my life.

“Coffee, black and an almond croissant, right?” I asked him, tapping at the screen of the register.

I’d thought that focusing on business would extricate me from the embarrassment that was burned into my bones until I realized that I hadn’t actually asked him for his order. I’d made it obvious that I’d memorized his order. Not just memorized it, I knew that at certain times of the day, he ordered different things. A croissant first thing in the morning, a lemon poppyseed muffin if they were sold out. Croissants at this time if he hadn’t gotten one in the morning. Sometimes, he’d come for brownies if it was late in the afternoon. I’d never seen him get cookies. Once, he’d ordered a cupcake. Lemon curd. He liked lemon flavored things. Not too sweet.