Joy’s heart beat frantically. Her hands felt damp and sticky. Why was he coming over here? What did he want with her?

But it wasn’t Joy he was looking at. His gaze was pegged on the iPhone 4 Mark had gifted her when she’d graduated from UCLA two months ago. Joy tucked her phone in her lap and ducked her chin, ashamed of her reaction to this stranger with her fiancé so close to mind. She was also afraid her interest was evident on her face. A big billboard of an expression that shouted one of Judy’s favorite phrases: “Hey, handsome, you razz my berries.”

The man stopped at her table, and heart in her throat, she slowly looked up his torso to his face.

Oh. My. God.

His eyes.

They were the most gorgeous hazel she’d ever seen. Gray-green irises with a kaleidoscope of light brown and golden-yellow flecks under an awning of long, dark lashes.

He’s so dreamy, Judy would have said, nudging her.

The thought Judy would be reacting the same way toward him almost made her sigh with relief. Steady boyfriend or not, Judy would have been swooning just like her.

He smiled. “Hi.”

Joy blinked, mute.

His smile widened, the left corner of his mouth pulling up higher. He knew exactly the effect he had on her.

“May I borrow your phone? I’m not going to run off with it,” he added when Joy remained speechless. He nodded at the window. “You probably noticed my car’s dead.”

She felt a blush creep up her neck. He knew she’d been watching him. Could she sink under the table and die?

“One call.” He raised a finger. “Promise.”

“Sure,” she said in a voice rendered meek from embarrassment. She set the phone at the end of the table.

“Thanks.” He slid into the booth and a light gasp escaped her lungs. He slung her a grateful grin and keyed in a phone number. “Rick, it’s Dylan . . . Some gal let me borrow hers.” He glanced at Joy. “Look, Jack’s car died . . . I told you it would . . . No idea. Spark plugs? It’s not the battery . . . The car’s a piece of crap. It won’t make it cross-country . . . You deal with it. I don’t have time to pick my nose and wait around. I’m gigging in Flagstaff tonight and need to be in New York in nine days . . . I’ll rent a car . . . I don’t give a shit. Jack’s car kicking the bucket doesn’t fall within the guidelines either. You figure it out, you’re the attorney. I’ll call you when I get to Flagstaff.”