Since Elodie and I had broken up last year—since she’d broken my heart—I had gone on a handful of dates that never led anywhere beyond awkward “See ya arounds” and fended-off kisses at the end of the night. Most of them had been nice, cute and witty. Local boys who were salt of the earth, sunny girls who collected kisses like seashells. The first few dates, the butterflies had been flapping in full force, producing gale-force winds. I’d convinced myself I was crushing. I didn’t want to always be Penny and Chad’s third wheel. But when my dates’ faces swooped close, eyes closing in anticipation … I couldn’t go through with it.

It wasn’t the act or intimacy of the kiss itself. I just had no interest in them. The other dates were middling at best, butterflies keeping quiet and still. Just nervousness, I’d figured. And then, one day, those butterflies were gone, too. It was just me left.

One corner of Mystery Boy’s mouth crooked upward. I realized too late that he was looking at me with expectation. Jerked out of my reverie, I stared at him. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” I said, shooting him a sheepish smile.

“One of those days, huh?” he asked understandingly. After repeating his coffee order, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the glass-enclosed cake stand on the counter next to the register. “What kind of cake is that?”

“German chocolate. There’s some delicious coconut-caramel frosting on it.” Unable to resist, I added, “I made it myself.”

He looked tempted for a second. “Just the coffee.” His palm stretched across the large sketch pad he’d brought with him, the cover smudged with charcoal pencil.

I gave it a curious look, then smiled an easy grin. “Sure. You got it.”

“Thanks,” he said while opening the sketchbook. He poised his pencil over the blank page, already looking down.

At this angle, I could see half-moon smudges under each eye, like he hadn’t been sleeping well. I didn’t realize that my feet weren’t moving until he glanced up, his golden eyebrows scrunched in surprise. Feeling heat creep into my cheeks, I turned and fled, retreating to the safety of the counter before I could do anything else to embarrass myself.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you lingering over there with the summer boy, Babe Vogel,” Lucy said. Her voice was low, but her smirk was at full volume.

“That? That was just good customer service.” Cheeks still hot, I moved to the stainless-steel carafe, and in wordless unison, Lucy slid a white ceramic mug across the counter for me to fill.

“Uh-huh,” she teased, fluttering her eyelashes at me. “Better get this over there. Along with some of that exemplary customer service.”