“What is it with this day?” Cass said, turning away from the image and the idea of Sarah Rosen trampling her family business, and leaning her forehead against the glass door. “I need coffee, damn it!”

Someone cleared his throat behind her. She turned, embarrassed that her caffeine-deprivation outburst had a witness. “Oh, morning,” she said to the amused-looking dark-haired man standing a couple of feet away. “Don’t bother,” she added, gesturing to the dark storefront. “They’re closed. And the only other option is . . . unsuitable.” She glowered at Makewell’s storefront, then pulled out her phone and started walking away, planning to find another coffeehouse as quickly as she could.

“Charlie? Charlie Goodwin?”

She stopped and turned back. The man’s head was tilted and his expression was quizzical. He was wearing hospital-green scrubs, and a Cedars-Sinai Hospital ID badge hung from a lanyard around his neck.

“Hi there,” she said, trying to sound relaxed and like she had some idea who he was. She glanced again at his ID tag, hoping to catch his name, but it had flipped around. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he said. “But . . . how are you?” He watched her intently, and Cass started to squirm under his gaze. Charlie hadn’t mentioned any medical professionals in her litany of people Cass needed to know or look out for. But this guy clearly knew who she was, and his worried expression was beginning to worry Cass. He took a step toward her and gave her a smile that showcased two perfect dimples.

“Charlie, it’s Miguel. Miguel Rodriguez? I treated you when you came to the ER the other day.”

“Right! Miguel! Of course I remember you.” In truth, this Miguel would be hard to forget. Cass couldn’t believe Charlie hadn’t mentioned that the doctor who treated her was so gorgeous. “Sorry. I’m always a little foggy when I haven’t had my morning coffee. Just looking for a quick fix before I head to work.”

Now his expression grew more concerned. “I had recommended taking some time off. You’re heading to work today?”

Oh, damn it. “I’m feeling great, actually. And I hate to admit it, but I’m not the best at . . . following directions?” She smiled again, and he returned it this time; relief coursed through her, along with something else. Those dimples, full lips, perfect teeth, and eyes that could only be described as soulful were hard to ignore. Seriously, Cass? Get a grip. “Although I’d be feeling a lot better if these doors were open.”

“Me, too,” Miguel said. “And these guys always say they open at six, so I come here when I’ve got an early shift.” He leaned toward Cass, cupping a hand to one side of his mouth, as though sharing a great secret with her. “But one of the baristas has no appreciation for time or caffeine addicts, and today is his day to open, I guess.”

“Ah, yes. I’ve noticed that, too,” Cass said, nodding as though she was the commiserating Charlie who regularly frequented the Hive. “Every now and then this place has a dark morning. And, as you witnessed, it’s never less than devastating. Partly because I can never bring myself to go to Makewell’s.”