Cover Girl

“Oh my God! I’m so sorry.” Keira grabbed a stack of napkins from the counter and started to pat the guy’s previously white starched shirt and red tie, now obviously ruined beyond repair.

The guy gritted his teeth. “Sonofabitch, that’s hot.”

“Dear God, are you burned?”

“Don’t think so. But it sure woke me up.”

A young guy with ‘manager’ written on his shirt ran around the counter. “Sir, you okay?”

“I think I’ll live. Don’t worry, I won’t sue you for making hot coffee.” He looked down at his shirt and his face tightened.

“Sir, I’ll be happy to loan you one of our barista shirts and pay for the dry cleaning. Lunch is on me as well.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

Keira noted the guy wasn’t mad at all, taking the whole thing in stride.

She also noted he was off-the-charts gorgeous. Maybe early thirties: thick, dark hair, Carolina-blue eyes, at least six-foot-four, maybe taller, and from the look of the wet shirt stuck to his body, a ripped torso.

Ah, the old spill coffee on the hot guy trick. Sounds like one from Gretch’s playbook.

She reached out and took his forearm. “I’m so sorry. God, I’m such a klutz. Let me make it up to you. Buy you a new shirt and tie.”

He smiled as he undid his sopping-wet tie. “That’s not necessary. Plenty more at home.” He looked at the tie, still dripping coffee. “I was tired of this one anyway.”

“Well, geez, I ruined your day. I feel like I owe you something.”

He smiled and locked eyes with her. “Tell you what, if you really feel the need to apologize…”

“Yeah?”

“I’d rather have your phone number.”

Gulp.

Her jaw hung open as his request hit her from out of the blue and sent her brain into meltdown. I’ve just given a gorgeous man a hot-coffee bath and he wants my phone number and I just met Alexander, who is interested in me and I haven’t had a date in two years and now I have to meet two guys in the same week… this isn’t fair. “Uh…whuh…”

“Cheaper than a new shirt and tie.”

“What is?”

“Your phone number.”

“Uh… yeah.”

He gestured to an empty table. “And have lunch with me? Add that to the list and we’ll call it even.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Great.”

The manager returned holding a pale-blue button-down oxford and handed it to him. “I think this should fit, it’s an extra-extra large. You can change in the back room. Follow me.”

He turned to Keira and pointed to an empty booth. “Grab that and I’ll be right back.”

“Yeah, sure.”

The guy followed the manager behind a curtain while Keira sat at a table for two in the corner, keeping her eyes locked on the curtain, which didn’t close all the way. The guy pulled off his shirt.

Gulp, again.

Oh. My. God.

He’s a real-life romance-novel cover.

She stared at his chiseled body and absentmindedly licked her lips as he changed into the barista shirt. Massive shoulders, cut pecs and a well-defined six-pack. The man was seriously ripped. He thanked the manager and shoved the curtain back. She quickly turned her head and looked out the window so he wouldn’t see her staring. He pulled out the chair and she turned to face him. “Maybe I can moonlight serving coffee and get a kickback from the men’s store across the street.”

He laughed and extended his hand across the table. “Dash Riley.”

She shook it. “Keira Madison.”

He studied her face. “I’ve seen you before, right?”

“I don’t think so.”

He shook his finger. “No, no, I never forget a face. And I’d remember one like yours.”

“Like mine?”

“Got a thing for redheads with freckles. My mom says it’s the Irish genes. Give me a minute.” His eyes widened. “Got it. I saw an article about you recently in The Post, right? You’re that publisher.”

“Editor. But yeah, that’s me. You have quite the memory.”

He turned serious. “That was a touching story about your best friend.”

She bit her lower lip, the image of Rose flashing through her mind.

His eyes locked with hers for a moment. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay. I think of her every day. It’s gonna take a while to get over it.”

Their gaze was interrupted as the manager slid a sandwich and soda in front of him. “Here you go, sir. And I do apologize. Sometimes our baristas don’t put the coffee lids on tight enough.”

Keira laughed. “Hey, not your fault, I’m the clumsy one. You didn’t give him a latte bath.”

“You two enjoy your lunch. If you want anything else, dessert, whatever, let me know. On the house.”

Keira lowered her head and her voice. “Tell him you want tiramisu.”