Angel Smits - Last Chance At The Someday Café

Filling both cups, Tara took her time preparing them, his with sugar, hers with a touch of cream and sweetener. Her hands were delicate, the nails trimmed short and even. She didn’t wear any jewelry—no ring, no bracelet or watch. None of the glitz other women wore, but she didn’t need it.

He almost didn’t take the cup when she extended it to him. Almost.

Their fingers brushed. Where her skin was soft, the cup was solid. Both were warm. The scent of the coffee and something else—perfume—wafted between them.

Morgan leaned against the counter and cradled the cup. He had to do something with his hands or he’d try to touch her.

“So, tell me about Morgan Thane.” She leaned on the opposite counter and faced him. She took a deep drink from her mug and waited.

“Not much to tell. My brother, Jack, and I run our trucking company. I drive. He’s the office. Nothing fancy. What about you? Wendy says you just bought the diner.” He wasn’t into sharing anything about his past with her. Not yet, and certainly not now. Discussing Sylvie was off the table here in Tara’s pretty little kitchen.

“Yeah.” She smiled and he knew he’d found her soft spot. He focused on his cup, wishing instead that he could taste the excited blush that swept up her cheeks.

“I’ve been working on the diner for a couple months. Daisy wanted to keep going, but she just couldn’t do it anymore.”

“The diner looks different but—” He frowned, looking for the best way to explain his thoughts. “Feels the same.”

“Thanks. That’s a compliment. I always loved Daisy’s place. I tried to keep some of it.”

Tara grinned and he felt a responding warmth in his chest. He laughed, surprising himself with how good it felt. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed a woman’s company.

Not since long before Sylvie left.

* * *

TARA KNEW HER apartment was small, and this kitchen even smaller. She should have felt cramped here with him. But she didn’t. She liked the closeness, and despite all her good intentions, she wanted to be closer. Much closer.

Morgan Thane attracted her. And despite her denials to Wendy, he was most certainly her type. He was a good-looking, apparently decent guy. Yep, her type.

“Where are you from, originally?” Not from here. She might have grown up in Austin, but the ranch down the road where her brother now lived had belonged to her grandparents. She’d spent plenty of time here. She knew most of the locals.

“Dallas,” he said with a definite grimace in his voice. “The business is based there.”

She nodded, taking in the information—the safe, untempting information. She tried to formulate safe, intelligent questions. “You said you have a brother. Older or younger?”

He laughed. “Younger by three years.”

Ah, the older brother. She tried not to compare him to her own three brothers.

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