She stares at me long and hard, then finally drops her shoulders with a sigh. “All right.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she answers, looking away to hide her smile. “Only because I love Rosie’s and I haven’t eaten there in forever. Nice going on your part. If you would’ve suggested any other place, I would’ve shot you down.”

I wait until she looks back at me to give her a smile. “Seven o’clock?”

She doesn’t answer, doesn’t give me any sign of agreement. With a swift hand she shuts the door and walks to her car, making sure to give me a nice view of her arse as she bends to unlock the driver’s side door.

I drop a hand to my cock, staring at her, waiting for an acknowledgement that she’s heard my time suggestion.

I never get it.

She pulls away from the curb and blends into the traffic on the street.

BROOKE

The line at Rosie’s café is already wrapping around the building when I arrive this morning.

Typical, and why I didn’t argue with Mason when he suggested meeting so early last night. I’m used to grabbing something to eat after I arrive at the bakery, which isn’t until eight-thirty. Waking up any earlier for any reason isn’t something I’ll easily agree to, but if you’re going to eat breakfast at Rosie’s, you need to beat the crowd.

I move past the line and step inside the café, shifting my attention around the crowded room.

“Brooke.” Mason stands from his seat at a booth in the corner. He looks almost relieved to see me.

I suppose I could’ve given him some indication last night that I was planning on showing up at seven o’clock today. But really, where’s the fun in that?

He kisses my cheek when I reach the booth. “Morning, gorgeous. I went ahead and ordered you some coffee and juice. It’s fresh-squeezed apparently.”

I giggle as I lean away.

“What?” he asks, eyes curious as we both slide into the booth.

I take a moment to stare at him before I respond.

His hair is still damp from a shower, the curls a bit more prominent now than when it’s fully dry, but still just as carelessly tousled on top of his head. Light from a nearby window catches on the stubble coating his jaw. It looks coarse, but I know how it feels against the skin of my cheek. A gentle, welcoming scratch. The crisp white T-shirt he’s wearing stretches deliciously across his chest and the muscles of his shoulders.

Damn. Even at this hour, he looks amazing. Would it be weird to order him for breakfast?

I bring the glass of juice to my lips, swallowing a taste as my eyes slowly take their time reaching his face. “Nothing. I just think it’s cute how you bring that to my attention. Like I’d send it back if it wasn’t freshly-squeezed. I’m not a snob.”

“I wasn’t implying that.” He eyes me guardedly. “I just appreciate good quality juice.”

“Mm. Figures. You probably own a juicer, don’t you?”

“No.”

I raise an eyebrow. No way does this guy not own every health conscious piece of equipment invented.

He smiles, tasting his own juice. “I may have left it in Alabama. It was rooted. I should pick up a new one, now that you mention it.”

“Ah. See.” I point a finger at him. “I got you all figured out.”

“Yeah? Think you know me, do ya?”

“Yup.”

He leans forward, placing his hand on top of mine. “What do you know, Brooke? Do you know I thought about you until I fell asleep last night? That that’s quickly becoming a routine of mine, and I’m not ashamed to admit it?”

My breaths grow heavier as I stare back at him.

Shit. What does he mean he thinks about me until he falls asleep? Sexually? Like, is he jerking off to images of me in his head before he passes out, because I’m pretty sure that’s a normal response for most men in this zip code, and not necessarily a declaration that should make my heart thunder against my sternum.

“I know you like my sounds. And that you were attacked by a rogue koala when you were a kid, which I’m still having trouble believing,” I finally reply after sliding my hand out from under his and grabbing a menu.

If I let him, I think he’d try and hold my hand this entire meal.

He grins, reaching for his own menu. “I more than like your sounds,” he corrects me, lowering his gaze. “What’s good here? Anything you’d recommend?”

“Everything. I told you, this place will change your life. The pancakes are amazing. That’s what I’m getting.”

Our waitress arrives, placing silverware in front of us and a stack of napkins. “Have we decided?” she asks.

Mason motions for me to order as he continues surveying his options.

I hand my menu to the waitress. I barely even needed to glance at it. “I’ll have the bacon and apple pancakes.” My mouth stretches into a grin when Mason gives me a wide-eyed look.

Welcome to America. We put bacon on everything.

He glances once more at the back of his menu, then places it into the waitress’s hand. “Eggs Benedict. And if it isn’t too much trouble, instead of the hash browns, can I get double sausage?”

“Sure,” she replies, stepping away with our order.

I grab two sugar packets and empty them into my coffee. When I glance up after stirring in some cream, I catch Mason’s eyes on me, and I wonder how long they’ve been there.