“Excellent choice. They solve all problems.”
“Yeah?” Callie asked.
“Well, no. But they taste amazing.”
“Good enough,” Callie said.
Two minutes later, lost in a doughnut-lust haze, she’d forgotten her resolve to get in and get out. Instead, in a hurry to ingest the sugar, she looked for a seat in the crowded place. She finally snagged the last table and tried to look busy so that no one would ask to share it. But given the long line, the odds were against her. Which in turn meant she was going to have to be social.
Damn.
That should be in her game plan, she decided. Help out her grandma and also learn to be social with something other than her laptop and vibrator while she was at it. Shaking her head at herself, she dug in, taking a huge first bite and maybe, possibly moaning as the delicious goodness burst onto her tongue. Oh yeah. Definitely the best powdered sugar doughnuts on the planet.
She took another bite, eyeballed the place, and then nearly did a spit-take across the room when she caught sight of the man at the front of the line. His back was to her, but there was no mistaking those broad shoulders.
Tanner had changed from his wetsuit and now wore dark, sexy guy jeans and a light windbreaker that said LUCKY HARBOR CHARTERS across his back. He was talking to Leah but he was also scanning the place as if by old military habit.
Don’t look at me, she thought. Don’t look—
He looked. In fact, those dark eyes lasered in and locked unerringly right on hers.
Her first reaction was a rush of heat. Odd, as she hadn’t had one of those in relation to a man in a while—but not completely surprising as Tanner was hotter than sin. An ice cube would’ve had a reaction to him.
Self-awareness hit her, and reality. She looked down at herself. Yep, still wearing capri yoga pants and fake Uggs. Perfect. She was dressed like she didn’t own a mirror. Even worse, she wore no makeup and her hair…well, mostly the long, strawberry blond waves had a serious mind of their own. The best that could be said this morning was that she’d piled them up on top of her head and they’d stayed. Thank God the messy topknot was in this year.
Not that this knowledge helped, because when a woman faced her first crush, that woman wanted to look hot—not like a hot mess.
“Is this chair taken?” Tanner asked.
Callie promptly swallowed wrong. Sugar went down the wrong pipe and closed off her air passage. When had he left the line and moved to her side? And damn it, why couldn’t she breathe? Hiding this fact, she desperately went for a cool, unaffected look—difficult to pull off while suffocating.
His dark eyes were warm and filled with amusement. “Yes?” he asked. “No chance in hell?”
That’s when she realized there was something worse than asphyxiation in public—he didn’t recognize her.
Damn. In a single heartbeat, she was reduced to that shy, quiet, socially inept girl she’d once been. Talk, she ordered herself. Say something. But when she opened her mouth, the only thing that came out was a squeak.
And a puff of powdered sugar.
“It’s okay,” he said, and started to turn away.
This surprised her. The cocky, wild-man teenager she’d once known would’ve sent her a lazy smile and talked her into whatever he needed.
But it’d been over ten years and she supposed people changed. She’d certainly changed. For one thing, she was no longer that quiet, studious dork with the foolishly romantic heart. Nope, now she was a suave, immaculately dressed professional…She kept her legs hidden and decided this could be a good thing. His not recognizing her meant that she could make a new first impression. She didn’t have to be a nerd. She could be whatever she wanted. Or more correctly, whatever she could manage to pull off. “Wait!” she called out to him. Maybe a little too loudly.
Or a lot too loudly.
Half the bakery startled and stared at her. And then in the next beat, everyone seemed to find their manners and scurried to look busy. Lowering her voice, Callie gestured to the free chair. “Sit,” she told Tanner. “It’s all yours.”
He kicked the chair out for himself and sprawled into it. Sipping his coffee, he eyed her over the steam rising out of his cup, all cool, easy, masculine grace.
She tried to look half as cool but she wasn’t. Not even close. And she had a problem. A twofold problem.
One, the table was tiny. Or maybe it was just that Tanner’s legs were long, but no matter how she shifted, she kept bumping into a warm, powerful thigh beneath the table.
And two, his eyes. They were the color of rich, dark, melted chocolate.
God, she loved dark, melted chocolate.
But he had no recollection of her. A definite blow to her already fragile, powder-sugar-coated self-esteem. She wished she didn’t care.
But it was the damn high school crush.
How did one get over a crush anyway? Surely the statute of limitations was up by now. After all, he’d devastated her and hadn’t even noticed.
To be fair, he’d had other things on his mind back then. She’d been a quiet, odd freshman, and he’d been a senior and the town’s football star. She’d loved him from afar until he’d graduated and left town. She knew his story was far more complicated than that but her poor, romantic heart had remained devastated by his absence for nearly two years. Then in her last year of high school, Eric had moved in across the street. He and Callie had become a thing. They’d stuck, and by their last year of college, she’d had their wedding completely planned out—and she did mean completely, from the exact color of the bridesmaids’ dresses, to the secluded beach where they’d say their vows, to the doves that would be released after they did…
Yeah, there was a reason she understood her client brides as well as she did. She’d once been a batshit-crazy bride too. But she’d honestly believed that Eric would be the perfect groom and the perfect husband. After all, he’d spent years making her happy.
Until the moment he’d stood her up at the altar.
“You okay?” Tanner asked.
“Sure.” Just lost in the past. But she was done with the past and took a bite to prove just how okay she really was. Bad move. Turns out it was hard to swallow correctly once you’ve already choked. She then promptly compounded her error by gulping down some hot coffee on top of the sore throat and lump of doughnut that wouldn’t go down and commenced nearly coughing up a lung.
She felt the doughnut being removed from her hand and then the coffee. Tanner had stood up and was at her side, patting her back as she coughed.
And coughed.
Yep, she was going to die right here, in yoga capris and fake Uggs.
“Hang on,” Tanner said, and strode to the front counter of the bakery.
From the dim recesses of her mind, she saw that he didn’t bother with the line, just spoke directly to Leah behind the counter, who quickly handed him a cup of water.
Then he was back, pushing it into Callie’s hands.
Nice and mortified, she took a sip of water, wiped her nose and streaming eyes with a napkin, and finally sat back. “I’m okay.”
Tanner eyed her for a long moment, as if making sure she wasn’t about to stroke out on him, before finally dropping back in his chair.
She opened her mouth but he shook his head. “Don’t try to talk,” he said. “Every time you do, you nearly die.”
“But—”
He raised an eyebrow and pointed at her, and she obediently shut her mouth. And sighed. She wanted to ask him about his limp but he was right; she probably couldn’t manage talking without choking again.
Way to wow him with a new first impression.
A woman came into the bakery, eyed Tanner with interest and intent, and unbelievably he leaned in closer to Callie, as if they were in the midst of the most fascinating of conversations.
“You settling into town okay at your new place?” he asked.
“My new place?”
“I see you watching me
from your window.”
Damn if she didn’t choke again.
Seriously? She lifted a hand when he started to rise out of his chair, chased down the crumbs stuck in her throat with some more water, and signaled she was okay. “Sorry, rough morning.”
“Let’s go back to the not-talking thing,” he said.
Yeah, she thought. Good idea.
A few minutes went by, during which Callie was incredibly aware of his leg still casually brushing hers. And also a new panic. Because now she realized she was trapped, forced to wait until he left first so that he wouldn’t catch sight of her wardrobe.
But he looked pretty damn comfortable and didn’t appear to be in a rush to go anywhere.
She drew out her coffee as long as she dared and eyed her second doughnut. She wanted it more than she wanted her next breath but she didn’t trust herself. And what did he mean, he’d seen her watching him? She didn’t watch him. At least not all the time. “I don’t watch you,” she said.
He slid her a look.
“I don’t. I can’t even see you from my window.” She waited a beat to be struck by lightning for the lie. “I watch the water,” she clarified. “It calms me.”
“Whatever you say.” He looked amused as he drank the last of his coffee. “So if I get up and go, are you going to choke again?”
Funny. “I think it’s safe now,” she said stiffly. “And anyway, I’m going to be good and give up doughnuts.” Forever.
Or until he left.
“Good luck with that,” he said, still amused, damn him. “But as you already know now, Leah’s stuff is addictive.” He cast his gaze around the room, watchful. He caught sight of the perky brunette hovering near the door. “Can I walk you out?” he asked.
Absolutely not. If he was afraid of the perky brunette, he was on his own. No way was Callie going to reveal her bottom half. With what she hoped was a polite, disinterested smile, she shook her head. She wasn’t moving again until he was gone, baby, gone.
Just then, the little toddler at the table behind her dropped his pacifier. It rolled beneath her boots.
He began to wail.
Pushing her chair back, Callie picked it up and handed it to the mom with a smile before realizing she’d moved out enough for her body to be seen. With a mental grimace, she quickly scooted close to her table again and stole a glance at Tanner.
He was smiling. “Cute,” he said.
She blew out a breath. “I was in a hurry.”
“No, I mean it,” he said. “Cute.”
Cute? Puppies and rainbows were cute. Once upon a time she’d spent far too much time dreaming about him finding her so irresistibly sexy that he’d press her up against the wall and kiss her senseless.
And he found her cute.
“Maybe you should steer clear of the dangerous powdered sugar doughnuts next time,” he said. “In case there’s no one around to rescue you.”
“I like to live dangerously,” she said, and because this was such a ridiculous statement, not to mention wildly untrue—she lived the opposite of dangerous and always had—she laughed a little.
He smiled at her, and it was such a great smile it rendered her stupid and unable to control her mouth. “You don’t remember me.”
“Sure I do,” he said, and pushed away from the table as he stood. His gaze met hers. “Seriously now. Be careful.”
And then he headed to the door.
Nope. He really didn’t remember her. Still, she watched him go.
Okay, so she watched his fantastic butt go. After all, she was mortified and maybe a little bit pissy to boot, but she wasn’t dead.
Chapter 3
Tanner Riggs had been born an adrenaline junkie. It’d seen him through playing balls-out football to being a Navy SEAL to being the guy in charge of planting explosives on an oil rig, and there was little that he hadn’t seen or done.
So he should’ve seen the signs that the day was going to go to shit before his client freaked the hell out twenty feet below the choppy surface of the ocean.
Tanner ran Lucky Harbor Charters with his two closest friends, Sam and Cole. They gave coastal tours, took people deep-sea fishing, scuba diving, whale watching, you name it, they did it, and though the business had taken off, it was usually tame in comparison to their past jobs.
He’d descended with their latest client, one Michael Soder, a certified scuba diver on his honeymoon. They were both in dry suits in deference to the November chill and cold Pacific Northwest waters and had just gone through an arch section made up of sandstone and rocks. Michael had moved in close to the seawalls to examine some sea life and had bumped his face mask on a rock.
Not the end of the world, as the mask itself had nothing to do with his ability to breathe. Except now his nose wasn’t covered so if he tried to inhale that way, he was going to get an unpleasant lungful of seawater. But all the guy had to do was reset his mask. An easy, basic skill and Tanner remained at the ready, waiting for Michael to do it.
But he didn’t. Bubbles began to escape in increasing agitation and Michael lost grip of his mask entirely. Freaked out, he knocked himself into the rock wall, eyes wide as his mask drifted away.
Tanner snatched it, caught Michael by the arm, and held out the mask to him.
But Michael was gone, flailing around like a fish on a hook, completely mindless with panic.
Shit. Tanner tightened his grip and pressed the mask to Michael’s face himself.
The guy continued to thrash a bit until Tanner took him by both arms and put his face right up against his, his own expression calm and steady, the idea being that it would sink into his client to copy that calm.
It took a long moment but finally Michael relaxed slightly. At the first sign of sanity back in his client’s gaze, Tanner guided him out of the arch area.
Once more in open water, he stopped and checked Michael’s mask. It was on solidly now, but his eyes were still wild and panicky. Shit. Tanner checked the guy’s SPG—submersible pressure gauge—and found it lower than it should be, probably because he’d sucked down half his air during his panic attack.
It was easy enough to set him up with Tanner’s own alternative breathing source, but it was game over at that point. There was no way Michael was going to recover in time to enjoy this, and Tanner wasn’t willing to take the chance anyway. His gut feeling was confirmed when he pointed to the surface and Michael readily nodded.
Sharing Tanner’s regulator they swam closely together, with Tanner eagle-eyeing the air pressure as they made it to their designated safety stop, where—per protocol—they would stay for three minutes before hitting the surface.
Twice Michael tried to go early, which made it three extremely long minutes.
If it’d been a true emergency, Tanner would’ve let it happen, but Michael was no novice. He knew the ropes. Which is what made this such an anomaly. They’d done a review on the boat beforehand, and Michael—showing off for his bride, who wasn’t certified and was therefore safe and warm on board above them—had acted all manly and cocky. Tanner should’ve canceled the dive right then and there. He was kicking himself in the ass now for not doing so.
And actually, he’d kicked himself in the ass a whole hell of a lot lately, such as yesterday morning at the bakery in the presence of one adorably sexy strawberry blonde choking on her doughnut.
Sitting with her had been the highlight of his week. Hell, his month. And he wished he’d stayed longer.
He was an idiot.
When they finally surfaced, Michael gasped and sputtered and inhaled a bunch of water. Done with it, Tanner got a firm grip on him, pulling out his own mouthpiece. “Relax,” he ordered as Michael instinctively began to fight. “I’m going to tow you to the swim platform at the back of the boat.”
“I can do it,” Michael said stubbornly.
Hell, no. He’d had his chance. “I’ve got this,” Tanner said with a level stare that helped get the no-more-bullshit point across.
/> Tanner swam them to the boat and Cole, captain and head mechanic, was right there waiting to lift Michael out of the water.
That was the beauty of a partner whose instincts were honed sharp as razors. They never let you down.
“What the fuck?” Cole murmured to Tanner.