3

I picked up my coffee. “I’ll find another place to sit. You can go back to studying.”

Her hand shot out, grabbing my arm. I looked down at her fingers against the navy fabric of my suit—pale, small, and frail.

“No, please, I was teasing. I do that when I’m nervous—make jokes and say things without thinking. I’m sorry.”

I huffed and sat back down, unsure why I did so. She grimaced anxiously and plucked at the sleeve of her sweater.

“I have a condition,” she announced.

“I’m sorry?”

“I get cold easily. I have really poor circulation. So, when you’re hot, I’m comfortable. When you’re cold, I’m freezing. That’s why I wear a sweater in the summer, and it’s why I’m sitting at this table. It’s sort of tucked away and the air conditioning doesn’t work well back here, so it’s not as popular.” She grinned, and a deep dimple appeared on her left cheek. “In the winter, it’s reversed, and it’s so hot here no one wants this table, but it’s perfect for me.”

I realized she was trying to make up for her teasing by sharing something personal, and my annoyance lessened. “Is it serious?” I asked, somehow curious. “Your condition.”

“No, it’s something I’ve dealt with since I was a child. It’s like a temperature malfunction; more annoying than anything.” She shrugged. “People think I’m overdramatic, but it’s a simple fact of life for me.” She went back to her work.

I sipped my coffee and finished my scone. It truly was delicious.

I studied my table companion again while she had her attention on her laptop screen. She was frowning, tapping her chewed pen on her chin, mouthing the words she read. Her brow furrowed and she pulled her sweater tighter. I wondered if there was a way to make her more comfortable. Startled, I shook my head at the strange thoughts. She looked my way, and our gazes locked. The sunlight streaming through the window caught her eyes. The light was bright enough I could see small flecks of gold around her pupils, like bursts of sunshine. Her expression was no longer challenging, but gentle. The need to share something with her filled my thoughts, and I leaned closer.

“My father was Winston Bentley Ridge the second. I’m the third. I hate the name Winston, so I use Bentley. I know it’s pretentious”—I shrugged—“but I’m told often enough I am as well, so it fits.”

She smiled at me. A huge smile that showed off her straight, white teeth.

“So, a pretentious ass then?”

I gave up trying not to laugh. She was honest to a fault. “You got me.”

“Rich too, I suppose.”

“Rolling in it.”

“Yep, I figured. All rich, pretentious assholes come to Al’s Coffee Shop for the scones.”

“Of course. They’re amazing. I heard it at the club.”

I found it odd I was sitting there, joking with a random girl about my life—and, enjoying it. Possibly, it was because she didn’t believe a word I said, even though some of it was true.

“Where’s your bodyguard?” She lifted her eyebrows dramatically. “Is he waiting for your signal to pounce? Take me out for my insolent behavior?”

“No, you’re safe. He’s having breakfast down the street. He’ll be along shortly. If I change my mind, though, you’d best run.”

“Are you serious?” Her mouth was agape.

“About having a bodyguard? Yes.”

“Wow. I’ve never met anyone with a bodyguard before today.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

She snorted. “Yeah, we all have one. Mine must be having his nails done right now. He likes them short, so they look good when he holds his gun.”

Once again, I chuckled.

She glanced at her watch. “Oh shit. I’m late!”

I watched, amused, as she slammed her laptop shut, gathered up her papers, and shoved it all into the larger rucksack haphazardly, yanking on the zipper to get it closed. It took everything in me not to tell her if she organized things better, her possessions would last longer and be in better shape. The rucksack was falling apart—both of them were. I wondered why she carried so many items that she needed two rucksacks. I reminded myself it was none of my business. Seeing my car pull up outside, I stood.

“I’ll see you out.”

She waved her hand in front of her face. “Oh Lord, such manners.”

Smirking, I indicated she should go ahead of me. At the door, I reached around her, letting her out first.

Outside, Aiden stood by the car, his arms folded over his mammoth chest.

“Whoa. Is that him?”

“It is.”

“Well, you’re safe, I believe.”

“I think I’m good.”

She turned, and her hair lifted in the breeze, the color vivid in the sun, a mixture of blonde and brown that swirled around her face. I had the strangest urge to lift my hand and tuck the loose strands behind her ear. Instead, I cleared my throat and stepped back.

“Thank you for allowing me to share your table, Emmy. Have a good day.”

A look of disappointment crossed her face, then she nodded.

“You too, Rigid. I am sorry about tripping you. Try to use your smile a little more, okay?”

“Ridge. It’s Bentley Ridge.”

She ignored me. “Can I tell you something, Rigid? My name isn’t Emmy.”

“It’s not?”

She leaned up on tiptoes, close to my ear, her small hand resting on my forearm. “No. It’s Winifred.”

“Winifred?”

“Yep. Winifred Windfall. That means, really, I’m Freddy Money. So, Bentley Ridge isn’t that bad.”

I could feel the amusement growing in my chest once more. I felt the brush of her lips against my cheek.

“Have a good day.”

She spun on her heel and walked away, peeking over her shoulder with a wave.

I watched her until she disappeared around the corner, my grin fading as she did.