Morgan slowed when she saw the sign for the café up ahead.

She told herself she wasn’t stalling. That it was natural to feel apprehension when walking into an unfamiliar situation. The same thing happened every time she was called to a scene, that sense of not quite knowing what to expect. And, just like those times, a double-pump hazelnut with oat milk creamer would settle her nerves.

She parked at the curb and went inside.

The place was warm and smelled like coffee and buttery sweet pastries, with only a few patrons occupying the space. A cluster of older men sat near the window. A woman focused intently on her laptop at the back. Two teenagers perched at the counter, thumbing their phones. She’d hit the place at the perfect time, when the lunch rush had cleared and nobody was in a hurry to be anywhere else.

Morgan stepped inside and paused, subconsciously registering the layout like the scene investigator she was. Counter, straight ahead. Kitchen pass-through visible at the back. Mismatched but cozy-looking table and chair combinations to the left and right. A middle-aged woman at the till. Exit at the rear. Nothing that required a second look.

Except possibly for the man at the counter.

He was talking to a younger, attractive woman refilling the coffee station, but he was the one Morgan focused on first. Jet-black hair, intense blue eyes. Tall, lean, and powerfully built. His hand was loose around a large paper cup as he said something that made the woman laugh and bat her eyelashes.

Morgan profiled him without thinking. Social fluency—high. Conscious of how he commanded a room—also high, but casual and easy, not calculated. Twenty-six to twenty-eight years old. Local, almost certainly. Confident and comfortable in his own skin.

A charmer.

Or, put another way, the kind of man women tended to make poor decisions around.

Case in point—the young woman he was talking to was even easier to peg, describable in one word: smitten.

No, thank you.

Morgan moved her attention to the lighted menu mounted on the wall, far more interested in the caffeinated choices than the Hallmark moment taking place in front of her.

She was almost to the counter when he turned and took a step, and the movement brought his arm directly into her path. Morgan, who had been focused solely on her options—and definitely not stalling—didn’t course-correct in time.

They collided. The cup in his hand tipped, and a hefty splash of coffee painted the front of his shirt.

She stepped back, irritated, and catalogued the damage.

His Henley was light enough—a beige that highlighted the tanned expanses of skin at his neck and forearms—that the coffee stain was unmistakable. Hopefully, it wasn’t piping hot. The lack of steam rising from his chest suggested it wasn’t.

The woman he’d been talking to made a sound of distress and rushed behind the counter, murmuring about getting a towel.

“That was my fault,” Morgan said matter-of-factly. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

The man turned his full attention on her. Rather than being annoyed or angry, he seemed amused. Not laughing at her, just lit up in some small way, either by the situation or her readiness to assume blame.

“I don’t know,” he said smoothly. “I was the one who moved.”

“I was already in motion, and you were otherwise occupied. The fault’s mine.”

One corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Do you always apologize so precisely?”

He tilted his head slightly and looked at her, his gaze going from simply amused to curious. Morgan held it because it was impossible not to. That shade of blue was the same vibrant color as the cloudless autumn sky.

Then he smiled. Not the practiced, charming smile she would have predicted. This was something softer than that. Almost involuntary.

The crooked half-grin intensified those apprehensive flutters under her rib cage, which was ridiculous. She was known for keeping her cool and calm in any situation.

“Can I buy you another coffee?” she asked, because that was the decent thing to do.

His grin grew. “To drink or to wear?”

Her lips thinned.

“Just kidding,” he said. “I’m good but thank you.”

His earlier companion returned with a towel, and Morgan took the opportunity to end the exchange, turning and moving to the end of the counter to order properly. She didn’t look back as she paid for her order and left, telling herself that the weird feeling in her stomach had everything to do with being out of her comfort zone and nothing whatsoever to do with him.

Copyright 2026

Abbie Zanders

All Rights Reserved