Each time the café door opened, Sara’s eyes darted up from her book. And each time her stomach roiled with disappointment and her gaze returned to words that were black blurs.
As she stared at the page, she mentally chastised herself. How stupid she was to send that email! “Choose me,” she’d said. As if there was a chance in hell that charming, cerebral Ben from London would even consider a geeky hick from small-town western Maryland. Her face flushed just thinking about it.
The door swung open again and, again, not Ben from London. Instead, a stocky guy glanced around the café until his eyes lit upon Sara. She frowned as he bound toward her, a bouquet of daffodils in his hand.
“Are you Sara?” he asked in an accent that mimicked Ben’s.
She nodded, a furrow appearing between her brows.
“These are from Ben. He wanted me to tell you that in a perfect world you would always be first choice.”
Sara took the golden flowers. “Thank you,” she said. Hopeless settled in.
The guy continued to stand there.
She raised an eyebrow at him.
“Personally I don’t think the world needs to be perfect,” he said, a cocky grin transforming his features.