“Could we…I mean, would it be okay…” He gestured between us. A flush crept up his neck.

  The want in Cooper’s eyes was unmistakable—raw and hungry and directed entirely at me. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I was certain he could hear it, and hope blazed through my chest like wildfire. This wasn’t part of our careful bargain. This wasn’t It’s no big deal. Cooper McKay wanted to kiss me again, and the realization sent every nerve ending in my body into overdrive. If he wanted this—really wanted this—then maybe I had a real shot. Maybe these four weeks could become something more, something that could last beyond any deadline we’d foolishly set. “If we both want it…”

  He nodded.

  I stepped closer, and my demanding body revealed exactly how I felt about him. Cooper’s breath hitched as I raised a hand to his cheek and cradled his face gently. I leaned in to press my lips to his.

  The moment our lips met, Cooper made a small sound in the back of his throat. His arms wrapped around my waist.

  Any restraint I possessed dissolved. I backed him against the door. One hand slid to his waist while the other tangled in his hair.

  Cooper’s tongue traced the seam of my lips, and I opened to him with a low groan. The kiss turned ravenous, no longer anything resembling taking things slowly, but something far more primal and honest.

  After a long moment, we finally broke apart, both of us breathing hard. Cooper’s pupils were blown. Our bodies strained toward each other despite the small space we’d put between us.

  “That was…” Cooper’s voice was wrecked, his lips reddened from our kiss.

  “Yeah.” I struggled to gather the scattered pieces of my self-control. If we didn’t stop now, I wouldn’t be able to stop at all. And as much as my body screamed for more, I needed to be smart about this. I couldn’t risk rushing him or scaring him away. I wanted to convince him honestly, to take the time to show him how good we could be together, to let him discover his feelings naturally rather than pushing too hard, too fast.

  “You should go,” I said, the words physically painful to utter. “Before…”

  I didn’t finish the sentence, but understanding flashed across Cooper’s face, followed by something that looked unexpectedly like disappointment. He hesitated, as if wanting to say something or perhaps to push me back into the living room and continue what we’d started.

  Then he nodded. “I’ll text you when I get the proofs,” he said, his voice still not entirely steady.

  “Great. Sounds good. Goodnight,” I managed, feeling like a character with limited dialogue options.

  “Goodnight, Jack.” His eyes searched mine for a long moment before he turned, opened the door, and stepped onto the landing. His footsteps retreated down the stairs.

  I closed the door and leaned against it. My whole body thrummed with unfulfilled desire. This was rapidly spinning out of control. Cooper was responding to me with an intensity I’d never anticipated, blurring the lines of The Boyfriend Bargain in ways that both thrilled and terrified me.

  The thrill was intoxicating—every heated look, every breathless moment when he leaned into my touch, every time he initiated contact that went beyond what a temporary relationship required. It was everything I’d dreamed of for over a decade.

  But the terror was just as real. What if I pushed too hard and lost my chance at love?

  I pressed my palm against my chest, trying to slow my racing heart. The stakes had never been higher. I was playing for everything: Cooper’s heart, our future, and the possibility of turning this beautiful exploration into something real and lasting.

  Four weeks had seemed like plenty of time when this started. Now it felt like both an eternity and nowhere near enough.

  I was falling without a safety net, and I’d never wanted anything more in my life.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Cooper

  Wednesday’s predawn darkness wrapped around me as I unlocked the coffee shop, the familiar rituals of turning on lights and accepting deliveries doing little to quiet my restless thoughts. Three days had passed since we’d kissed after brainstorming for A Latte Love, and I couldn’t stop thinking about how right it had felt. Something had shifted between us since then, a heightened awareness that followed us through our daily interactions. When he’d stopped by yesterday for his usual morning coffee, there had been lingering glances, touches that lasted a beat too long, conversations layered with meaning that had nothing to do with testing the waters. The air between us felt electric with possibility, and all I wanted was to get him alone again. I wanted to explore this new closeness, to see where it might lead.

  But this morning I knew something was wrong by five. Jessica had yet to arrive, and all the normal morning prep routine had fallen to me. I rushed to arrange the fresh pastries in the display case, unload the dishwasher, and warm up the espresso machine.

  Then, my phone pinged with a message from Jessica.

  Been barfing all night. So sorry, can’t make it in today.

  My stomach sank. I blew out a breath and ran a hand through my hair. I quickly sent a text to Marco and asked him to come in. He replied within minutes.

  Sorry. Got a stomach bug.

  “No, no, no,” I muttered and quickly calculated the disaster I faced. Both my daytime employees were sick, the morning rush was fast approaching, and my afternoon staff members were all in high school—unavailable until at least two-thirty.

  I dove into emergency mode. I raced through the essential setup tasks: stocking the condiments bar, filling the grinder with beans, taste-testing the espresso… I could handle a busy coffee shop alone for a few hours if absolutely necessary—I’d done it in college, but it wouldn’t be pretty.

  The first customers trickled in at six, and by six-thirty, a line had formed. I pulled shots, steamed milk, and rang up orders simultaneously. I tried to maintain a calm demeanor while I inwardly panicked. I’d already called my afternoon staff and pleaded for anyone who could come in early, but I had secured only a tentative promise from Aaron to arrive by one-thirty after his half-day of classes.

  That left me facing the morning and lunch rushes alone. Seven solid hours of non-stop orders.

  “Be with you in just a minute,” I called to the next customer as I finished a pour-over. Sweat was already beading on my forehead despite the January chill, and I’d only been at it for an hour.

  The bell above the door jingled, and I didn’t even look up. I mentally added another customer to the growing line. The morning was slipping away from me. Orders took too long, and the line backed up. My usual efficiency crumbled under the sheer impossibility of being everywhere at once.

  “What’s going on?” asked a familiar voice when I finally reached the next customer.

  I glanced up to find Jack standing at the order counter. His eyes took in the chaotic scene around me: dirty pitchers piled up, coffee grounds scattered across the workspace. My normally immaculate station looked like a hurricane had hit it.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Jessica and Marco are both out with the stomach flu,” I said, already reaching to make his drink. “I’m solo until at least one-thirty.”

  Jack’s eyes widened as he glanced at the line. It stretched out the door. “You can’t handle this crowd alone.”

  “I don’t have a choice,” I muttered, harried. “I don’t have anyone who can come in, so…” I trailed off as I handed him his Americano. “What else can I do?” I shrugged. And then, because I couldn’t help myself, I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “See you later?” I asked softly.

  “Actually,” Jack said, not moving away from the counter, “I can help.”

  I paused before I turned toward the next customer. “What?”

  “I can help,” he repeated and shrugged off his jacket. “I don’t have any meetings until this afternoon. I’m not trained, but I’m a quick learner, and you look like you’re drowning.”

  For a moment, I just stared at him, unable to process this unexpected lifeline. Then reality reasserted itself as the customer behind him cleared her throat pointedly.

  “Jack, you have a job. I can’t ask you to⁠—”

  “You’re not asking, I’m offering.” He moved around the counter as if he belonged there. “Put me to work, Cooper. What do you need?”

  Relief crashed through me so intensely I nearly swayed on my feet. “You’re serious?”

  “Dead serious. Now stop wasting time we don’t have.”

  The decisiveness in his voice snapped me back into professional mode. “Register,” I said. “Take orders and payments. I’ll make the drinks.”

  Jack nodded, washed his hands at the sink, donned an apron, and stepped up to the register. I addressed the waiting customer. “Sorry for the delay. I promise we’ll get everyone taken care of.”

  The woman smiled, more patient now that we were working on the issue. “No problem.”

  I spent thirty seconds giving Jack a crash course on the POS—which, thankfully, he picked up quickly since he’d been inside its guts mere weeks ago. “Just enter the drinks here, sizes here, modifications here,” I explained rapidly. “The system calculates the total.”

  “Got it,” Jack said with a confidence I desperately needed. “Go make coffee. I’ve got this.”

  And, remarkably, he did. There were a few hiccups in the beginning—confusion over modifications, questions about heating pastries—but Jack adapted with astonishing speed. Within twenty minutes, we’d established a workable rhythm: Jack taking orders, handling payments, and serving pastries and breakfast sandwiches while I focused exclusively on drink preparation.

  The line began to move again. Not as quickly as it would have with experienced staff, but steadily enough that customers stopped checking their watches and glancing at the door.

  As the morning progressed, I caught glimpses of Jack’s interactions with customers. He’d always been friendly, though a bit socially awkward. But he relaxed around the regulars, and his natural warmth shone while he moved the line along. He remembered names after hearing them once, joked easily with the college students, and showed infinite patience with those who took longer to find their payment cards.

  “You knew Layla’s usual order?” I asked during a brief breather, impressed after I’d heard him confirm “the usual” with one of my longtime customers.

  Jack shrugged. “I’ve been sitting in here watching you work for months, Coop. I pay attention.”

  Something tender unfurled in my chest at that simple statement. He’d been paying attention. To my customers. To my work. To me.

  The morning rush gave way to the mid-morning lull, giving us just enough time to restock and clean up the worst of the mess before the lunch crowd walked in. Jack navigated behind the counter with growing confidence. He anticipated needs before I voiced them and slid seamlessly into a supporting role as if he’d been working there for years instead of hours.

  “You’re a natural at this,” I said as he handed me a clean milk pitcher just as I was reaching for one.

  “Nah,” he replied with a grin. “I just have a good teacher.”

  Our eyes met briefly, and something passed between us—a moment of connection that had nothing to do with coffee or customers and everything to do with our bargain. I’d been too busy to think about it all morning, but now the memory rushed back with startling clarity: Jack’s lips on mine, his hand in my hair.

  The moment broke as a new wave of customers entered, the lunch rush beginning. We fell back into our rhythm, moving around each other in the confined space behind the counter with almost choreographed precision. When I needed space at the espresso machine, Jack instinctively stepped aside. When he needed access to the register, I shifted without being asked. We’d always been attuned to each other as friends, but this dance was something new and surprisingly intimate.

  Lunch was in full swing when the bell above the door chimed. Mrs. Abernathy stepped up to the register and ordered a decaf vanilla latte. “You two make such a good team,” she said. “Like you’ve been working together for years.”

  “I’m lucky to have a boyfriend who’s good in a crisis.” The words came out naturally, and the strange thing was, they didn’t feel temporary at all.

  Jack glanced over at me. A fleeting look of surprise crossed his face before he grinned and turned back to the next customer. But that brief look spoke volumes.

  The lunch rush peaked around twelve-thirty. A steady stream of orders kept us too busy for conversation beyond the necessities. Through my peripheral vision, I watched Jack work and noted the focused set of his jaw, the easy way he engaged with customers, the quick efficiency of his movements. I’d always thought Jack was amazing, but seeing him like this—competent and dedicated, rising to a challenge without complaint—added a new dimension to my appreciation.

  This wasn’t just my comfortable best friend. This was someone I could rely on absolutely. Someone who saw a need and filled it without being asked. Someone who made a chaotic, stressful situation manageable through sheer force of will and adaptability.

  Aaron arrived at one-thirty, and his gaze darted nervously around the shop. But Jack and I had the situation well in hand. The line was manageable, the equipment cleaned between rushes, and even the refrigerator restocked with milk.

  “Whoa.” Aaron took in the scene. “I was expecting a disaster. You guys look like you’ve got everything under control.”

  “All thanks to Jack.” I lifted my chin toward him. “He saved the day.”

  Jack shook his head. His familiar, modest grin appeared. “I just ran the register. Cooper did all the real work.”

  “I couldn’t have managed without you.” I meant it more than he probably realized. “Seriously, Jack. You’re a lifesaver.”

  Aaron clocked in, took over the register, and freed Jack from his impromptu duties. I walked Jack to the front of the shop, suddenly aware of how disheveled we both looked after hours of continuous work. Jack’s light brown hair was mussed where he’d run his hands through it, and a smudge of ink marked his cheek. I probably looked even worse.

  Yet somehow, standing there in my coffee-stained apron, watching Jack roll down his sleeves, I’d never felt more drawn to him.

  “Thank you,” I said quietly. “Really.”

  “Anytime.” His blue eyes met mine with a warmth that made my pulse quicken. “I’m glad I could help.”

  “Can I make you a fresh coffee? A sandwich?”

  Jack glanced at his watch. “Better not. I’ve got a meeting in five minutes.” He hesitated, then added, “Rain check?”

  “Absolutely.”

  An awkward moment passed between us, neither sure how to say goodbye. Jack resolved the dilemma. He leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to my cheek. “See you later,” he said, his voice low. “Try not to work too hard.”

  “No promises,” I replied, mindful of the warmth his lips had left on my skin.

  With a final crooked grin, he was gone. The bell announced his departure with its cheerful jingle. I stood there for a moment and watched through the windows as he passed by. A strange mixture of emotions swirled inside me like milk steaming in a pitcher—turbulent and transforming.

  What did you call it when your best friend kissed you senseless after planning an event? When he stepped behind the counter of your coffee shop without hesitation because you needed help? When the sound of him remembering how Layla took her coffee caused strange aerial maneuvers in your stomach?

  What did you call it when a temporary relationship started to feel more authentic than anything you’d experienced before?

  As I turned back to help Aaron with a customer order, I admitted to myself what I’d been avoiding all day: my feelings for Jack were quickly evolving into something I’d never anticipated. Something that both thrilled and terrified me.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Cooper

  I glanced at the clock on my phone for the third time in five minutes. 9:17 a.m. Jack was over an hour late for his usual Saturday routine, and the wrongness of it sat heavy in my chest like day-old coffee grounds.

  The table by the window—Jack’s table—remained stubbornly empty despite the steady stream of weekend customers flowing through The Coffee Cove. I watched the door between pulling shots and tracked every figure that passed by the large front windows. None of them had Jack’s easy stride or the way he always paused just inside the doorway to scan the shop until his gaze found me behind the counter.

  My hands moved on autopilot, steaming milk and crafting drinks, while my mind catalogued all the reasons Jack might be running late. Oversleeping, a last-minute errand, a client’s emergency. All perfectly reasonable explanations that did nothing to ease the knot of concern tightening in my stomach.

  By 10:15, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I pulled out my phone, and my thumbs hesitated over the keyboard before I typed:

  Coming in today? Your usual table is getting lonely.

  The reply came back faster than I’d expected.

  Sick. Stomach flu.

  My blood went cold. The stomach bug. The same one that had taken out Jessica and Marco earlier in the week, when Jack had stepped in to keep the shop running.

  And now Jack had it.

  Jack, who lived alone in his apartment. Jack, who had no family to call, had no one to check on him. Jack, who was probably curled up on the floor of his bathroom right now with no one to bring him water or make sure he didn’t get dangerously dehydrated.

  The protective instinct that surged through me caught me off guard with its intensity. This wasn’t just concern—this was need. The need to be there, to take care of Jack, to make sure he was okay. More than that, I wanted to do it. I wanted to be the person Jack could count on.

  “Jessica,” I called out, already untying my apron. “I need you and Marco to take over. I’m leaving.”

  Jessica looked up from the register, eyebrows shooting toward her hairline. “You’re what now? Cooper, you haven’t taken a sick day in the year I’ve worked here. You came in with a broken wrist.”

 

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