Chapter One

      Atlanta, Georgia, 2012

      “You work here?” Flynn McGrady asked, giving the small coffee shop a once-over.

      Catherine Butler fought a hard roll of her eyes, putting a fake smile on her face just in case her cranky boss was watching her. “Ogres drink coffee?”

      “Only the ones who eat little kids.” He rubbed his flat stomach with the width of his tanned hand and almost grinned. “We have to wash them down with something. Bones have sharp edges.”

      Oh, heavens no. No way was Flynn McGrady ever going to make up for being the biggest ass-hat this side of the county line. Not even with his devastatingly dimpled almost smile.

      Nope. She clutched her pen and pad to quell the rumble he evoked in the pit of her belly, looking down at the Formica table he sat at to avoid his eyes. “Then what can I get for you?” You fun-stomper.

      “What do you suggest?”

      Someone far braver than I yank out whatever’s stuck up your incredibly hard, drool-worthy backside? “Depends on what you like. There’s a menu board right over there.”

      “But I’m asking what you like.” He gave her a view of his rock-hard jaw in all its defiance.

      “I like customers who can read.” She pointed to the chalk menu board she’d spent an hour drawing on happy faces bouncing above steaming cups of coffee that was sitting on the shiny, silver counter.

      More rock-hard jaw, plus the added tic of aggravation, equaled his teeth clenching. As much as she hated to admit it, he made her pulse flex its underused muscles, and had from the first day she’d laid eyes on him at the Oakdale Nursing Home, where both their mothers were temporary residents.

      “And I like baristas who are helpful,” he groused up at her.

      Arlo, her boss and resident tyrant, came into her line of vision, beefy arms folded over his chest, sourpuss in tact. Damn. She’d been on his watch-like-a-hawk list ever since she’d tried to talk a senior customer out of the triple mocha latte that wasn’t really a triple at all.

      Arlo was a cheapskate and Howard, one of her favorite customers, was on a fixed income. He came in every day at noon while his wife was across the way at Oakdale in physical therapy to have a cup of coffee and a sandwich he brought from home, and Cat had fallen in love with his dedication to their marriage.

      Howard’s words about his love for his wife, his devotion to her, touched her. Made her yearn for something that had been elusive to her thus far.

      Love. And a relationship that lasted longer than a few months before she lost interest and took off onto the next shiny thing that caught her eye.

      So, she couldn’t just stand by and watch Arlo overcharge him by fifty cents for absolutely nothing. But encouraging his employees to stiff the customers was just one of the perks of working for Arlo. That and his grabby paws.

      While she needed this job desperately in order to help pay for her mother’s care at Oakdale, she wasn’t willing to sacrifice her conscience over it.

      Cat shuffled her feet when Arlo glared her way, keeping her voice low. “Listen, Mr. McGrady, I realize we’ve had our differences at the nursing home. I meant no harm when I brought your mama those alleged ‘racy’ novels. But you have to admit, it’s helped her remember her words.”

      Flynn opened his pretty mouth to speak.

      But Cat’s hand flapped up before Mr. Pissy Pants could jump in and protest. “I realize the words leaned toward the colorful, but they’re still words, right? After a stroke, it’s important to be able to express yourself. Just ask Dr. Fairlane. He said as much. Now, the nursing home is one thing. But this is my job. Please, save your grudge for the proper venue.”

      Please. After today and her chat with Oakdale’s administrator, who’d reminded her she