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of the touch sending chills through her fingers and up her arm. Goosebumps broke out everywhere as her cheeks flushed. She dropped her hand immediately, hoping that he didn’t notice her own reaction to the contact. “Let me,” she said sheepishly.
    She got the feeling that he was just as grateful for the subject change as she was. She took the liberty of taking over the kitchen. The owner of The Hideout , the small town coffee shop where Brea had worked for the last several years, had come to appreciate her abilities so much that Brea’s recipes had started showing up on the menu. Now she dug through George’s fridge and cabinets, stacking up everything she would need to impress him with her coffee making abilities.
    “Do you need any help?” His thick, tired voice startled her, nearly causing her to drop coffee beans all over the spotless floor.
    Her body tensed as he moved behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat from his chest burning into her back. He pulled two mugs from a cabinet and placed them beside her numerous ingredients.
    She grinned at him as she worked. “No, thank you. This is kind of my job.” She ground the beans and got the coffee brewing, but she could feel George making judgments on her based on that one statement. “Do you have chocolate syrup and any peppermint?” George raised an eyebrow at her, and Brea laughed.
    “I don’t drink coffee. It’s just not my thing. I prefer the chocolate.”
    “So you’re a connoisseur of coffee, but you won’t drink it?” Brea laughed, nodding. “And this is what you do with your life? Make coffee and serve others?”
    That stung. She happened to love her job, happened to love the people who came into their small coffee shop, happened to love the stories that she heard from those customers. It wasn’t her career choice, but it was what she had chosen to do right now, while she figured out who she was and what she wanted. George sensed her discomfort, though she said nothing, and moved on from the question. “So you just follow the recipes?”
    “I used to, but after so long at it, you start to know what will work and what won’t.” She blushed as she said her next words. “So I started throwing things together and, well, I guess I’m pretty good at it.”
    “But you still won’t drink it?” He asked again, incredulously. “How do you know it’s any good if you won’t even try it?”
    “Well the customers have yet to complain, so I suppose that’s saying something, isn’t it?”
    “I suppose.” As she worked over her coffee creation, she heard him whipping up a hot chocolate behind her. “Whipped cream?” he asked.
    She turned and narrowed her eyes. “Are you kidding me? Whipped cream? What’s hot chocolate without whipped cream?”
    He smiled along with her, piling on the whipped cream and sprinkling chocolate shavings over top. “You have your masterpiece and I have mine! Granted, mine came from a package, and yours,” he nodded towards the concoction on her side of the kitchen and the numerous ingredients she had lain out, “is a fair bit more complicated. Still, I’m proud.”
    Brea giggled and she suddenly realized that she wasn’t having as miserable a time as she had thought she would. “As you should be! It’s beautiful.”
    The fire was roaring as they made themselves comfortable on the couch once again, hot chocolates in one hand, Brea’s special brew in the other. “Would you believe that I’ve not shared this house with anyone since I was a teenager? It was my childhood home, passed down from my grandfather.”
    “Why not?”
    “No-one has…caught my attention.”
    Brea waited, but he said nothing else. She knew there must be more to the story, but for some reason, George was choosing to not share with her. She wouldn’t prod him about it, either. She didn’t want to push him into a corner. “So,” she paused, “is there anything that catches your attention, other than being in the