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had no idea how I’d react to him in navy-blue slacks and a matching cashmere sweater with just the tiniest hint of his white T-shirt peeking out along the neckline. And the brown leather oxfords to match? I don’t have words—I have heart palpitations, but no words for how handsome he is.
    He’s typing feverishly on his phone, but he stops to look up as I step onto the sidewalk. I watch his stormy blue eyes take in my outfit: a charcoal cardigan over a blousy white button-down half tucked into black leather ankle pants and my black wedge high-top sneakers to add some much-needed elevation. Today my words are professional , stylish , noticeable .
    He looks past me to my car and smiles briefly before gesturing for me to head inside.
    “Not what you expected I’d drive?” I ask as he tugs open the heavy door.
    “Actually, where you’re concerned, I’ve learned that things are never what I expect. However, upon discovery, they make absolute sense.” He silences his ringing phone and drops it into his pocket. “A mint-condition vintage Mini Cooper, for instance? No, I never would have imagined anybody rolling up in that. But having seen it now, I can’t imagine you driving anything else.”
    It makes me inordinately happy to hear the term mint condition , because my granddad and I worked my last three years of high school and part of my freshman year of college on that car. The paint job was something I was able to afford only after taking on a side gig designing the packaging for a dog food company. That cherry-red paint was purchased with the proceeds from my job with the Barkery. I had them add a small black paw print to the corner of the driver’s side door for good luck. Even if Liam doesn’t understand my style, I think he at least appreciates it.
    “Thanks.”
    He shakes off the thank-you with a smirk.
    “It wasn’t a compliment per se.”
    “Sure it . . .”
    The sound of my voice trailing off bounces off the walls and echoes back through the cavernous room. The space is massive—at first glance I’d guess seven or eight thousand square feet. The walls are stripped bare, the floor is dirty, cracked cement, and the entire place smells just slightly of mildew. But the ceiling . . . Gods, the ceiling is incredible .
    It features vaulted white wood in a bowstring-truss style and skylights that let the afternoon sun spill in, lighting up the entire space. It’s gorgeous; I’m enraptured. And just like every other time, a switch is flipped. It’s like taking a filter and laying it over the top of a picture. The look of everything changes and comes into focus. In an instant, I don’t see how it looks; I see how it should look.
    Brick, tile, glass, pendant lights, greenery, raw wood grain, a bar that runs from one side of the room to the other. It’s going to be gorgeous!
    I blink and the bartender in my mind morphs into the man of my dreams. Liam’s curiosity is evident in every line of his face.
    “How long was I out of it?”
    I fight the urge to pop my knuckles while he considers me. I can only imagine what I just looked like.
    “Ten minutes, maybe more. It’s cool, though. I took a phone call and answered a couple of emails.”
    My fingers itch with awkwardness, and I wiggle them for lack of anything better to do. I really need to figure out a sexier nervous tic. Heroines in books are always biting their lip; maybe I should try that too.
    “Sorry, zoning out like that tends to happen on a new project. I think it’s sort of a family trait.”
    His brow furrows.
    “Why are you chewing on your lip like that?”
    My top lip springs free from my teeth with an audible pop.
    “Um, I’m looking for a new nervous tic? I’m considering lip biting.”
    The smallest smile plays across his face.
    “Out of curiosity, what was the old nervous tic?”
    My sigh is resigned. I hold up my hands like a magician and proceed to pop each knuckle in the same pattern I’ve done it in all my life. Index,