That Second Chance (Getting Lucky #1)(17)

Silence falls between us as Griffin’s brows pull together, my face once again heating up in embarrassment. Sometimes I forget how quirky and awkward I am in front of extremely attractive men. It’s bad enough he’s already seen me in hysterics, but now I’m morphing into an uncomfortable teenager.

I say weird things.

Things I should probably keep to myself.

Things that would make you cringe if you were watching me on the big screen, slowly shaking your head and whispering under your breath, Why, why, why?

It’s been that way ever since I can remember. I’ve never been smooth around the opposite sex, always stammering over my words and sweating enough to put a major-league baseball team to shame. I’ve had a boyfriend here and there, but nothing ever long lasting, and nothing that truly grew into anything more than teenage puppy love (or just plain lust when I got older).

I shouldn’t be surprised that my awkward tendencies are quickly transferring over to my new town. And here I wanted a fresh start, a new beginning, to become someone independent and strong.

But I guess you can’t squeeze the awkward out of the girl.

Before I can embarrass myself further, Griffin chuckles, disbelief written across his features. “Don’t give up on your dreams. You never know: you very well might sprout that hair one day.” Ruth sets his drink on the counter, and grabbing it, he leaves behind a tip and gives her a quick wave before heading for the door. “See you around, Ren.”

He exits the coffeehouse, leaving me with a pounding heart and racing thoughts.

Dear Lord, did I just tell him I wish I had chest hair?

I kind of want to go crawl in a corner right about now.

As Ruth hands me my coffee and sandwich, I go to pay her, but she holds up her hand. “It’s on me, not just because you’re new but to welcome you to the club.”

“The club?”

She nods. “The ‘I said something idiotic to Griffin Knightly’ club. Happens to all of us at some point.” She winks and then starts wiping down the counter. “He might be untouchable, but that doesn’t mean we don’t still act like fools around him.”

Untouchable? Bad case of love? There’s something I’m missing here when it comes to Griffin Knightly, but no matter how curious I might be, I’m not about to ask. Strange as it might seem, I feel loyal to Griffin. He’s the guy who pulled me out of my car, and he’s been so incredibly kind to me. I don’t want to go digging around for dirt when I don’t need to, especially with the way the gossip is around here. You never know what’s true and what’s not.

And hell, I hope to God Ruth isn’t one of the people I need to worry about when it comes to gossiping. If word got out that the new algebra teacher wants to grow chest hair, the town telephone line might very well explode.



I have a half hour to burn until my landlord arrives with the lease. I spend it sitting in the back of the coffeehouse next to a window, people watching, taking in all the patrons who come into the coffeehouse and all the people walking by on the streets. Just from a small amount of time observing, I can already start to tell who’s a tourist and who’s a local.

The locals have a faster, more purposeful step, while the tourists take their time, getting a feel for the town while they cautiously make their way down the sidewalk. I hope to be a combination of both, sure of where I’m going but also happy to take in the sights, sounds, and smells as I make my way through my new home.

The door to the coffee shop opens, a light breeze floating around the tables and chairs. I focus on the figure in the doorframe, tall and broad, the spitting image of Griffin. But instead of short hair, this man’s hair is longer, curling over his ears, and instead of a white lobster shirt, he’s wearing black jeans and a black button-up shirt, unbuttoned at the top and showing off a small V of his skin. Sleeves rolled to his elbows, a tic pulls at his jaw as he takes in the coffee shop, eyes searching. He’s a man on a mission.

And then a pair of familiar electric-blue eyes spots me, and I’m having a hard time looking away. “Usual, please,” he calls out to Ruth as he walks toward me.

I swear this man is Griffin in a wig. I’m so thrown off it takes a moment to register that he’s standing in front of me, hand held out as a greeting.

“Uh, are you okay?” He bends down slightly to take me in.

“Yes, sorry.” I shake my head, trying to get it together. “Hi, I’m Ren.”

“Rogan from Rogue Realty. Nice to meet you.”

This man is my landlord?

This man who looks like he just walked out of GQ, freshly styled with a douse of cologne from one of the free sample pages. He is all kinds of wow . . . just like Griffin. Port Snow apparently is hot-guy paradise.

He takes a seat across from me and sets down a leather-bound folder. Leaning back in his chair, he casually drapes his right ankle over his knee and stares me down.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You’re giving me a weird look.”

I clear my throat, inwardly chastising myself for staring. “I’m sorry, you just look a lot like the guy who helped me out of my car yesterday.”

“Griff? Yeah, he’s my brother.”

Well, that makes sense. Maybe I do have a concussion; that should have dawned on me a lot sooner than it did, especially knowing his last name.

“Oh . . . yup, there is a definite resemblance. Funny that he didn’t mention you last night when we spoke about the house.”