He licks his lower lip. “Wish me luck?” I tilt my head. “Do you need it?” “From you, gorgeous? Yes.” He steps into me, nearly brushing against me. It traps the warmth of the coffees I’m holding between us. “Say it, baby.” My lashes flutter and my lips part on a shaky exhale. A gust of wind slices through the square and he rubs my arm, blocking me from the brunt of the cold air with his tall frame. “Good luck,” I finally murmur. The broad grin he gives me forms gradually until the corners of his eyes crinkle with pleasure. He holds a hand over his chest as if he’s captured my words and tucked
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