“Is that a mimosa?” The horror in my voice can’t be tamed. All I can do is gape at him. I can’t seem to find any other words to describe the scene in front of me besides otherworldly. Mimosas. Donuts. An unlit cigar next to a half-empty bottle of champagne. What the hell is going on? Declan halts his steps, and his eyes snap to mine. I bite down on my tongue to make sure I’m not dreaming. The pain is instant, making this moment incredibly real. Whoever this man is, he must be a figment of my imagination. There’s no other explanation for the backward ball cap, athletic pants, and T-shirt
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