He tips his head to the side. “Would you like to go for coffee?”

“With you?” What a ridiculous question.

“Ideally, yes.”

I’m a little blown away that he’s come back here after all this time to ask me on a date, and I’m hesitant, so I don’t answer him directly. “It’s usually seventy degrees on a cool day here, and you want to have coffee with me?”

“It can be iced coffee. Or any kind of beverage, really.”

I would like to say yes because I think coffee with this guy would be nothing if not entertaining. However, I’ve made it a personal policy not to go out with customers because most of them are pervs. Not that I have a problem with pervs or perviness. If I did, I wouldn’t work at this store.

“I don’t go out with customers.”

“What about former customers?”

I make a face. “Look, you’re probably a nice guy. I mean, you seem pretty nice, but you bought a lot of weird stuff a few weeks ago, so I think it’s probably safer for me to pass.”

“If I hadn’t bought all that stuff, would you say yes?”

“But you did.”

“But none of it was for me.”

“So you keep saying.”

He drops his head and kneads the back of his neck, before glancing back up at me. “I look like a huge creep, don’t I?”

I wish he weren’t so hot. Or that I hadn’t been thinking about him constantly since he came in three weeks ago. “Kind of? I mean, I get it, you were doing your friend a solid. It’s not personal.”

“You don’t have to explain. I understand.” He gives me a chagrined smile.

It’s so sweet, I almost swoon right off my chair, another reason why going out with him is a bad idea. I don’t even know him and I find him swoony.

“This probably wasn’t the best thought-out plan. I just came from the golf course, and I was passing by, although I’m sure you’re going to question my honesty here. Anyway, I figured there wasn’t much of a chance of me running into you outside of here and, uh . . . I think you’re probably a lot of fun to spend time with. I’d love an opportunity to find out if that’s true, but I understand why you wouldn’t be interested. I promise I’m not some stalker creep.”

“You know saying that makes you seem like even more of one, right?”

He blows out a long breath and chuckles again. “Yup, I can see that.” He taps his fingers on the counter and gives me a sidelong glance. “Okay. Here’s what I’m going to do.” He grabs the Post-it notes lying by the cash register and uncaps the Sharpie. “I’ll leave my cell number in case you change your mind. I get that you’re probably going to toss it in the garbage as soon as I leave, but since I’m never going to come back to this store for fear of actually turning into a stalker creep, I’ve got nothing to lose, right? Also, I think I left my pride somewhere over in that section the last time I was here.” He motions to the Wall of Peen, then jots down his name and his phone number.

He pushes the Post-it pad toward me and taps once on the counter. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re absolutely stunning, and I haven’t been able to get you out of my head the past few weeks. Believe me, I’ve tried. I hope I hear from you. Although I’m pretty sure what I just said was probably me nailing my own coffin shut.” His eyes roam over my face in a way that feels intensely intimate, as if he’s memorizing me somehow. “Have a nice day, Cosy.”

“Thanks, Griffin, you too.” Man, that sounds way breathy. Also, I kind of like saying his name aloud. It rolls off the tongue nicely. I wonder if I’d say it in exactly that tone if he were say . . . licking some of that flavored lube off my body.

He shoots one more rueful grin over his shoulder before he leaves.

I wait until his sports car pulls out of the lot before I look down at the series of numbers on the yellow Post-it. He has nice penmanship. Which doesn’t mean anything. He could still be a better-dressed, nicer-looking and -smelling version of Eugene.

I stare at the phone number for a few more seconds, aware I’m stalling and trying to memorize it. I shake my head, peel the Post-it off, crumple it into a ball, and toss it in the garbage can. Except I miss and it bounces on the floor and lands next to my shoe. I shouldn’t take that as a sign.

I don’t even believe in signs.

This time when I aim for the trash bin, I don’t miss.