That seemed to be the case with everyone, I supposed—having a secret you tried your best to hide.

I leaned in closer to him. “Don’t worry—we all have our quirky habits.” I winked his way and watched ease permeate his gaze.

“Is there a problem?” a stern voice asked.

I took my eyes away from Marty to look up at a grown man who was twice his size. Marty’s father, I assumed from the looks of things. His name tag told me his name was Gary.

Gary glared at his son and sighed, a look of disappointment in his tired eyes. “Are you freaking out the customers again?”

Before Marty could reply—or drop the shaky plate in his hand—I gripped his insecure hands and turned to Gary with a big smile. “I was just eyeing your red velvet cake in the display over there, and your son Marty here was telling me you have the best in town.”

Gary’s eyes softened. His lips turned up into a tiny grin as he crossed his arms and pushed out his chest. “That’s the truth. Best slice of cake you’ll find in Havenbarrow, and all of Kentucky, at that. I make everything from scratch. It’s the real deal. Ain’t nothing fake like that new chain restaurant across the street, taking all our customers. They use all frozen crap that messes with people’s insides. We pride ourselves on using real food. My cake is to die for.” It was amazing how manly Gary still appeared as he talked about a cake.

“Well, I’ll definitely have to come back one day and check it out.”

Gary brushed his palm across his brows. “You definitely do. Well, I better get back to the kitchen. Marty”—Gary’s annoyed look returned—“get to wiping down the other tables before the late-morning crowd comes through.”

Gary disappeared back into the busy kitchen, where pots and pans could be heard rattling. Marty thanked me for distracting his father for a moment then hurried off to place my new order.

While I waited, I pulled out a pen and a notebook from my purse and began adding to my list of things to do in Havenbarrow.

Learn to bake a cake from scratch.

Every now and again, I’d glance over at the table where Mr. Personality sat, and a flurry of nerves would hit me at an overwhelming speed. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him, no matter how much I tried to avert my gaze. I felt as if I were a straight-up creeper, staring in his direction, yet something about him drew me in and made it almost impossible to look away.

He must’ve felt my intense glances at him, because when he looked up from his menu, his eyes landed directly on me. Like the psychopath I was, I didn’t do the normal thing most people did when they were caught staring at a complete stranger.

I didn’t turn my head away.

I didn’t pretend to look past him.

I didn’t scramble to make a run for it.

Nope, nope, nope.

I simply smiled and parted my lips.

“Hi,” I said on an exhalation, loud and clear as he narrowed his eyes.

He blinked three times.

He looked back at his menu, refitted his baseball cap, and rounded his shoulders forward once more, making me feel completely psychotic for even speaking to him. But still, I kept freaking staring.

What was wrong with me?

I’d recently binged the Netflix series You, and I was showing some strong Joe tendencies by watching this complete stranger. If I were Joe, this would have been my current stalker thought process:

You stare at the menu completely uncertain about what you’re going to order. Will it be the green smoothie for you? The pancakes? The oatmeal? No. You look more like an omelet guy. You wear a hat to hide your face, but I don’t know why, seeing as you have a very nice, defined jawline. Even though they are still cold and uninviting, your eyes are worthy of being seen and—holy crap, look the heck away, Kennedy.

What had gotten into me?

I watched as he removed his hat, set it down on the table, and raked his hands through his hair.

Marty came back to the table, did his quirky routine, and placed my food down. I inhaled the amazing aromas arising from my meal. I didn’t wait for Marty to walk away before I started shoveling the food into my mouth in a very unladylike fashion.

“So what brings you to town?” he asked with a bit of wonderment in his eyes, probably in response to how quickly I was stuffing the food into my mouth.

“I’m renting a place from my sister and brother-in-law for the next few months,” I said, taking in a forkful of eggs.

“Oh, with your…boyfriend? Husband?” Marty asked.

My stomach knotted up as I glanced down at my ringless finger. It had been a few hours since I’d thought about my past. Leave it to nice Marty to prompt those emotions to come rushing back at me.