Excerpt - The Girlfriend Zone

Chapter One

Miles

I didn’t expect to meet her today—my future wife.

I had other plans. But as she heads toward me in the coffee shop’s doorway, I just know that’s who she is.

Maybe it’s the ink on her arms that does it—the stenciled flowers cascading down her right forearm—or possibly the mesmerizing sea-blue shade of her eyes. But honestly? It’s probably the smirk she sends my way.

Of course she’s smirking. I’d smirk at me right now given what’s in my arms.

And since I’m holding a life size glittery mannequin, there’s no way my future wife realizes I’m her future husband. The sequined headdress with feathers wider than the doorway probably isn’t helping. Nor is the espresso cup glued to the life-size doll’s hand. But I’m not the kind of guy to let a six-foot-tall showgirl prop get in the way of fate .

I’ve got a gut feeling about her—the inked brunette beauty, not the dummy I’m lugging—and I’m the type of guy who listens to his gut. So, I don’t let this little scene stop me from greeting the woman who’s holding the door open for me to enter the shop.

That won’t do. “I’ve got this. Since, well, chivalry isn’t dead,” I say, managing to grab the door with my free hand and yank it open further so she can exit first. Birdie—aka Grandma—watches with eagle eyes from behind the counter.

The brunette’s gaze slides down to the object in my arms. “And I’m sure your date appreciates what a gentleman you are,” she teases as she slips past me—or rather, past Dolly and me—out onto Fillmore Street.

And just like that, it’s official. She’s the one.

“Honestly, she doesn’t say much,” I stage-whisper, glancing down at the mannequin Birdie insisted I bring her today, saying I need a greeter for the shop. Be a dear and grab Dolly from the foyer.

“Occupational hazard for her, I presume,” the woman deadpans without missing a beat.

“True,” I agree, furrowing my brow at Dolly, then meeting the brunette’s eyes again. “I don’t really know her opinions on most things. Anything really.”

“But maybe that’s what you want in a date?” It’s asked like a leading question, like she’s enjoying the volley too, but is maybe also a touch skeptical of the guy lugging the doll.

“Nope. A good date needs opinions.”

“Is that so? You like lots of opinions?” She sounds doubtful as she adjusts the sweater she’s carrying, since it’s September in San Francisco, which means you never know if it’s going to be warm or breezy.

“Love them,” I say definitively, matching her raised brow. “The more the merrier.”

“Noted.” Her tone is playful, the kind of playful that says keep talking .

“In fact, here’s one for you. An opinion that is,” I say, leaning in just slightly as I lay the groundwork to ask her out. “The chocolate mocha here is excellent.”

“You’re gallant, and you give out free hot beverage tips too? Is it my lucky day or what?”

“Or mine. That is, if you want to share some of your opinions with me.”

She takes a beat, likely assessing me with those curious eyes. Then she nods toward the neon menu behind the counter. “Here you go. The chocolate mocha is good, even with oat milk.”

And we’re getting somewhere. “Good to know. That’s what I’ll order on my next date.”

Her lips—her pretty pink lips—curve into a challenging grin. “Is that so?”

Ah hell. You only live once. I want to ask her out right now—it’s pre-season but there’s no hockey practice tomorrow, so why not lock in the chance right fucking now? Her smile makes me want to dive in, no hesitations. But before I can suggest a time to meet again – like tomorrow same time – she dips her face and checks her phone screen.

It’s in her hand, and from the looks of it, someone’s calling, but I didn’t hear it ring.

Odd. I’d think it was a save me tactic, but her phone flashes with Dad.

The playful atmosphere shifts when she raises her face, her smile fading. Before she answers though, she looks my way once more. “I hope you get to enjoy that mocha on your next date,” she says, her voice softening to the most fantastical flirty whisper. “But just so you know, I prefer tea.”

“I’m filing that away,” I say.

“You do that.”

“Saving it for my next date. Tea,” I say tapping my temple.

She shakes her head, amused. “Better not forget.”

“It’s in the vault.”

Then, with maybe some reluctance in her expression, she turns away and answers her phone in a warm voice, “Hi, Dad.”

She walks up the street. Away from me.

I stand there for a second, weighing what just went down. Did she actually turn me down or did she leave the door open? I’d like to think that was a breadcrumb – I prefer tea – but she could just be phenomenally smooth. I’m not sure. But then, I remind myself this wasn’t going to be as easy as asking her out right here, right now. Nothing good comes easily. I watch her go, admiring her attitude, her sass, her banter, and, well, let’s be blunt—her ass.

But what gets me most is when she reaches the corner. It’s almost imperceptible—just a quick glance over her shoulder—but I see it. She steals a final glance at me.

Yes. Fuck yes.

It was a breadcrumb, and I will take it. Follow it. And devise a plan.

I pump a virtual fist, then haul Dolly inside High Kick Coffee, past chattering customers camped out at tables, and a handful of people waiting to place their orders. Birdie has plenty of employees here to tend to them, but she opened a coffee shop because she likes people as much as she likes bling. In typical Birdie fashion, everything in High Kick Coffee sparkles, from the countertops to the mirrors on the walls to the clock with a woman’s leg kicking back and forth to keep time.

I prop Dolly behind the far end of the counter as my grandmother starts an espresso for me. “Tell me the brunette with the flower tattoos is a regular,” I say, unable to shake the thought of the woman who got away for now. But not for good.

“Why? Are you in love already?” Birdie teases with a knowing grin.

“More like insta-infatuation,” I admit, leaning on the counter. “But sure, call it love.”

Birdie’s smile widens. “Ah, young people.” She gestures to her old showgirl photos hanging behind the counter—pictures of her kicking her leg high while wearing spangled bikinis and feathered headdresses. “The one with the flower tattoos? She’s a photographer.”

“We’re working together soon,” Birdie adds. “Time to update the pics, don’t you think?”

I blink, trying to imagine Grandma’s glory days in Vegas on stage, and now her dusting off her sequins and feathers for a photo shoot. Would she really do one now? Then again, she did insist I drag Dolly all the way from her home to her coffee shop after this morning’s practice ended, so I wouldn’t put anything past her.

Besides, this is the breadcrumb I wanted. “New photos sound great. Especially if you let me know when you’re doing them,” I say, already plotting my return. Like, say, the day when Grandma gets her new pics done.

“We haven’t picked a date yet.”

“But you will.”

“I will,” she says, then adds with a small smile. “Eager much. ”

“I know what I like. What’s her name?”

“Leighton,” Birdie says. “She comes in about once a week.”

“Leighton,” I say, liking the way it sounds. “Perfect. But just to make sure I don’t miss her, I guess I’ll be stopping by every day till I ask her out.”

Birdie laughs, shaking her head. “You were always my most determined one. Now, be a dear and put Dolly by the door. She’s my greeter.”

“Right.” I carry the mannequin easily to the front of High Kick Coffee, where the caffeine comes with an extra kick, letting Dolly greet customers, but not before sneaking one last look up the street. I can barely make out her silhouette disappearing in the distance, but that’s fine.

I’ll be back, Leighton. I’ll be back.

I return to the counter as Birdie gets a break from the morning rush.

“How was practice?” she asks, eyeing me over the steaming espresso she slides my way.

“Great,” I say, feeling a surge of pride. “Playing better than ever. It’s all thanks to Coach.” I owe him everything. I’m still grateful for the chance he gave me a couple years ago when my career was circling the drain. My last team let me go and for a while there I was sure my hockey days were done.

Now, everything’s looking up—and has been for my last couple of seasons with the Sea Dogs.

Especially with my future wife coming back next week.

So I can buy her a cup of tea and hear some of her opinions .