He threaded his way into the middle row of chairs. There was plenty of room to spread out, so he sat down mid-aisle. The front row was too conspicuous. The back row was for those who wanted to catch a nap. He hoped the author didn’t mind a few questions from the audience, either.

The only way things could be more perfect for Drew at that moment was if the bookstore sold beer on tap.

KENDALL TRACY STOOD in the parking lot of the bookstore wrestling with an umbrella blown inside-out as the heavens opened up. She’d been sitting in meetings all day. Stepping out of a warm, dry hotel conference room into a ferocious rainstorm wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had. She attempted to pull the umbrella back into working shape while she clutched the hood she wore with her other hand. Needless to say, she was getting smacked in the face with rain and wind, and the umbrella was unsalvageable.

She wasn’t used to torrential downpours accompanied by strong winds. The weather was perfect when she flew out of San Francisco last night. It might get a little windy at times, but she’d be more likely to don additional layers than get soaked there. She’d been heading to a restaurant a few doors down for a glass of wine, but now she reversed course. A bookstore would be a great place to wait until the storm let up a bit.

She dropped the ruined umbrella next to the front door of the bookstore and found herself propelled through the entrance by a gust of wind. A few other people followed her inside. They milled around the tables stacked with books, crowded aisles, and a few hurried into the attached Starbucks to warm up. She had a digital reader, but it might be nice to find something new to read while she curled up in yet another hotel bed for the night.

She was in Seattle on business a few times a year with her employers, the San Francisco Miners. The football team and front office personnel typically stayed closer to the airport, but she was happy for the opportunity to get out and walk a little. She would have been flat-out thrilled if the weather cooperated. Despite the storm, she was safe, indoors, and there were plenty of books available. She hurried over to the Women’s Fiction section but halted mid-aisle at a free-standing sign.

There was a book signing in ten minutes by a guy who’d written a book about Carl Sagan. Her dad loved astronomy. He’d shown her VCR tapes of Carl Sagan’s show as a kid too. Maybe the author would sign one of his books for her dad. Kendall glanced over at a grand total of one guy sitting in the four rows of chairs set up for the event. She could spend a few minutes listening to the author’s comments. She’d buy a book or two and make a dash for the hotel again.

DREW GLANCED UP as a tall, curvy woman in dress clothes sat down a few chairs away from him. She shoved the hood of her jacket off, and it was all he could do not to stare. Her black hair was cut in a shiny cap around her face. Her skin was palest alabaster, dewy with what must have been rainwater, and her mouth was the shade of juicy summertime cherries. When she glanced over at him and smiled, he noted her eyes were dark gray. Those yes roamed over his face. She rested her handbag on the chair between them.

The bookstore employee hurried away for some reason, and they were left alone. She clasped her hands in her lap while she waited. He quickly checked for rings: She didn’t wear one. He was getting a bit warm, but if he took off his jacket and the knit hat he wore, every football fan in the building would recognize him. He also wanted to speak to the woman two seats away from him.

She smelled like green apples—fresh, delicious, and tempting. He cleared his throat, and she glanced up at him.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi.” She treated him to another smile.

“The author must be a little late this evening.” Normally, he’d think of something witty and memorable to say to a woman he’d just met. Right now, it was all he could do to remember the English language, let alone string sufficient words together to form a sentence.

“Maybe he’s caught in traffic. It’s awful out there,” she said.

“Yes, it is,” he said. There were a hundred things he’d like to say to her right now, but he went for the safest. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Drew,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Kendall.” He clasped her smaller hand in his. Her skin was cool and dry. She wore red nail polish, and he hated letting go of her. “Nice to meet you as well, Drew.”

“Do you live in Bellevue?”

“Actually, I don’t. I’m here on business this week. I live in Santa Clara, which is just outside of San Francisco.”

“Sounds like a great place to live.”

“Yes, it is.” He saw her lips curve into a smile again, and the flash of perfect teeth. Her eyes sparkled. “I’m guessing you live here.”

“My house is a couple of miles away.”

She glanced over at him again. “Hopefully, you didn’t walk to the store.”

He chuckled a little. “It sounded like a great idea at the time.” He nodded at the dampness of her coat. “I’m guessing you did too.” He slipped his arm around the back of the chair between them while slouching to stretch his legs out a little. She didn’t move away. This was a very good sign.

Silence fell. He sifted through the hundred things he’d like to ask her about. A woman that looked like her had heard a line from every guy she came into contact with, so he’d have to come up with something original and appealing. She glanced around the store and gave him another smile. Unless he was really wrong, she wanted to keep talking.

“It looks like we’re the only Sagan fans in the bookstore tonight,” he said.

To his surprise and delight, she made accompanying arm gestures as she imitated Sagan’s trademark line: “Billions and billions . . .”

“Did you watch the show, or did you watch Saturday Night Live reruns?”

“A little of both,” she admitted. “My dad was really into it.”

The bookstore employee raced out of one of the aisles and hurried over to the author’s table. She glanced at the empty chairs surrounding Drew and Kendall and grabbed one of the boxes she’d been unpacking books out of less than ten minutes ago.

“I’m so sorry,” she told them. “The author just called. His flight has been on a ground hold in San Francisco due to high winds, and it’s just been cancelled. He won’t be able to be here tonight. He is very sorry.”

Kendall gave her a polite nod and picked up her handbag. Drew leaned forward in his chair. “I’d like to buy a copy of his book anyhow.”

“Of course,” the employee said, handing him one of the books.

“I’ll take one too,” Kendall said. Her dad would enjoy it, autographed or not.

Drew turned to face her.

“Kendall, would you like to have a cup of coffee with me?”

A FEW MINUTES later, Drew and Kendall sat down at a table in the Starbucks next door. She set the plastic bookstore bag and her handbag next to her chair. The typically crowded, noisy coffee shop was now almost deserted. The employees had even dimmed the overhead lights a bit. She took a sip of the green tea latte Drew had bought for her and watched him gently nudge the plate holding a couple of cookie bars toward her.

“How about a blueberry oatmeal bar? I whipped it up myself.”

She let out a laugh, and his lips moved into a grin. His smile softened chiseled facial features that wouldn’t have been out of place on a Viking: strong brow, high cheekbones, deep-set cornflower-blue eyes flecked with silver, square chin, straight white teeth, and blond stubble. He must have been taking a break from the wenching and pillaging tonight. The laugh lines around his eyes and his mouth that appeared when he smiled told her he was most likely a happy person.