Like a fucking creeper.
“Jesus,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face. “Get it together.”
This is not normal.
This is not who I am.
I don’t sit outside women’s jobs waiting for a glimpse of them like a lovesick idiot.
I especially don’t do it for women I barely know.
And yet—here I am.
Losing my mind and all because of her.
The bell above the shop door jingles faintly as she steps inside, unlocking for the morning.
And just like that?
Everything in me settles.
“Fuck,” I breathe.
She’s wearing yellow today.
Bright. Soft. Impossible to ignore.
A daffodil-colored blouse tucked into a long, flowy skirt—navy blue, scattered with tiny flowers like someone painted a whole field across the fabric.
The slits along the sides flash just enough leg when she moves to make my brain short-circuit for a second.
She looks like—Sunshine. My Sunshine.
Like the physical embodiment of joy.
Warm. Light.
Untouched by anything ugly.
And I want it.
I want her.
The thought hits hard. Clean. Unavoidable.
I shift in my seat, jaw tightening.
“No,” I murmur. “Not going there.”
I’ve got no right.
No business.
She’s not part of my world.
And dragging her into it?
That’s not happening.