Tiffany sat at her desk, her fingers drumming impatiently on the smooth surface. She hated how distracted she’d become lately, her eyes drifting to the door every few seconds, hoping—no, waiting—for him to walk in. Jacob had somehow wormed his way into her thoughts, and it was driving her mad.

She frowned, tapping her pencil harder. She shouldn’t care. She really shouldn’t be this eager to see him, with his stupidly adorable dimples and that infuriatingly laid-back attitude.

But ...