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He had been sitting near the door, working on his laptop for the past hour. Celeste had spent most of that hour staring at him, memorizing his strong jaw and dark brows. Then she sketched him, committing his likeness to a piece of scratch paper from her purse. She gathered her things, placed her coffee cup in the basket above the trash can, and approached him. By the time the drawing landed on the man's keyboard, she was already out the door.

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