AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I insist. And I’ll have what she’s having. Sounds like she knows what she’s doing,” he tells Meagan. With that, he whips out an Amex Black card, swipes it through the machine, and walks past me to sit at one of the tables while he waits for Meagan to make our drinks.
I should be happy to be done with him and even happier to hear that luscious sound of beans grinding, which means I won’t be “slangry” for much longer. Instead, I’m annoyed again because this man has walked over and sat at the one table by the window where I always drink my latte.
Always.
I’m not a rigid person. I get along with others. You don’t grow up as the youngest of five siblings without knowing how to sit in the middle seat of the car and make do with the orange popsiclenobody wants. I am nothing if not accommodating and easy to be around—once I’ve had my coffee.
But I do have this one daily ritual. Each of my siblings has one. We all live on the two-hundred-acre property that houses our vineyards and winery—as well as the inn and two restaurants. Part of how we’ve managed to live and work so close to one another is that we each have our roles and habits and give each other space.
Archer, the eldest, likes to run at the crack of dawn, so his whole morning routine is a mystery to me, someone who prefers to stay in bed until it’s light outside. Similarly, our middle brother, Jackson, has some need to get to his office at four in the morning or something ridiculous. I don’t cross paths with him on the way to work…ever.
Beatrix, my older sister, is a little more normal in terms of waking hours, at least, but she has an espresso machine in her office. That leaves Dashiell, the youngest sibling, save for me. He tends to go out most nights, sleep in most days, and he never cooks. That extends to making a cup of coffee. He’s in charge of all the hiring around here, and I’ve never known him to schedule a meeting before ten in the morning. If anyone, he’s who I’d expect to see in the café.
This brings me back to the man in front of me, sitting at my table. He’s not someone who works for us. The winery’s tasting room isn’t open yet, so there’s no real reason for anyone other than my family or an employee to be here.
I stand in front of him, realizing I’ve been here for a minute at least without doing anything but stare. He doesn’t seem bothered. He’s probably used to women gawking at his pretty face.
He meets my gaze with the same steady curiosity as before. Maybe he’s missing a few marbles.
The sound of steaming oat milk calms my frayed nerves a bit, and I tell myself that I just need to get my coffee, inhale the entire cup, and be on my way. That would be the best idea.
Instead, I point at the chair, dwarfed by his large frame. He has an arm slung over the wooden backrest and sits facing sideways to the table. “I normally sit there.”
It’s ridiculous. I know I’m being ridiculous. If he’s a guest here, that’s all the more reason for me to let him sit wherever the heck he wants. I don’t know what’s come over me this morning, except that he’s thwarted my morning routine twice in a matter of minutes, and I’m not handling it well.
He points at the chair on the opposite side of the table. “Join me.”
“Join…?” His words make no sense. I wasn’t inviting myself to have coffee with him.
“Ready,” Meagan calls from behind the counter, and the man pushes up from his chair and saunters over to retrieve our two lattes. As tempted as I am to shove myself into the chair while he’s gone, I’m not quite that unhinged. He glances back as though checking. I nod and cross my arms, though I’m itching to drop my derriere into his seat.
He hands me my drink before sitting in the chair opposite the one that I’m guarding like a pro hockey goalie. “Better?” he asks, starting to arrange chess pieces from a box on the windowsill. He places them expertly into the proper squares, barely looking down. Not his first time.
I nod and feel my weight hit the wooden seat just before I bring the cup to my lips and take a long, soul-satisfying sip. Something clicks in my brain, and I return to full functionality. I take in a much more complete picture of what’s happening before me, namely that a man I don’t know is setting up a chess board at the table where I usually sit.
Not wanting to be rude to a guest, I look at the pieces. The hand sitting in my lap twitches, wanting to make an opening move. The other one clings to my cup for dear life, lest someone take away this life-giving substance.
“You play?” he asks.
I’m even more confounded by his seeming desire to play a game of chess, especially when he’s yet to take a sip of his coffee. That feels important, so I point out, “Are you going to drink that? Or are you one of those undercover investigators here to review how well you were served?”
I’m being flippant, but as soon as the words come out of my mouth, I realize he just may be one of those undercover reviewers, and the last thing we need is a family member making us look bad to the press. Especially since I’m the family member in charge of public relations.
That’s right, if there’s spin control to be done, it’s my job. So I shouldn’t create problems I’ll need to fix later.
The corner of his mouth tips up, but it’s not a smile. I haven’t seen anything resembling a smile from him, so maybe this is as good as it gets. He nods. “Yeah, that’s me.” I can tell nothing from his deadpan delivery.
He takes a sip and seems to consider the mouthful before swallowing it. Then he nods. “It’s good. You’re off the hook. No bad review.”
“You’re not really a reviewer,” I confirm, feeling gullible.
“I’m not.” He takes another sip. It seems to satisfy him. Now I’m the one staring with curiosity, trying to glean something from his movements to tell me who he is and why he’s here drinking coffee for the first time in his life.
He studies me studying him. “You seem relieved. Are you anticipating a restaurant reviewer? And is this the way you’d welcome him?” He points at the counter where we had our exchange a moment ago.
“Well, yes to the first. No, to the others. And yes, I’d be the one dealing with the fallout of a bad review. I’m kind of a fixer around here.”
No idea why I’m telling him that. I’m sure he doesn’t care.
