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“Lovely thought. You’re really winning me over for this coffee thing,” I say.
“I don’t have to win you over.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask as he opens the door to the Coffee Hole, the door screeching at an ear-splitting decibel.
He leans in, whispering. “I think I’ve already won.”
I hit his arm, laughing. “You wish.”
I walk over to the counter where a twentysomething is leaning on the dirty counter. There’s no one in the place, and it’s a good thing—there’s exactly one table in the corner. I don’t feel clean walking in the place, let alone drinking the coffee. Still, we order two cups and head to the table.
This isn’t my kind of place at all, and I don’t think it’s Cash’s either. I smile, though, mentally telling myself it’ll all be good. No one’s died from a cup of coffee, right?
“This place is atrocious,” Cash murmurs.
“This was your idea,” I argue.
“Only because you were too busy playing hard to get to agree to go for drinks. Wouldn’t margaritas at a decent place be better right now?”
My mouth waters a little at the thought of margaritas. “Pretty sure we’re dressed for Coffee Hole, not margaritas at a nice bar.
“We could always change, meet up later,” he says.
“Nice try,” I reply.
“Was it? Because that wasn’t even my best.”
I roll my eyes as the barista—if we can call a dazed dude in a T-shirt who poured some coffee into a Styrofoam cup a barista—brings our coffee over. It looks like tar in a cup.
“Maybe we should just call it a night,” I note, looking into my cup with disgust.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I just bought you an amazing cup of coffee. The least you could do is chat with me while we both pretend we’re going to take a sip of this stuff. Come on, it’s not so bad. Tell me about you, won’t you? I mean, I at least deserve to know something about the woman who was grinding all over me on the front-page of the paper.”
I smile, studying him. His dark eyes peer back at me, and I feel my heart beat a little faster. “Well, what do you want to know?”
He studies me for a long moment before speaking. “Everything.”
“Is that all?” I ask, teasing.
“I’ll settle for anything right now,” he says.
I shrug, thinking. “Well, let’s see. I’m obsessed with Ed Sheeran. He’s probably the only man I’d consider marrying, even though he’s already engaged so that’s off the table. I have two cats, a hairless cat named Monticello after my favorite vacation spot and a blind cat named Barcelona whom I adopted from Seaside Serenity. I love pancakes, coffee, and orange soda. They’re my guilty pleasures. And I also like making pottery, although I haven’t really had time lately with the business picking up. My parents are both assholes whom I don’t really talk about because it just pisses me off. I’m an only child, my business is everything to me, and that’s about it.”
He smiles at me.
“What?” I ask, realizing I’ve probably overshared. I think this is more than I’ve ever told man about me in like five years.
“Nothing. It’s just nice to finally meet you. Kind of backwards, you know? I get carnal knowledge of you before I know your favorite food.”
“Well, don’t get any ideas. This doesn’t mean anything. I’m not—”
He covers my hand with his, and I jolt at the electricity of his skin on mine. “I know. Me neither. Will you relax a little? Jesus, it’s not an audition for marriage. Just wanted to get to know you a little, since we’ll be volunteering together and all.”
I take a breath, easing back into my seat, staring at him.
“Your turn,” I say.
He proceeds to tell me about his apartment back in Texas, his family, and his favorite television shows. It’s simple, really, the two of us in a dive of a coffee shop, not drinking a single sip of coffee, talking about little things that mean a lot.
