“The buildings are charming. The trail’s suspiciously well-kept.”
“You haven’t mentioned the people,” she teased.
“Still evaluating.”
“Oh?”
“There’s this one girl,” I said. “Keeps showing up everywhere. Talks a lot. Smells like lemon and danger.”
She laughed, and the sound cracked something open in my chest that was too bright, too easy, and too good.
She nudged me with her elbow. “And?”
“And she has questionable taste in shoes but excellent judgment in soap.”
Fifi grinned like she’d just been handed a trophy. “You’re funnier than you look.”
“I get that a lot.”
She squeezed my hand once, then asked, “Serious question. Do you have a caffeine addiction?”
I raised an eyebrow. “I could ask the same of you.”
“Oh, Idefinitelydo,” she admitted, eyes gleaming. “This morning required a triple shot. Minimum. I didn’t sleep a wink last night.”
That got my attention.
I glanced sideways. “Why not?”
“No reason.”
“You look great.”
Her nose scrunched. “Only because makeup covers so much, but mine barely did the job. I looked like I got in a bar fight. Two black eyes, minimum, when I stared at myself this morning.”
I stopped walking.
She paused, confused. “What?”
I turned to face her fully, letting my eyes sweep over her face slowly and deliberately.
“You don’t look like you were in a fight.”
“No?”
“No.” My voice dropped a little. “You look like you wandered out of a dream I wasn’t ready to wake up from.”
Her breath hitched. Just slightly. But I caught it.
Fifi’s gaze locked onto mine, and the air changed between us like the gravity had shifted. Like we were leaning too close to something sharp and intimate and dangerouslynew.
“You say things like that,” she murmured, “and I forget how to walk.”
“Then it’s a good thing we’re almost there.”
She blinked. “Where…oh.”
Buttercup Java was just ahead, the scent of espresso and sugar wafting out like a promise. The front door was propped open. Inside, the low buzz of conversation, clinking cups, and one of those overly chipper indie playlists poured into the street.
