“Do what?” she asks.
“Almost every sentence you say either starts or ends with a ‘sorry’.” I cock my head to the side, watching as she processes my question.
“They do not.” She crosses her arms, and the defiance in her makes me raise a brow, wanting to see if I can get more out of her.
“You were just about to apologize for getting my sister a job. How does that make sense?” I put my hands down on the counter, leaning a little forward, wishing it wasn’t between us.
“I just meant—” she stops then starts again, “I just wasn’t sure if I overstepped.”
“With who? Luke? You basically did his job for him,” I challenge.
She uncrosses her arms, looking down at the iPad in front of her, her fingers pushing two loose pieces of hair back behind her ears, but they’re short enough that they’ll untuck if she looks down again.
“I guess I’m just used to apologizing even when I don’t have to,” she answers before turning the iPad with the total for Emerson and Luke’s coffees.
I can tell she doesn’t want to expand on that answer, but I file the words away for later. I look down at the screen. “The total says zero,” I tell her.
“I just need you to sign, firefighter. The coffees are on the house.”
“Rumi, I’m paying for the coffee.”
“Luke doesn’t pay for his coffee because he owns the place, and your sister is our newest employee, so hers is free. Can you just sign?” That defiance is back, I hope I didn’t push her too far.
“If you say ‘please’,” I tease, wanting to see if she’ll give me another smile.
She rolls her lips together, shaking her head, but I know I got her.
“Jack,” she says; I love the way she says my name. “Will you pretty please sign for the coffees?” She bats her eyelashes.
I run my finger across the iPad screen before turning it back to her. “Thank you,” I say as she rolls her eyes, fighting that smile I wish she’d give to me.
When she turns around to start making the drinks, I pull out my wallet, walking over to the tip jar at the pickup counter and dropping in two twenties before she notices.
I watch her as she moves with ease, her motions so familiar they almost look thoughtless as she preps the espresso for the two drinks. As the machine hisses, she grabs two plastic cups with the Hey Honey’s logo, her movements flowing from one to the next, pouring a different type of milk in each cup just as the espresso is ready.
I lean over the pickup counter without meaning to, watching her movements closely. She doesn’t rush, doesn’t pause, but I notice she bites the inside of her cheek as she works—focused on the task in front of her. She pours both shots of espresso into the cups at the same time, and I watch as her tongue darts out to wet her lips.
The same way it did when she licked the milk from her wrist when she was showing me how to test the temperature for Evee.
When I couldn’t stop staring at her lips.
The sound of her scooping ice brings me back to the moment, and I watch as she pours ice into the two coffees, pressing lids to each one before pushing the two cups toward me.
“Order for Jack,” she says, looking right in my eyes, a smirk on her face—no doubt because she caught me staring, but I’d let her catch me every time. She’s leaned over the counter, almost meeting me where I’m on the other side doing the same.
With her face a few inches from mine, her neck slightly angled up to look me in the eyes, I can smell the vanilla on her skin, mixing with the smell of freshly brewed espresso.
Maybe I am a coffee guy after all.
“Thanks, pretty girl,” I say, surprising both her and myself.
I don’t mean to call her that, this time being just as much of an accident as the first time, but the nickname comes from my lips so seamlessly, and the catch in her breath makes me thankful for the slip.
She doesn’t say anything, just goes back to her station and cleans up, and I think I could spend a whole day watching her, only to fall asleep and wake up to do it again the next day.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” I say to her, not sure what I’m about to say but just wanted her attention back on me.
Rumi looks back at me, one brow raised at me, those pieces of her hair untucked, framing her face.
