That settles everything.
Yes please
His reply comes almost immediately.
Be downstairs in ten.
No emoji. No flourish. No softening. Which somehow makes it hotter.
But also… ten? I’m pretty sure he lives more than ten minutes away from me. Traffic in Austin being what it is, he could live in my apartment complex and still be ten minutes away.
So if he’s getting coffee and will be here in ten, that means he bought the coffee and headed in my direction before checking in with me.
Which is either presumptuous or horribly romantic. If the past weekend with Miller has taught me anything, it’s that he is never presumptuous.
I finish getting ready in a state of low-grade internal chaos, grab my bag, and head downstairs.
He’s already there when I reach the guest parking in front of my unit. Of course, he is. Leaning against the side of his SUV with a coffee tray in one hand like this is the most normal thing in the world.
He straightens when he sees me, gaze moving over me once — brief, thorough, impossible to ignore.
“You’re wearing sunglasses again,” he says.
“It’s a medical condition.”
“At eight-thirty in the morning?”
“The condition is called being perceived.”
That gets the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
He holds out one of the coffees. “This one has oat milk.”
I stare at it. Then at him.
“You remembered my order.”
He shrugs one shoulder like this is nothing. “It’s coffee.”
No. It’s attention. But apparently I’m not going to survive if I point that out every time he notices something devastatingly thoughtful, so I take the cup and say, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
There’s a beat where we’re just standing there in the morning light, coffee between us, and all I can think is:
Yesterday morning, I was convinced I had ruined my life.
This morning Miller is buying me coffee.
Wild.
He opens the passenger door for me, because of course he does, and I climb in before I can say anything more embarrassing than thank you.
The drive to work is easier than the drive back from the wedding. Not easy. Not normal. But easier. We aren’t hiding behind silence this time. We aren’t trapped in it either. It feels… new. Fragile, but in a good way. Like something just beginning to take shape.
My phone buzzes again halfway tothe office.
Holly
