I peek over at the clock on his stove and note that it’s getting late. I can’t believe I’ve been here all day. “I should go. I work in the morning.”
“Okay.” He gets up to stand with me. “When do you think you’ll come back?” He rubs the back of his neck, eyes darting from me to the floor and back up again. “Only asking since I can’t really come to you or contact you at all.”
I stifle a giggle at the hilarity of it all. “Hmm, well, I work Monday to Friday at the coffee shop. How about Saturday?”
“Saturday works for me.” He offers a wide grin, showcasing those sharp teeth that make him look even sexier.Stop it, Lucy. We don’t think about friends that way.
“Okay, see ya, Dylan,” I say as I make my way back down the stairs.
I open the door and am brought back to 2025.
I ignore the instant pull I feel to go right back to 1993 with him.
Chapter Nineteen
“Okay, hear me out, Pri. I have an idea,” I say, arms filled with an array of ingredients I picked up from the store on my way to work this morning. She gives me a look like she doesn’t fully know where I’m going with this, but grabs a few things from me and lays them out on the kitchen counter in the back room in front of us.
It’s Monday morning, and we’re getting ready to open the cafe. The convenience store below my apartment is open 24/7—thankfully—and had all the ingredients I needed for this in stock.
“So we’re doing something with pumpkin?” she asks. She tilts her head, and my god, she is the cutest person I’ve ever seen. Her short hair is in two low pigtails today, and her butterfly barrettes are clipped on either side, pulling her bangs out of her face. If it weren’t for the septum piercing on her nose, you might think she was only thirteen.
“Yes.” I clap my hands together excitedly. I’m pretty sure I remember Dylan’s recipe for the pumpkin creamer, and I’m hoping it helps me score some points with Sarah. “It’s a pumpkin spice creamer, and Pri, trust me when I tell you, it’s like what an orgasm tastes like.”
“Well…” Her lips curl up at one side. “If it’sthatgood, then I definitely need to try it. But are you sure this is what we want to be serving to customers?” We both erupt in a fit of giggles before finally calming down and getting to work.
I grab the pot and measuring cup and measure out the ingredients. I stir—slowly this time—and add in the spices close to the end. Placing it off to the side to cool, I walk out to grab us two freshly brewed cups of coffee. I pour Priya’s creamer in first and hand her the mug; her eyes light up as the scent wafts up to her nose.
After pouring mine, I say a silent prayer to whoever is listening that I didn’t fuck it up and then take a sip. “Thank god,” I whisper to myself.
“Holy shit, Lucy.” Priya looks at me as she takes another sip. “This is fucking delicious. We should be selling this shit.”
“I told you!” I place my cup down and grab her free hand and dance around it. I’m giddy. I can’t believe I made it, and I remembered it,andit tastes as amazing as it did back at the lighthouse. “Do you think we should get Sarah to try it?” I ask, suddenly nervous at the thought of doing that.
“Yes, but let’s not tell her you made it—” My face drops. “—untilshe tells us how much she loves it.”
I laugh at the brilliance of Priya’s plan. “Let’s do it.”
When Sarah comes in that afternoon with her straight face and her tight bun, I’m actually excited for the first time ever, I think, to see her.
“Hi, Sarah,” I say, a little too chipper, and she looks toward me, emotionless.
“What did you do?” she asks with a hint of condescensionin her voice. “Did you spill another batch of cold brew?”
“No.” I mock being offended. “I’ve been on my game today, thank you very much.”
“That’s a first,” she mutters softly enough for me to almost not hear her as she pushes open the door to the kitchen and leaves me standing there.
Priya looks my way and then motions for me to come over to the till. “You stay here and help customers, and I’ll go back and get her to try the creamer.”
I nod and give her my best soldier’s salute as she pours a fresh cup of our medium roast and heads into the back. Crossing her fingers over her chest, she winks at me before the door closes behind her.
After ten long, agonizing minutes—I know this because I kept checking the clock on the wall behind me— Priya and Sarah walk out to the front. I hand some change to a customer and walk over to the espresso machine to make their vanilla latte.
As the shots pour and I pump vanilla into the paper cup, Sarah comes up behind me and says in the quietest voice. “It’sgood.” I swear she spits out the word good like it’s the most vile word in the dictionary. She needs to work on her compliments.
I’m so floored that I accidentally pump way too much vanilla in the cup and have to start over. By that time, the espresso shots have expired, so Sarah gets a front-row seat to watch me fumble my way through one of the easiest drinks to make for a second time.
The face of disapproval is back.
