Page 4 of Kylie’s Kakes

“Don't sound so surprised." She grinned over her shoulder then turned away to start frothing the milk. “You’re memorable.”

I am? "I'm not surprised. I'm flattered."

"You should be." She glanced at me from the machine and started pulling the shot.

She started to hum, like she did on most days when it was quiet. She always had a cute little tune in her head that made her shake and bounce in all the right places.

A woman walked in and went straight to the pickup counter. She asked Kylie something about oat milk versus almond, and Kylie answered with a little bounce on her toes, like the question itself was delightful. She couldn’t be any more adorable if she tried.

When the woman left, Kylie giggled to herself for no apparent reason and then looked at me as if she’d been caught.

Even though I should have felt contrite, I didn’t bother looking away. I wanted her to know I caught everything she did. It was unusual for me to be so focused on someone for so long, but I liked learning little things just by watching her.

I’d never considered myself to be particularly observant with most people, but I definitely was with Kylie.

There was something about her that I couldn't quite look away from. I’d watched her with a full crowd of customers, laughing and smiling and taking orders like a boss. And I’d watched her when it was empty like this and she was just free to be silly.

In all cases, she was beautiful in a way that I soaked in whenever I was around her. She'd giggle at her own jokes and then light up over small things that most adults had long since stopped noticing. Whether it was her favorite song coming on the radio or a customer complimenting her nail polish, she just beamed happiness. But there was something else too. Something in the way her smile faltered when she watched a couple holding hands or a man holding the door for his lady.

Maybe she was lonely too.

It wasn’t obvious, but there was something hiding behind those pretty eyes that were always bright when they locked with mine.

I'd dated plenty of women who were sweet and funny. And lots who knew exactly how to hold a room. But none of them ever made me want to sit in a coffee shop for an extra twenty minutes just to watch them wipe down a counter. Her openness felt almost unguarded, like she hadn't yet shielded herself against the world the way so many single women did. I couldn’t help wondering what it would take to earn a closer look at whatever she was willing to share.

When she appeared in front of me, I shook off the longing and smiled. “That was fast.”

"You’re easy." She slid my cup across the counter and then grabbed her tongs. “Do you want your cake for here or to go?”

"For here, actually." I hadn't planned on eating it here, but it was the perfect excuse to linger.

"Oh. Cool." She seemed surprised and maybe even a little pleased that I was sticking around. "Well, um, you’ve got plenty of tables to choose from."

I grabbed a table by the window and pulled out my laptop like I actually intended to work. To keep up the charade, I opened the manuscript for my cookbook and glanced at a mostly blank page in between staring at Kylie.

There wasn’t any better way to pass my time than to drink my coffee while watching her work.

Small groups of customers came in and out, giving me lots of chances to admire how her tongue curled around her lip when she was steaming milk and the way she was so good at remembering people’s names, even when they were hard to spell. A little kid came in with his mom, and Kylie crouched down to his eye level to ask if he wanted a cookie. She used a soft voice that made it clear she really loved kids.

It was sweet. And hearing her childish voice was…hot.

With nowhere in particular I had to be, I stayed longer than I’d meant to. I always did.

By the time I packed up my laptop, the lunch rush had thinned out and Kylie was restocking napkins behind the counter.

"See you tomorrow?" she asked as I stood up and pushed in my chair.

The fact that she knew my schedule without me ever mentioning it felt like something to take note of. But I didn’t want to project my interest onto her, so I just chalked it up to her being really great at her job. "Yup. See ya then."

The walk back to my rental wasn't long enough to clear my head. Between my frustration on the lack of recipe progress I was making and my ever-growing interest in the sweet barista I’d had to force myself to leave just a few minutes ago, I was wound up tight.

As soon as I got inside the little bungalow that was my temporary home until my house on the hill was completed, I dropped my keys on the counter and toed off my shoes. I rented it fully furnished, so nothing in the house belonged to me, but I was stuck here for at least another month or two. My contractor had pushed the timeline back again last week because of some permit issue with the county, and I was starting to wonder if I'd be living out of this place until the cookbook was finished and my new restaurant idea died a quiet death from neglect.

There was something I needed to do before I talked myself out of it. I opened up my laptop and pulled up an email to Magda.

If the station across from mine hasn’t been rented yet, save it for me. I might bring in a sous chef to work with me on some recipes.

With that out of the way, I went back to my pathetic excuse for a manuscript. Chapter twelve. Braising basics. It was a section I'd rewritten a hundred times in a hundred different forms and could probably do in my sleep.