Page 24 of UNAwere

‘Don’t let the barista hear you say that,’ I tell him. ‘They’ll steam your face off.’

Briggs quirks a brow.

‘A latte,’ I start, pointing at the word on the menu, ‘is a shot of coffee and water with extra milk. A cappuccino, which is what I’m having, is a shot of coffee, water, milk and milk froth. A long black, what you ordered, is a shot of coffee and water.’ I point at the iced options. ‘And then you can get those ones cold. And add flavours, like vanilla and hazelnut.’ I glance at him. ‘But don’t get the hazelnut, with your anti-nut habits.’

A soft sound rumbles in his chest.

‘Oh! A mocha. That’s a shot of coffee, water, milk, and chocolate.’

He hums in thought.

‘You sound like you might like that?’ I say, throwing a smile over my shoulder at him. He’s still standing behind me, so close I can feel the heat of him radiating onto my back.

He meets my gaze and his eyes slide down to my lips. I watch as he takes me in. As the expressions on his face, as tiny as they are, flicker across it. The guard falling. His face softening. His mouth parts slightly.

‘Order for Sybbie!’

I blink and turn to the counter. ‘That’s us!’

I collect our drinks, and we head to the car. As we’re walking, I take a sip, moaning as the first taste of coffee hits my tongue.

‘So much better than instant.’

We get into the truck, and Briggs drives us back onto the highway.

‘So, did Warner give you a budget for food?’ I ask after a while. We’ve been on a straight stretch of road, trees flashing by us in oranges and yellows.

‘No.’

I raise my brows. ‘That’s pretty good, yeah?’

‘He knows I don’t overindulge.’

‘Well, you kind of did this morning,’ I say cheekily, grinning at him. ‘Hm? Long black in hand. Enjoying the refined tastes of barista-made coffee.’

He snorts. ‘It’s only because the motel had none. And you need it to function.’

‘Me?’ I scoff. ‘You were practically vibrating with rage when you couldn’t find the coffee this morning. I woke to you swearing – twenty-four dollars, by the way.’

He grumbles something, picking up his coffee from the cup holder and taking a long draught.

‘How did you know to order this?’ he mutters.

‘What? A long black?’ I cock a brow. ‘Because you drink your coffee black and obviously like it that way?’

He harrumphs. ‘Well… Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’ I find myself smiling without realising it. But I think it’s because I feel like I’m finally getting along with Briggs. After days of treading water, he seems to be opening up to me a bit more. And with about two weeks to go, it feels great.

I put my coffee in the cup holder and sit back, stretching. A car in front of us catches my eye, and I lean forward to read the sticker on its back bumper.

‘Honk if…’ I squint. ‘You like… Pizza…’ I gasp. ‘Oh! I love pizza! Briggsy, honk the horn and let them know we like pizza!’

Briggs almost chokes on his coffee, setting it down. ‘That’s not what that means,’ he says, voice hoarse.

‘Yes, it does. That’s what it says!’ I lean over to press the horn, but he catches my hand and sets it firmly into his lap.

‘No, it’s just a stupid joke.’ The muscle of his thigh tenses through his jeans, and I feel it against the back of my hand. But my brain is too confused to send blood rushing to my cheeks.