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I don’t know how to respond to that. At all. But I don’t need to because Lena is apparently well-versed in the art of keeping conversations going all by herself.
“Trust me, our server Grady is probably in the back adjusting his boner for your adorableness as we speak.”
A shocked laugh escapes my throat. “He is not!”
“He totally is.” She laughs again. “Just stick with me, and I will enlighten you on all things men.”
With her long blond hair and bohemian dress and hippie-chic vibe, Lena is the epitome of confident goddess. She is the sun, and cool girl vibes are her rays of light, radiating from her every action and word.
No doubt, I could certainly use her wisdom when it comes to men.
“So, you just moved back to the city and you’re on the job hunt?”
I nod.
“Did you grow up here?”
“Yep. My family owns a floral shop in Chelsea.” I nod, pouring two sugar packets and a bit of cream into my coffee and stirring it with a spoon. I finish stirring and take a sip of coffee to test it out. “What about you? Have you always lived in New York?”
She nods. “Born here. I’ll suffer through life here. And no doubt, I’ll die here.”
“You make it sounds so wonderful.”
“I’m kidding.” She snickers. “But I’m a New Yorker through and through. It’s my home.”
“And how long have you worked at Jovial Grinds?”
“Actually, I own it.”
“Wait…” I tilt my head to the side. “You own the coffee shop?”
She nods. “My dad bought it for me as a high school graduation present.”
I nearly choke on my enthusiasm. “That’s some present.”
She snorts. “Yeah. My dad is all about grand gestures of affection.” She rolls her eyes. “Since my brother is a big hotshot lawyer with a whole lot of his own money, my dad has to expend most of his efforts on me.”
Ha. Sounds like a serious hardship. I bite my lip to keep from saying my opinion aloud. “Does your brother live in the city too?”
“Yep,” she says and softly pops the P. “And he’s a total pain in my ass.”
“He sounds a lot like my brother, Evan. But he lives in Austin, so the distance keeps his nosy ass in check.”
“If only my brother would relocate…”
I grin. “So, let me get this straight…you own Jovial Grinds, yet you also work as a barista there?”
She nods.
I pause to consider if I should really ask my next question, but she smiles as if to encourage it.
“Why?”
“I might be a trust-fund baby who grew up on Park Avenue, but I refuse to turn into some debutante who organizes fancy dinners and hangs out with snooty bitches. I did college, I did the travel, I did a bunch of other odd jobs, and then last year, I decided to work there.”
“But you’re not the manager?”
She shrugs. “I have no fucking clue how to manage a coffee shop.”
Her explanation only makes me like her more.
“Where do you live now?”
“I have a loft in Harlem.”
A loft in Harlem? I mean, I know it’s up-and-coming, but still…I’m not sure I understand that one. She might be one of the most intriguing, mysterious people I’ve ever met.
“So, tell me something about yourself, Maybe,” Lena says, leaning forward with a sparkle in her eye. “One thing about you I need to know.”
“Jesus.” I snort. “No pressure or anything.”
She smiles and leans one shoulder into an exaggerated shrug. “It’s not as hard as it sounds. I feel like we all usually have something specific in our hearts at any given time that we should consider our priority. If we stop ignoring it and acknowledge it—let the universe acknowledge it—we’d get a lot further in the quest to do something about it.”
It’s insane—totally, unequivocally nuts—but when I think about what she’s said and apply it to myself, the one glaring thing that feels unresolved to me comes barreling to mind. “You’re going to think it’s crazy.”
She shakes her head. “My one thing I need to get control over is my flightiness. It makes me unsure of what I want. Where I want to be. I need direction.”
I swallow at her candid answer, and she jerks her chin. “Now, you go.”
My lips stick together and my mouth fills with cotton, but somehow, I force the words through anyway. “I’m a virgin. And I don’t want to be anymore.”
My chest inflates as a weight lifts off it. It feels good to admit it.
She doesn’t react at first, and my stomach starts to tense up. But when she finally speaks, she does it with a smile, and it’s worth the wait. “I dig it.”
“Shut up,” I retort. “You’re just saying that.”
“I can promise you I never just say anything,” she says. “And it makes complete sense to me.”
Before I can offer up some sort of response, my cell phone starts vibrating across the table.
