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I met her gaze and winked.
Her cheeks turned pink and her scowl deepened. “The bags under your eyes tell me otherwise.”
I patted my chest. “Harsh, Rosie. You have to stop throwing punches at me or my ego won’t ever recover.”
But she didn’t budge—or smile at my attempt to joke—she only crossed her arms in front of her chest, making me notice a brown bag hanging from one of them.
After what turned into a ten-second stare down, I exhaled. Then, pointed at the seat in front of me again. “Do you have anywhere to be? Can you stay for a bit? Have that coffee with me and I’ll explain.”
She hesitated at first but then moved one tiny step forward. “I have some time. I could stay for a bit.”
The waiter appeared with two clean mugs and a pitcher of fresh coffee just as Rosie folded her body into the booth.
“I didn’t lie. Last night, I searched for a hotel,” I admitted, watching the dark brew filling our mugs. “Thank you,” I told the man with a nod before he left. “But I ran into some issues with my credit card while trying to check in and I was kindly invited to leave.”
“What kind of issues?”
I added some sugar to my coffee, stirred it, and took a sip. The deeply bitter flavor biting into my taste buds for all the wrong reasons. “My card wasn’t in my wallet. And apparently, I’m the idiot who travels with no backup so…” I shrugged a shoulder. “I have no idea where I might have dropped or left it, but all I had with me was my ID and some cash.”
Fifty dollars to be exact.
Rosie’s eyes widened, the pout returning to her mouth. “Why didn’t you come back to the apartment? I was there.”
“It was too late, Rosie,” I answered simply. “I got into the first place I found open to make some calls and I kind of dozed off. Remember the sexy drool?”
I waited for her to laugh but it never came.
Tough crowd.
I continued, “Before falling asleep, though, I contacted my bank, reported the lost card, and asked them to send a new one. But it might take some time to get here from Spain.”
“Oh, Lucas,” Rosie finally said, looking down at her mug, her shoulders falling. “That really, really sucks. And I feel—”
“There’s no reason for you to feel responsible about this, Rosie.”
She seemed to disagree but didn’t say anything. Instead, she limited herself to taking a sip of coffee. I watched her wince, jerking the mug off her lips.
Leaning forward, I lowered my voice and said, “Thank God you don’t like it, either. I was beginning to think that this was the stuff you guys have over here.”
“It’s really not,” she whispered back. “This coffee is terrible. God. How many of these have you had?”
“This is my fifth since last night.”
What I was pretty sure was guilt returned to her expression. “I’m so sorry—”
“No more of that,” I cut her off. Held my finger in front of us. “No more apologies or we’ll never be able to be friends, Rosalyn Graham.”
“Friends?”
I nodded, deciding not to delve into the way she’d said that word. As if becoming friends was something unfathomable. “So, what brings you here? I assume it’s not the décor, the beverages, or the views, if drooling men are not your thing.”
A snort left her mouth. It was a quick, sharp sound. But cute. I felt my lips bend as she shook her head. “I was leaving O’Brien’s when I saw you from across the street.” Her arm disappeared under the table and reappeared with the bag covered in greasy spots. “They have the best sausage rolls in the city. Well, they’re probably one of the few bakeries that sells them in New York. Either way, they are a Graham breakfast favorite.”
Enthralled by the scent coming off the bag, I couldn’t help but gawk at her fingers when she pulled out a shiny and crispy-looking pastry.
An intense whiff of fried dough hit my senses.
“You hungry?” I heard her ask as she held it between us.
