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Sniffling, I attempt to rein in my emotions. “You know, I don’t regret opening up my life to you three.” It all started on the night when Sal attempted to introduce beer to the menu. They ended up getting a bit too inebriated, leaving me to play babysitter while I phoned their wives to come collect them. Amidst the chaos, I divulged the ongoing custody battle I was facing, and from that moment on, something shifted in our dynamic.
I can’t help but feel like they regard me as their surrogate daughter. It’s an unspoken understanding, something I’d never confess to anyone aloud.
“You shouldn’t doubt it. Jason, Brad, and I believe you deserve this.” The last man, who’s secretly a teddy bear, retrieves another bill from his pocket and places it atop the others. Adjusting his black frames, he pushes them farther up his nose. “Now get out of here and take that young man on a day trip.”
My gratitude feels overwhelming as it simmers beneath the surface. “Thank you,” I manage to choke out through my constricted throat. “I’ll see you three next week.”
“And don’t forget to show us pictures,” Jason chimes in before winking at me, his playful demeanor alive in his green eyes. “Go. That guy in the corner has been eyeing us.”
“Shit.” The slip of a curse escapes my lips before I glance over my shoulder. “I completely forgot about him.” With trembling fingers, I collect the three hundred dollars and tuck it into my apron alongside my other tips. “I need to go.” The depth of my gratitude is beyond words, but I worry that my attempts to express it will fall short.
With a sense of overwhelming warmth, I leave the trio behind and grab a pot of black coffee along with a cup. I head toward the last table of the day. The clock hanging on the far wall ticks, marking noon and the conclusion of my shift. I approach the booth and set the white mug before him.
“Afternoon. One cup of black coffee.” I pour the coffee into his cup, our gazes locked in an unspoken exchange. “No sugar, no cream.”
Trying to sum up the man before me as just tall, dark, and handsome feels inadequate. He is those things, undoubtedly, but there’s more to him than what meets the eye. His presence radiates intensity, and simply being near him sends shivers down my spine. I can’t quite decipher what kind of shivers they are.
His deep eyes study me from beneath long lashes, his raven hair appears both artfully tousled and impeccably styled, and a scruffy beard covers his face.
I bet he has dimples hidden under all that scruff.
A faint indentation splits his lower lip, more of a scar than a natural feature. Once, I found myself staring at that slight mark for a bit too long.
He caught me, naturally, yet never commented on it.
Communication between us is sparse. He simply orders what he wants and observes, just like he’s doing now. His intense gaze traces every contour of my being. Tatum seems convinced he has some interest in me. He doesn’t. He’s enamored with this particular booth, which somehow always ends up in my section.
“Is there anything else I can get for you today?” I inquire, glancing at the clock on the wall as its hands lazily pass noon. Jani won’t mind taking over my shift while I spend time with Milo, but I don’t want to test her patience by making it too late.
“You’re leaving.” His words are a statement, not a question. Like dark chocolate, his voice holds a restrained formality that belies the underlying intensity. It’s deep and gravelly, washing over me like calloused fingertips.
This man manages to simultaneously put me on edge and intrigue me. It’s an unsettling combination, which doesn’t bode well. Suppressing the confusion his presence stirs within me, I reply, “Yes, I’m wrapping up my shift early today. I have plans.”
His gaze shifts to my customary table—the trio. I glance over my shoulder and catch them watching me. Once they realize I’ve noticed, they pretend to be engrossed in their own affairs. It’s like having three overprotective fathers constantly looking out for me. They have inserted themselves into my life in their irritating yet oddly comforting way. That’s probably why I’ve conveniently forgotten their names.
Names carry emotions, and emotions have no room in my heart.
Turning back to the intense man before me, I find his eyes fixed on me. His stare feels like a searing brand, making me squirm under its weight. Something about him feels off, a sensation that has lingered over the years I’ve worked here. I can’t quite pinpoint it, it’s just a vague feeling that it exists. He’s an enigma wrapped in a finely tailored suit.
He’d probably never admit the designer origins of his attire. He’s not one for words. Today, he’s dressed only in his pants and an open, white button-down shirt, revealing a sliver of olive skin beneath.
As he clears his throat, I’m jolted back to reality, caught in my unintentional scrutiny of him. I swear I catch the slightest hint of a smile on his lips before it fades away.
His presence feels like a snare, preventing me from simply walking away without saying something. The problem is figuring out what to say.
“Why did they congratulate you?” he asks, leaning back in his seat. His arm stretches over the vinyl, exposing a glimpse of tattooed skin on his strong forearm. I’m momentarily entrapped by the ink, trying to decipher its meaning. With effort, I pull my focus back to his question.
He rarely poses questions, usually opting for the straightforwardblack coffee and nothing else. Processing his question takes me a full minute, making the silence awkward. “Um…” I clear my throat, recalling Tatum’s indiscreet words. “I have a…date.”
He tilts his head in my direction, and I can’t shake the feeling that he sees right through my lie. His brown eyes seem to dip to my neck, almost as if he’s tracking the rhythm of my pulse. A hint of a smirk plays on his lips, and he licks that slight notch as if it’s a habitual gesture.
I shift my stance, pulling myself upright and away from the booth. The intensity of his gaze makes it hard to remain composed, and I know I can’t linger here for much longer. The pressure in the air between us has reached its limit.
“Lie,” he whispers, catching me off guard. The word ripples through me, weighted with an uncanny confidence. “You don’t have a date.” He remains unmoving, his scrutiny unwavering.
The audacity of his assertion prompts my retort before I can filter it through my self-imposed restraint. “I do,” I counter, my voice a touch sharper than I intended.
“Not with a man,” he asserts, his gaze tracing that vulnerable curve of my throat once more. A shiver runs down my spine, and my skin prickles in response. His words carry a subtle challenge, an underlying provocation that puts me on edge. “Perhaps with a boy.”
