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Grace
Imade a latte, poured it into a to-go cup, put the lid on top, and handed it off.
Monotonous actions that sucked up the time and had me earning minimum wage.
If I were being honest, I hated making coffee; hell, I didn’t even drink it. But being a college student meant I couldn’t be picky on what job I landed. I didn’t have a lot of time for anything else, not with my full-time studies.
And although I was covered with student housing, and money my parents had saved up for me over the years, I still had to make money. Maybe not to live off of during school, but for my own integrity and mental well-being.
So, I worked at the coffee shop on campus a couple days a week, making cappuccinos and lattes and wrapping up croissants and egg sandwiches. I rang up the customer, handed them their double-shot espresso, and helped the next one.
The same thing, just a different day.
The coffee shop on campus was continuously busy, mainly with students coming in to hang out and study as they drank their five-dollar coffees and ate their three-dollar pastries.
“What can I make for you?” I said and looked up from the register only to feel my eyes widen as Professor Goode stood on the other side of the counter.
He wore a dark blazer, and underneath that a white Oxford button-down shirt, which was a crisp, stark contrast to his jacket. Being so close to him really amplified how much bigger he was than me, with his broad shoulders and narrow waist.
He was tall and lean, like an Olympic swimmer, raw power underneath golden skin.
I stared into his dark eyes, like pieces of coal that could start a fire … and I was the one who would burn alive from it.
I stood there for long seconds not speaking, and it was only when I heard the froth from the cappuccino machine start to work that I snapped out of my haze. “Professor Goode,” I finally said, finding my voice, although it was shaky, unsteady.
“Miss Hart.”
I swore fireworks went off inside of me.
“How’s your paper coming along?”
I licked my lips and nodded. “Good.” Although that was a lie. I hadn’t even started it. He smiled, just the corner of his mouth tilting up as if he knew I was lying.
“Good. I look forward to reading it.”
I gave him an awkward smile. I could feel how uncomfortable it was, my own nerves making me act like a freak right now. “What can I get for you?” Being professional when all I wanted to do was wrap my body around his, was like living in literal hell.
“Just a black coffee.”
Not a man who likes the fancy, frilly drinks. I liked that about him. And the fact he was drinking a strong brew this late in the afternoon made me wonder if he had a lot of work to do. He was a busy man, I could tell by the work he did around the campus, and the fact he had everything prepared for our class well in advance. But that drew me to him more.
He had his shit together.
I gave him one more lingering look before turning and getting his order. I felt his stare on me the whole time, as if he reached out and stroked his fingers along my body.
I swore it took me ages to get his order. I felt like I was moving in slow motion. When I finally turned back around, he was off to the side, another barista handling the register.
“I’m sorry for the holdup,” I said and handed over his coffee. When he reached for it, his fingers brushed along mine and I felt my mouth part as a small sound escaped me from that slight contact. Yet he looked unaffected.
Of course, he did. I knew it was all one-sided.
“It’s fine,” he said and offered a smile, but even when he appeared easygoing, I could see this hardness to him.
“Gracie!”
The sound of Sherry shouting over the crowd of people drew me out of my mesmerized focus on Professor Goode. I turned and faced her, seeing her make her way toward me with a mystery guy in tow.
I could see Professor Goode step back, and a part of me wanted to reach out to him.
