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The cabbie gives me a withering look in the rearview.
"We're going to Greenwich," I sigh.
A half-hour later, we're hopping out of the cab across the street from a café with a neon sign reading BREAKFAST in capital letters overhead. We're seated quickly enough for the time of day—I expected any place we tried to be packed—and Sophia orders a coffee and hums as she takes a sip.
"Mm...I love this place," she murmurs. "It flies under the radar because of the lack of advertising, but they have the absolute best eggs benedict in town. Their hollandaise...amazing."
"You're a regular here?"
"On and off," she shrugs. "The shop down the street from here calls me when they have stuff they can't repair, and they sell it to me on the cheap. The owner is a really nice older lady."
"Older like..."
"I think she's like...eighty years old," Sophia says. "So, not that much older than you."
I snort. "Haha."
"Hey, you're the one who's worried about being too old for me," she mutters. "I'm just trying to break you of this concern. I mean...honestly, Ryan, you should be well aware that I know what I want at this point. And that I'm not afraid to take it."
Her voice drops on those last words, and it's like she's delivered an electric shock to my system without so much as touching me.Fuck, I just want her back in my bed.
All the time.
Naked and begging.
"You just go somewhere?" she says with a sly smile.
I smirk. "I think you know exactly where I went."
The server delivers our breakfast—eggs benedict for Sophia and a Denver omelet for me—and I watch Sophia pour a liberal helping of hollandaise sauce on her food. I have to admit, her breakfast looks delicious. She takes a bite and closes her eyes with a groan, making me wish again that we were still in bed.
"Oh wow," she sighs. "This is so good."
"You don't have to convince me," I say.
She cuts out a perfect bite with all the right pieces, then holds out her fork.
"Try it," she says.
I accept her offer with some hesitation and take a bite. She's right—the hollandaise is creamy and delicious, making the English muffin a thousand times better.
"Good, right?"
"The best," I say, chewing. "I think I might be able to get used to this."
She smiles. "The diner or my company?"
"How about both?"
She bites her lip, her cheeks flushed pink...and she looks legitimately happy.
I know how she feels.
The feeling that this is completely, utterly right.
Once we're done with our food, we head down the street to the vintage shop, a little hole in the wall called Not Your Grandma's Closet. Ironically enough, the owner—a woman named Edie—looks like a grandma...but not one I've ever met. She's got a gauzy kimono draped over her shoulders, and she greets Sophia with a smile and a hug.
"And who's this handsome devil?" she says. "Hon', I don't think I've ever seen you bring a boy in."
