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What was it about this woman that was so intriguing, anyway? Mack was stunning, yes. Had a killer jawline and sexy-as-hell, apple-plump cheekbones. Dark-as-night eyes that Charlie could get lost in. But it was more than that. Maybe living in the perpetual Seattle Freeze, as the locals called it, where people in the city really didn’t talk to one another, this was a refreshing, easy flow of conversation. Maybe she missed having a woman to bond with, commiserating over cramps and talking about burning down the patriarchy while choosing the perfect shade of MAC lipstick. Maybe she was lonelier for a partner than she’d ever admit to anyone, including herself.
All she knew was that she’d never gone to bed thinking about a particular customer.
Before this one.
SIX
MACK’S DRINK SPECIAL: GETTING TO KNOW YOU GREEN TEA
The barstools at Sugar Mugs perfectly cradled Mack’s ass, so much that she sat still for over an hour until her lower back nudged her to move. Watching Charlie interact with customers superseded any need for physical comfort. Mack peeked up from her keyboard while dictating everything—the flow of Charlie’s corset-backed dress that hugged every curve like it was painted on her, the gentle smile with the cutest gap in the middle of her front two teeth, the tug on her lip during a customer downtime, the sweep of her long, beautiful neck.
Jesus, I’m not writing a romance novel.
A pinch in her lower back burned, and Mack dug her fist into her hip to release the pressure. She may not be writing romance, but all these observations creatively movedsomething. And right now, she’d take creative movement of any kind.
Birkenstocks slapped the hardwood floors, and a man wearing board shorts and a canary yellow polo shirt strode to the till.
“Hey there, what can I get started for you?” Charlie smiled at the customer.
“A buttered croissant and cappuccino with no milk.”
Charlie cocked her head. “Did you want a milk substitute?”
“No, just a regular cappuccino with no milk.” His thumbs tapped across his phone screen without looking up.
Mack hid her smile. Even she knew a cappuccino was literally espresso and steamed milk.
“So, you want a shot of espresso?”
The man lowered his phone. “No. I want a cappuccino with no milk. The drink’s very popular in Italy.”
“Gotcha.” Charlie’s brilliant smile returned, and she scribbled the order on a cup.
“Ben.” Charlie set the cup down on the counter behind her. “Cappuccino no milk.”
“So you want?—”
“Yep, cappuccino no milk.”
The two communicated between themselves with the tiniest raised eyebrows when Ben moved to the espresso machine. The water hissing through the coffee grounds infiltrated the otherwise quiet café.
Charlie glanced at Mack with the slightest smirk, and something about being included in the cool kids’ club with their silent communication warmed her insides. This guy reeked of dickweedness. How did Charlie keep her placid demeanor? If they swapped positions, no way would he be on the receiving end of any smiles.
Oh!Smile variations for Shelby. Might be a good detail. Mack returned to her keyboard.
The ghost of my father settles in my ear. “Shelby, baby, your smile holds the strength of a million men. Use it.” No doubt he’s smiling in hell right now that I’m working one of his tricks.
So, sure. I’ll flash a grin, show my dimples, even throw in a little lip lick for good measure. I don’t care how many teeth I need to display. I’m not leaving here until they can guarantee me a kilo by Friday.
Three pages written later, Mack interlaced her fingers and stretched her arms, catching Charlie’s eye. “What did you end up making Mr. Cappuccino-With-No-Milk?”
Charlie tossed her head over her shoulder at Ben as she wiped dried milk flakes from the machine. “Ben, did you get Salty Britches an Americano?”
“Salty Britches one or two?”
“Two.” Charlie leaned in Mack’s direction. “We rank our naughty customers each day.”
A faint scent of rose and vanilla drifted off her, and Mack dug into the chair to keep from leaping forward. “Ah. Good to know if I hear you refer to me as a number.”
