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“Good. You?”
“Good. I’m hoping to get some work done.” He unzips his bag and pulls out a laptop. “And see my girlfriend,” he winks.
Shaking my head, I make the next coffee order. Tristan is a charmer, and if I’m not careful, I’ll start to believe this ruse myself. Julie looks over at me from her spot at the register with a smile.
I make coffee drinks while Tristan works at the counter. He’s focused, sipping his black coffee, which gives me the opportunity to observe him. His brown wavy hair is mussed, and his beard is trimmed. It’s less hipster and more sexy model with an edge. It’s not good for my heart.
It makes his defined jaw stand out. Since when are jawlines attractive? Since when do I think jawlines are attractive?
They’re the body part that helps us chew food. That shouldn’t be appealing. But it is. So much that I wonder what it’d feel like to brush my lips against it. I bet it would be prickly, a nice contrast to his soft lips . . .
I MEAN, not his lips. His…
Oh, give it up, Sage. There’s nothing soft about Tristan. He probably has rock-hard abs under his t-shirt.
Everything about Tristan is attractive, whether it’s an ordinary body part or his Captain America arms. He’s so handsome, and his personality makes it easy to become enamored, which is why I need to be careful. I cannot—will not—have these thoughts.
“Do I have a booger?” His head remains bowed, but his eyes glance up.
“What?”
“You keep staring at me. Do I have something on my face?” My neck and cheeks fill with heat at being caught.
“No.” My voice is clipped.
I turn and get back to work. I need to shake this feeling. I like Tristan and the way our friendship is progressing. I can’t let this situation—these unexpected feelings—ruin that possibility.
“Just making sure,” he smirks.
Sometimes he’s so arrogant, too. I keep my attention off the man to my left and work on coffee orders. When things die down a bit, I take a small break in the kitchen. A few minutes later, the door swings open, and Tristan blocks the doorway.
“What are you doing here?” My hand pauses midway to my mouth with the almond I was hoping to eat.
“Why are you in here?” His brows pull together.
“It’s my break.” I tilt my head.
“Oh. I thought you weren’t feeling well.” His shoulders drop, and he takes a deep breath.
“I feel fine,” I assure him.
“Good, good.” He runs a hand through his hair and looks around the kitchen. “So this is what this space looks like.”
It’s a rhetorical statement, so I don’t answer. His eyes land on mine with an easy smile.
“What time do you finish?” He checks his watch.
“At five today.”
“Have you eaten?”
I hold up the bag of almonds and lift my brows.
“I mean an actual meal.” He shakes his head, walking further into the space. It feels dwarfed with him in here.
“I had a big breakfast before coming in.”
Sometimes shifts get so busy that I don’t have time to eat, but a substantial breakfast and a snack usually hold me over until I leave.
