Page 93 of The Great Dating Fake Off
Sebastian
The matching coffee cups leach heat into my hands. I got decaf for myself because even an ounce of caffeine would slay me dead right now.
I’m on edge enough.
But for Nora, I got something very caffeinated.Nothing says I know we’ve seen each other naked, but that’s not why I’m here like a girl’s favorite coffee, right?
Nora asked me to come by her store after I check on Enzo. I asked her what time to come. She told me noon.
Here I am.
The way we left things back at the resort felt so sudden and wrong. I probably should’ve just called her to get the initial awkwardness out of the way.
But then I wouldn’t be able to see her, and I’m a weak son of a bitch when it comes to Nora.
I take a steadying breath as I move past the tall windows of the old bookstore. The Paper Trail is busy today.Good. I don’t need to be alone with her. We just need to have a quick, cut-and-dried conversation about Enzo.
A cool current of air greets me as I finagle my way inside, hands full.
Nora immediately stands out, chatting with a woman near a colorful book table. She makes eye contact with her and nods in earnest, like she’s really listening hard, laughing and squeezing her arm like they’re old pals.
I know how that woman must be feeling; Nora has a way of making people feel seen and heard. Valued. Her undivided attention is like a warm hug and a charging port. When she talked to me about my work and my life, she made me feel like I could conquer the damn world—like I was already halfway down that path simply because I opened a few clubs.
That’s not a feeling I’m accustomed to. Women look at my job like it’s a liability, and my friends and family look at it like an extension of who I’ve always been: a person trying way too hard to do just enough.
Two people walk in the door behind me, forcing me to step sideways out of their path. Nora does a double take at the flurry of motion, and her eyes meet mine.
It’s like someone took a wrench to my chest and cranked. Twice.
She’s so beautiful it sets my nerve endings on fire.
Yeah, I probably should’ve gone for a phone call.
I clutch the cups a little tighter, and then lift them in offering.
These are my friendly coffees, and this is my friendly face, and if I say it enough times, maybe seeing her will feel safe. Sterile.
Nora bids her customers a big smile and gestures for me to follow her toward the café area. I can’t drag my eyes off her as we walk; her shoulders are freckled like she’s been in the sun—the only freckles on her body that I know of, though admittedly I didn’t get a lot of time with her naked in the light of day—and her hair is different. Maybe shorter.
Nothing else has changed. Not her legs, or her eyes, or her boots, or the way I long to touch her.
She comes to a stop near a tiny table. Her expression is guarded, but a smile fights to break through. “Hi.”
Not long ago, she pressed that word against my ear, an invitation in the dark.
“Sorry,” she continues, “I thought I’d have a break so we could talk in the office or outside, but Benji had to step out for an unexpected errand. We’ll have to chat here.”
I clear my throat and extend my hand. “No problem. This is for you.”
Her fingers brush mine as she takes it. She has on a bracelet I’ve never seen before. “What’s this?”
“A large oat milk cappuccino with brown sugar. I went out on a limb and assumed your usual coffee place was the one that was walkable from here, and that you’d want something you couldn’t make for yourself.”
A beat of silence passes as she stares a hole in the cup.
“That’s your drink, isn’t it?” Heat prickles my skin as I recall the drive-through coffee shop. “Did I get it wrong?”
“No, you were right.” She brings it to her chest, almost like she’s cradling it. “This is definitely my drink. And I haven’t had coffee yet today.” Her gaze flits up. “Thank you.”
