Page 7 of Change of Plans

“Oh. I was just happy that a project I’ve been working on for a while is about to hit the construction phase,” I said, sitting back and trying to look cool, comfortable, and composed, none of which came naturally to me.

Particularly when a hot, sweet barista was grinning at me while looking all cute in his coffee bean themed apron.

“You’re an architect, right?” Diccon asked, settling into a comfortable lean against the bench.

My eyes went wide. “How did you know that?” I asked, warming up too much.

Diccon shrugged one shoulder. “I saw something that said Gershwin and Anglesea in your satchel a while back. I live around here, too, and I know they’re an architectural firm.”

“Yeah, they are.”

Wow. I was actually having a conversation with Diccon Meyers.

Except maybe I wasn’t. More like Diccon was watching me with a barely concealed grin, like he was waiting for me to get the punchline of a joke.

I cleared my throat again. “Are you sure it’s okay if I work in here today?” I asked, ready for him to tell me I was harshing his vibe or something and should go away. “There was a small fire in our building last night that set the sprinkler system off. All the offices were flooded, and we’re not going to be able to work in the space until we have professionals come in and clean it up.”

Diccon’s gently teasing look dropped into something more serious. “Shit. Sorry about that. Of course you can work here for as long as you need to. Can I get you anything?”

I was surprised, and a little touched, by the offer.

“Coffee, maybe?” Diccon went on, his teasing look making a reappearance.

He’d done it on purpose. He’d switched up my regular coffee for whatever deliciousness he’d given me.

Wait, was that flirting or treachery?

“You gave me different coffee this morning,” I said. Not my best conversational gambit ever, but this was the longestconversation I’d ever had with the man, so I needed to give myself a break.

“I did,” Diccon confirmed, his grin widening. “I was surprised you didn’t come back in to complain.”

I blinked once at him, wondering what the heck was going on. “Complain? About the new coffee? It was great.”

Now Diccon was the one who looked dumbfounded. “Great? That stuff?”

“What kind of coffee was it?”

“It was this weird blueberry coffee our distributor is trying to convince us to buy, and it’s terrible.”

“Blueberry? They make blueberry coffee?” I couldn’t believe it.

I couldn’t believe Diccon Meyers and I were having a real conversation.

“Apparently, it’s all the rage in, like, Maine, but I have no idea why,” Diccon said. And then he slid into the booth across from me. “You actually liked it?”

“Yes?” I flinched slightly when I felt his feet bump against mine under the table. “Am I not supposed to like it?”

“Oh, Theo,” Diccon said with pretend seriousness. “I have so much to teach you about what makes good coffee.”

The last thing I needed was more caffeine, because just hearing that from Diccon made my insides fizz and jump like I’d had a double-shot espresso.

“I’m open to learning more,” I said. I would be open to a lot of things where Diccon was concerned.

Except that going out on a limb and asking him out on a day when my luck was already in the toilet didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of working out.

On top of that, the café’s door opened and a pair of customers walked in, killing any chance to say something that I might have had.

“Duty calls,” Diccon said, setting a hand on the table and pushing himself to stand. “Are you sure you don’t need anything? A muffin? A bagel?”