Page 181 of A Taste of Vanilla

Holding a Coconut Bloom. One made with a completely fresh batch of syrup.

It’s not a small one, either.

A large.

Pink and blue sleeve and everything.

The straw is in his mouth when I gasp. He freezes.

The betrayal is immediate and beautiful.

“Well,” I say.

Warren lowers the cup slowly.

“Halston.” It almost sounds like he’s begging, and the sound does unfortunate things to me.

I smile. “Oh, no. Don’t Halston me. I know what I’m seeing.”

“I was testing it.”

“It’s three in the afternoon and we’ve been selling them all day.”

“Quality control,” he assures me.

I shake my head. “You’re standing in the alley like some kind of raccoon trying to hide his trash.”

His eyes narrow and I step closer.

“I thought you were a black coffee person,” I question.

“I am.”

“You have cold foam on your upper lip.”

He stills, and my smile widens.

“Do I?”

“Yep.”

His eyes close, as if this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

I set the cups on a box against the wall and reach for my phone. Warren’s eyes widen immediately. “What are you doing?”

“Texting Marley.”

He groans. “Halston.”

There it is again. My name like a warning from his lips. But we’re alone, his voice is low, and the last time he said it like that, I ended up with his hands on my waist and my heart trying to crawl out of my chest.

I should leave.

“You lied to me.”

“Not really.”

“You like sweet coffee.”