Page 83 of A Taste of Vanilla

Brief.

His gaze drops to my mouth one more time before he turns toward the stairs.

I follow him down after pulling on my t-shirt and shorts, because letting a near-stranger navigate this place feels bad.

He pulls open the door, eyeing the lock.

My eyes narrow. “What?”

“You need a better lock.”

I laugh. “Goodbye to you too.”

He looks back at me. For one second, the controlled mask slips.

“Goodbye,” he says simply.

He opens the door and slips out. I lock it behind him, then lean against the door and stare at the ceiling.

My body aches.

My hair is a disaster, and my apartment smells like sex with a stranger.

I have no regrets.

I force myself into motion.

Shower, brush my teeth, do my makeup, tidy the apartment as much as I can, and get dressed.

When I head back downstairs to start prep, I nearly knock something over as I step outside.

Next to the door is a to-go cup of hot coffee and a piece of paper.

I pick it up.

The handwriting is neat.

You need a better lock,it says.

Underneath:Enjoy your day, stranger.

He went to one of the local fast-food coffee shops that opens early, and got me a coffee.

This is a practical man buying practical coffee after practical sex.

Very good sex.

Excellent sex.

Honestly, probably life-ruining sex.

And I’ll probably never see him again.

I pick it up and take a sip.

Black. Too bitter.

I make a face and head into the bakery, immediately going to the vanilla syrup.