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“But,” I say, “I might have something else.”
I reach down behind her seat and show her two iced coffees, passing the lighter one to her.
“Oat milk,” I explain.
She has a look in her eye that I know I’ll strive to see again. The one that’s surprise mixed with a tiny bit of awe.
“Thank you,” she says shyly as she takes it from me, our hands touching and my entire body feeling the electricity.
Chapter 5: Sam
I swear my fingers have a mind of their own. My brain tries to be polite and not make contact, unlike someone with an unrequited crush might do. But no, they grab the cup just below his and my index finger practically smothers his pinky.
Cheeks burning, I fight to not react. I just keep looking into his eyes, which have completely ensnared mine.
“Oat milk?” I ask.
A twinge of doubt enters his expression. “Isn’t that how you take your coffee?”
I smile, hoping to reassure him and not look like my heart is melting into a puddle at the thought of Tommy knowing how I like my coffee. It doesn’t matter if it’s hot or cold, it’s always with oat milk.
“It is.”
“Whew,” he says. “For a moment, I thought I had messed up something pretty elementary.”
“There’s nothing elementary about knowing how someone takes their coffee,” I reply, thinking of all the times friends and even family have panicked about getting my order wrong and accidentally getting me something with dairy in it.
He raises his eyebrow. “It sounds like someone set the bar pretty damn low.”
“The bar?” I feel like this conversation is coded as confusion stirs inside of me.
“Yeah. If you’re even mildly impressed by my coffee observations, just you wait for what else is coming.”
“What’s coming?” I ask, purposefully trying to breathe normally because internally I might be freaking out just a little bit. It sounds like he's talking about setting the bar low for… dating.
“You’ll see soon enough.” He frowns. “I hope.”
“What does that mean?” Nice one, Samantha, way to not sound pathetic and needy.
“It means you have to be interested. I don't want you to ever feel pressured about anything.”
Opening my mouth to say something, totally unsure of how I was going to respond, he looks at the clock on his dash, breaking our eye contact.
“We’ll both be late for the meeting if we stay here much longer, and I know you like to be early to get a seat in front,” he says, rubbing his free hand on his jeans. Is he nervous? “I bet that’s where you sat in high school and college, too.”
“Of course I did, that’s where you can see and hear the best.” Curiosity gets the best of me. “Where did you sit?”
We get out of the truck, both carrying two drinks. I’m happy that I grabbed this particular tote since it hangs easily from my shoulder.
“The side of the room, but not in the back or front.”
“I can picture high school Tommy Landen in class, actually.” It fits what I’ve learned about him. He’s full of life and joy, but he has a reserved side without quite being a wallflower.
A mental image from the “Date a Cowboy” auction night. I remember how hard it was for me to concentrate on the script I was reading of Tommy’s admirable qualities, and I’ll admit I had to really pare them down so his list wasn’t twice as long as every other bachelor’s there. The struggle to not just watch him move across the stage like he owned the place was very real. He didn’t walk, he strutted. He turned in time with the music, winked at Mrs. Fields, gave Courtney a little wave, and then I was brought back to reality. Or what I thought was reality. Tommy and Courtney really do seem to be friends and not more.
“Allow me,” he says, pulling me back to this moment. Of course he got the door.
“Thanks,” I say, attempting to not blush. I don't know the last time a guy did that for me. I mean, one I was really dating. Jackson did, but that wasn’t even close to dating. He introduced me to everyone, sometimes more than once, so I wasn’t floundering with names, and then he stepped back and let me talk to everyone. Those were some of my first meetings and Tommy was absent for most of them for some reason.
