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“Holy fuck,” I murmur, my mouth full of pastry. “That’s fucking gorgeous.”
Josie just grins back at me.
“Yep. It is. As I’ve said, they’re the best.”
“Goddamn. Definitely blows anything from Paris or Brussels out of the water.”
I scoff the rest in almost one go. It’s amazing. Addictive, even.
“I thought you might like it,” Josie remarks.
“Yep,” I say, brushing my hands together. “Like you said, my brother was correct.”
“Wait until you try my coffee,” Josie retorts with a bigger smirk.
“Maybe I will.”
“But you’ll have to pay for one,” Josie replies. “This almond croissant is on the house, but the coffee will be worth a generous tip.”
“Well, you deserve a generous tip for pulling me out from being trampled,” I say.
“What can I say? I’m good at my job.”
“You most certainly are, Josie Gunn,” I reply. I can see a slight blushing come to her cheeks. Our little tit-for-tat is having an effect on her, it seems. I’m enjoying this – it’s not every day that I can have a genuine conversation with someone who isn’t a yes man for a famous actor. Josie is talking to me like an equal or like a flirty customer at the counter, and I’m loving it. She’s talking to me like I’m a real fucking human being. Yeah, I’m glad I allowed her to take me back here. “Oh, my rescue is on the way, just to let you know. My driver is coming to The Oak as we speak. I’ll just have to sit tight and wait for the cavalry.”
“Is this usual for you?” Josie asks, nodding back out to the street where we can hear the crowd still hasn’t dispersed.
“What do you mean?”
“All those people wanting you? Wanting your attention? Your autograph?”
“It’s very normal for me,” I reply somberly. “It’s the one thing about my job I can complain about.”
We stand for a moment in awkward silence. She probably doesn’t want to go back to work, and I can’t fucking leave, thanks to that crowd out there.
“As we wait for your driver,” Josie finally mutters, “how about we talk? I’ve got nothing else to do until all of this blows over, and I doubt you do too.”
I’m glad she’s broken the awkwardness.
“Sure,” I reply. “What do you want to talk about?”
“What’s it like being famous?” she asks. “I’m curious. I’ve never met someone famous before.”
Yeah, I really like this girl. She’s smart, I can tell. Inquisitive. Head on her shoulders. She’s also not very intimidated or overawed by me, which doesn’t happen often. Especially with women.
Sure, I can talk to her for a few minutes.
“Being famous is better than you can imagine for ninety-nine percent of the time,” I reply, “and then there’s one percent when you’re being mobbed by total strangers.”
“Ah, I see. And meeting baristas in seedy alleyways...”
“That too.”
I lean against the wall and stare at her.
“And tell me about yourself, Josie Gunn. What’s it like being... you? What’s it like to be the person who serves the best almond croissants?”
The barista’s cheeks immediately turn a bright pink, and she looks away bashfully.
