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My phone rang with Sandy’s name on the screen. I declined the call with thecan’t talk nowtext. It rang again a minute later, and once again I declined it. Talking to her now would be rude, and my parents raised me better than that.
“You can take that if you want,” Josh offered.
“She can wait.”
He shot me an inquisitive look.
“It’s just Sandy, my friend, the one I was in Barbados with.”
I settled back and sent her a text.
ME: Going to coffee with Josh
SANDY: Call me after
* * *
Josh
I openedthe door to Peet’s Coffee and let Nicole go first—half to be a gentleman and half to be treated to the sway of her hips as I followed.
Coffee instead of dinner was a step back, but better than getting the door slammed in my face.
Nicole’s smile as we left her house had been the one with that inviting warmth I’d seen in Barbados.
All I wanted was to reset to before she’d gotten pissed about the Rossi’s situation and see where that put us. The people at the company I’d met so far had all been completely complimentary of Nicole. It’s natural that they wouldn’t have much negative to say about the granddaughter of the company founder, but these had been more than platitudes. Their words had come from a place of true respect.
Would the people at Benson be equally complimentary if asked about me?
When we reached the counter, the barista asked, “What will it be?”
I gestured for Nicole to respond first and caught the guy’s gaze darting back to her face from her chest. I moved closer to my date.
“A mocha, please,” she said. “Medium.”
“I’ll have the same,” I told Mr. Roaming Eyes as I pulled out my wallet.
While our drinks were being prepared, Nicole looked nervously around the store, shifting from one foot to the other. She was out of her element, somehow.
After we picked up our cups, she stopped to add cinnamon to hers.
I did the same before guiding her to a table near the window, far away from Mr. Roaming Eyes.
“I like something I can sip for a while,” she said as we sat.
“Me too. See? We already have something in common.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“Something I intend to remedy.”
“You always order a mocha?” she asked with narrowed eyes. “And add cinnamon?”
Busted.
Honesty was my only alternative. “Normally I might get a café au lait.”
“Might?” she asked.
