Page 281 of Manhattan Bossholes

He pressed a kiss to my cheek and sat up. “Good.”

“I’m gonna need a favor though.”

His eyebrow arched, curious.

“I’m not wearing that dress out to breakfast.”

“Ah, that’s fair.” Trent climbed out of bed, and I admired the long, toned expanse of muscle that rippled in the lingering shadow in the room. “I think I can come up with something.”

A half hour later, we walked down the sidewalk in the Village, hand in hand. The crisp October morning left the air smelling of fallen leaves. I was obsessed with it. For some reason, autumn always reminded me of solidly built furniture, and I wanted to snuggle up in a room that smelled of red cedar or sandalwood or pine.

“What are you craving?” Trent asked.

I hummed, squeezing his hand. “An oat milk latte and a lot of carbs.”

“I can get on board with the carbs.”

I tugged at the drawstring at my waist, tightening it. Trent had managed to scrounge up some sweats for me in his insanely large walk-in closet. They were too big, but I’d managed by rolling the waistband so they didn’t drag. Even if I was swimming in them, they were still a better alternative than the dress. The last thing I wanted was to strut through the Village in a slinky fuck-me outfit. Shoes had been harder to sort out, but Trent had found an old pair of tennis shoes that Dee had left at his place, and we’d made it work well enough to venture out for breakfast.

I couldn’t stop smiling as Trent’s fingers wove through mine. “So, where are we going?”

“Um…” He glanced down at his phone, clearly trying to follow the directions. “I think there’s a breakfast spot this way.” He looked up. “Wait. We’re on the wrong side of the street.”

We darted across between the traffic. “What do you mean you think?” I laughed. “Don’t you know where the good breakfast spots are in your neighborhood?”

“Honestly, no. I’ve lived here forever, but I don’t enjoy eating out by myself.” He shrugged. “And I don’t usually have someone around to eat breakfast with.”

“Oh,” I said as we walked into a place called Café Brew. It was a cozy spot filled with college students with giant cups of coffee poring over laptops. “So, no breakfast dates?”

“Not really. I’m not big on morning-after breakfast with a one-night stand. Sort of defeats the purpose, you know?”

On the one hand, it was nice to hear that he considered what we had more than a one-night thing. On the other hand, it seemed a little cold. Definitely not the way I was used to thinking about people I dated, even if they were just short-term flings.

We were greeted by the hostess.

“I know you’re busy,” Trent said. “But any chance of a table for two?” He gave her a dashing smile that probably started her heart racing. I know it would have had that effect on me if I were her. I also saw him slip her a bill. I couldn’t see how much it was, but I didn’t miss the way her eyes widened. She shot me a Damn, you hit the jackpot, girl look before leading us to a table in the back of the café.

We sat down and ordered coffee, orange juice, and food. When the waitress returned with our drinks, she also brought a newspaper for Trent.

“Do you always read the paper in the morning?” I asked.

He nodded. “I normally grab one when I leave my place and read it in the car on the way to the office.”

I liked that he still read a real newspaper and not just the highlights in the app on his phone. I couldn’t put my finger on why, but there was something endearing about it. “Have you always done that?”

“Papa Davis always read the paper at the breakfast table. I think that always stuck with me even after he was gone, and I sort of carried on doing the same.”

“It’s funny the things that stick with us,” I said. “My parents always had tea and a bit of something sweet before going to bed. After I lost them, I started having a little cookie or something before going to sleep. I know it’s weird, but it made me feel closer to them in a way.”

“It’s not weird,” he insisted, frowning as he reached out to stroke the back of my hand. “It’s sweet. No pun intended.”

I chuckled. “Can I ask you something?”

He leaned back in his chair. “I know where this is going.”

“What?”

“Nothing. There’s just a tone.”