Page 79 of Famous for a Living

He looks around, like he’s trying to find an extra chair to make himself eye level. When none present themselves, he resumes. “Heard you went out of town for a while. When did you get back?”

“Last Friday. I was hoping to make it back for the winter carnival but got tangled up and had to miss. Heard it was a heck of a turnout, though.”

Interesting.

In Kannery, a heck of a turnout equals the same number of people a neighbor squeezed inside her eight-hundred-square-foot apartment for her New Year’s party last year.

His gaze shifts to mine with interest. “And who do you have here?”

If I’m not mistaken, I sense Zaiah hesitate.

“Oh.” Zaiah shifts to me. “Cat, this is Mark Huddleston. We were busboys together at that diner I worked at when I first moved out here. He poured me my first cup of coffee.” Zaiah raises his cup. “And still does. This is Cat—”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, cutting Zaiah off before he can finish giving my name.

For heaven’s sake.

Never after your first five million followers say your first and last name in a room full of people when you’d rather not be noticed. These are elementary-level rules even techy eight-year-olds know.

“She’s started doing some work at the park,” Zaiah adds.

“Terry’s girl, eh?” Mark holds out a hand and shakes mine. “I’ve heard good things.”

My eyes flicker down to the tray attached to his chair. “So. You work here? It’s quite the place.”

“Own it. And thanks. It may not be the vibe some locals were going for around here, but I like it.”

“Seems to me everyone in the town likes it.” I scan the room. “You could heat the whole place up with the body heat.”

He laughs, and his blue eyes twinkle. “You caught me. That’s the real goal here. Save on heat expenses.”

I laugh, and then I see it.

Zaiah shifts on his heel. It’s a subtle shift, and frankly, did I not make it my job to know exactly how many lights were in a room, their wattage, and the exact degree I needed to incline my head in order to highlight my best features at all times, I would’ve missed it.

But I didn’t.

I’m an expert in this.

And without question Zaiah, whether he even realized it or not, shifted.

Just the slightest degree toward me. Just the slightest degree toward boxing Mark out.

Mark is either oblivious or, more likely from the way he seems to keep his eyes trained on me so resolutely, doesn’t care.

“So you’re Terry’s famed niece,” he says, without breaking a smile.

Ah. So he does know.

“I was just in the city a few months ago for a trade show,” he continues. “I went in for CFIR. It’s an independent coffee retailer thing. Just a good ol’ swap of best techniques and industry gossip.” He waves a hand nonchalantly. “Probably sounds pretty lame. But I did snag that beauty when I was there.” He points backward toward the counter. “Cost more than I’m worth to ship it here, but she was worth it.”

He looks so admiringly at his lady—the black espresso machine with glinting antique gold knobs—I have to smile.

“Well.” I raise my cup. “This is the best flat white I’ve had in a long time. I commend you for your conference-attending efforts.”

He claps his hands together and calls over his shoulder to no one in particular, “You hear that, everyone? A bona fide New Yorker appreciates my coffee.”

“Good, because the service sucks!” a voice in the back calls out.