“What is this?”
I’m tempted to reply with a sarcastic retort, but I decide not to. “It’s not poisoned.”
She narrows her eyes, then accepts the cup. As soon as she turns it, she sees my messy handwriting and the huge ‘I’m sorry’ scribbled on the side.
I bury my hands in the pockets of my snow pants to fight the urge to rub the back of my neck. “I went to the Latte Lounge for you and asked Gaby to make your usual order.”
What I don’t reveal is that my sister made mebegbefore she agreed to make Alara’s drink. Friends can do nice things for their friends, right?
Alara blinks at me, astonished, which makes me chuckle. “If you’d told me you drink plain milk,” I begin, “I would have brought my own carton and heated it up here. Would have even poured it in a mug for you.”
“It’s a dirty chai latte with oat milk and extra cinnamon,” she retorts, lifting the lid to inspect my present.
“Yeah, it’s milk.”
Though she rolls her eyes, the furious blush lighting up her cheekbones is proof that she’s affected by my gesture. “Thank you.” The way she says it so earnestly and how she gazes up at me makes me think she isn’t used to people being kind to her – or at least to receiving freely.
“You’re welcome,” I murmur, and look around her place again. I point to the small plastic Christmas tree placed on a low bookcase under the mezzanine, lights wrapped around it. “Is that a fake tree?”
“Tabitha,” is her answer, as if it explains everything. She takes a sip of the latte, her eyes closing as a low hum rumbles in her throat.
The little sound of pleasure she emits shouldnothave affected me, yet here I am imagining how she would sound if I—
“Cats and lights and Christmas trees are not a goodcombination,” she states, oblivious to the way my face is flushing.
I clear my throat and look away. “See? Demon.”
She chuckles and grabs her phone from the kitchen island. “Ready to go?”
Nope, but I don’t have a choice. “Born ready.”
Thankfully, the morning goes as fast as lightning, and by the time Lou tries to hug me goodbye, I feel reluctantly alright. Today my little student learned how to decrease her pace and stop. I’d be lying if seeing her smile didn’t make pride flare inside my chest, but I’m trying not to grow attached – to this job, to this town, to these people.
“That girl likes you,” Alara points out, as we collect our belongings and head toward the parking lot.
“Can’t blame her.” From the corner of my eye, I see Alara huff at my smug answer. “I’m a very likeable man.”
“That’s debatable,” she mumbles.
I cup my hand around my ear. “What’d you say?”
“That you’re irritating,” she bites out, with a smile playing around the corner of her mouth.
I shrug. “Yeah, well, annoyance looks rather cute on you.”
I can’t help it – flirting with her is such a fun form of entertainment.
Alara doesn’t reply, but the sight of her crimson cheeks causes me to hide my grin behind my hand while I pretend to run a palm over my stubbled jaw.
“Do you want to stop at your place to change?” She glances at my snow pants.
I shake my head. “I left a bag with spare clothes in my locker at Rock Snow.”
She eyes me, a hint of surprise gleaming. “Smart.”
“Stop it with all the compliments.”
“Do you want me to insult you?”
