I check the time. If I go home and grab a few hours’ sleep, I could meet him later today before my next shift. Maybe he’s working. Which would mean I could have another cup of that coffee. By which I mean another one of those brownies. They were next-level delicious.
Me:How about 3 pm at the same coffee shop as Sunday?
Ant:Perfect. We close at 3:30, so it should be quiet. I’ll save you a brownie
How did he know I’d been thinking about the brownies?
And no, it had nothing to do with him sucking the chocolate off those long, tanned fingers like a porn star.
Ant is behind the counter when I arrive at the coffee shop. He spots me straight away and waves me over to a table beside the window while taking payment from a customer. I can hear them laughing and joking as the customer stuffs an orange note into the tip jar on the counter. Tipping is not a huge thing in Australia, so tipping twenty dollars for a café meal is generous. I guess it pays to be flirty.
The shop is much less crowded today than it was on Sunday. While I wait for him, I look around. I’d been too nervous to notice anything the first time I was here.
The vibe is perfect for a beachside café. Wide windows open fully to the view of the beach across the road. The polished concrete floor is generously studded with chunks of what looks like sea glass in blues and greens. Lights are constructed with a combination of blue and green glass buoys and lobster pots. An old surfboard—still covered in sand and wax—sits in pride of place on the white wall behind the serving counter. The tables and chairs are weathered grey wood that reminds me of the driftwood you find on the beach, and in the far corner are groupings of outdoor lounges and chairs upholstered in greys, blues and greens.
Whoever put this place together has an eye for design.
And whoever runs it keeps it spotlessly clean. No sticky tables or half-filled sugar dispensers here.
I’m so lost in thought that I jump when Ant leans over me, bringing with him the fresh scent of the sea, and deposits acoffee and brownie in front of me, before returning to the counter to grab his own. I refuse to read anything into the fact that he remembered my coffee order. Except that I can feel a blush rushing up my cheeks, and based on the smug look he gives me, I think Ant notices.
“So, we’d be leaving in three weeks, for eight days?” he asks when he sits down, picking up the conversation where we left off as though it’s been a few minutes, not days.
I clear my throat with a gulp of the coffee.
“Yes. Will you be able to get the time off? Oh, no. I just realised. You’ll need a passport. I don’t think there’s time to get one.”
He grins. “No drama with holidays, and I have a passport. I’ll send you the details for the ticket. I presume you’ll book us on a flight together?”
“Oh, good. I’ll send you the information for sorting out a visa. And the money to cover it. You could fly over later, if that’s easier.” It’ll mean I have to fend off the matchmakers on my own, but I don’t want to inconvenience him too much. Well, that, and spending too much time looking at his handsome face and … everything … could be injurious to my health.
“I can fly with you. But we do have one problem. I can’t very well show up at this thing as your significant other knowing nothing about you.”
I was ready for this. I pull the fact sheet that I typed up before our first meeting on Sunday from my bag. Yes. It’s sad. I’m that woman who sat home on a Saturday night writing up a bio for a fake boyfriend.
I hand it over to a grinning Ant, who drops it on the table between us, without even looking at it.
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to work for me.”
Why am I surprised. He might be prepared to help me out, but he’s still a bit of an arsehole.
“I was thinking more like dinner. Or lunch. I’m flexible.”
“You may be flexible, but I’m not.” I jab a fork into my brownie, wishing it were his hand. Until it hits my lips. Then it takes all my willpower not to moan in ecstasy. These things are divine. Crusty on the outside, soft and gooey on the inside. Chunks of chocolate and flakes of salt littering the top. I struggle to appear leisurely as I spear another piece and all but inhale it.
“I seriously doubt that,” he says with a dirty grin, clearly not referring to our schedules. “And doesn’t it only take one of us to be flexible to make it work?”
Shit. True. But I don’t want to spend any more time with this guy than necessary. He gets under my skin. I’m not the best at thinking before I speak, and I don’t want to antagonise him before we even leave for Hawaii. Once we’re there, I’ll be stuck with him for a whole week. That’s a long time to hold your tongue.
Double shit. We’ll have to share a room. I really didn’t think this through, but I’m in too deep to back out now. Note to self, call the hotel and ask to be upgraded to a suite. Hopefully, the sofa will be long enough to hold him.
“Fine. I’m on night shift this week. I can do lunch next Tuesday. But I’ll only have an hour. I can meet you at the hospital cafeteria at one pm.”
“You work at a hospital? Let me guess, you’re the one who chases up all the unpaid bills? Oh, wait. No. You’re the one who does the autopsies. What are they called?”
As I said, arsehole.
“I’m an anaesthetist, actually.”
