“I saw you pull in. Don’t get mad. I wasn’t following you. I was getting gas, and when you pulled in…I couldn’t resist.”
“Oh.”
“You getting a coffee? Come on, my treat.”
Our hands still together in front of us, I tried to pull away, but he held tighter. I took all of him in. From his messy hair to his blue eyes to his loose white tee and khaki cargo shorts. Muscular legs, gorgeous forearms, the dusting of hair along his skin, and, of course, his shitkickers, he was irresistible.
We were like a standardized test question.
Question: What item doesn’t belong?
Answer: Me.
“You don’t have to do that. Get me a coffee, I mean.”
“Let’s go, Claire. I have a truck full of groceries, and I want to butter you up with coffee in hopes you’ll let me make you dinner.” He kept my hand close as he led me toward the coffee shop.
My hand felt empty when he let go to get the door. Cold air blasted me in the face, his other hand finding my lower back, heating me once again, and ushering me inside.
“Hi! What can I get you today?” A chipper blonde in braids stared at us from behind the register. She looked like she belonged with Aiken, while I didn’t.
Aiken took the initiative. “A large coffee for me, room for cream, and whatever she’s having.”
I suspected he was a ladies-first kind of guy, but he also realized we’d be here all day if he waited for me to order.
“I’ll have an extra-large vanilla latte, three pumps, two percent milk, no whip.” I rattled off my order minus the pastry.
“Name for the cup?”
“Claire.”
“Sounds delish.” He pinched my side lightly, teasing me, his eyes crinkled and his mouth turned up.
“It is, I’ll have you know.”
“Come on.” He led me to the coffee bar and doused his coffee in cream and sugar.
“Is that even coffee anymore?”
Just then, the barista called my name and handed me my drink.
“I hardly think you can talk.” He clinked his coffee cup into mine. “Cheers. Now, let’s talk about dinner. I was thinking I’d grill, and you could let Smitty run around my yard while you lounge in one of my chairs with some wine.”
He tugged open the door, and we were back out in the heat.
“Aiken, you don’t have to feel bad for me. I don’t want pity.” I stopped in my tracks and sucked down a gulp of vanilla and coffee.
“Good thing, I don’t do pity. So, how does that sound?”
“Aik—”
“No excuses, Claire. We’re doing it. You deserve it, and frankly, so do I. Last week, I tried to go out in this godforsaken college town, and let me tell you…it sucked. I need a woman, a real woman, not a placeholder.”
He didn’t give me a chance to respond or even finish saying his name. His hand found my lower back and guided me toward my car. “I’ll follow you back. Enjoy your coffee, and take care of Smitty. See you over at my place soon.”
“Can I get a word in?”
He leaned onto my doorjamb, his bicep protruding from his shirt, distracting me from my entire train of thought.
