I smile even though I wish she hadn’t mentioned sex. “Try the almond croissant with the latte. It should enhance the flavors of the coffee and Biscoff.”
She breaks off a piece and slides it into her mouth, chewing slowly. “I see what you mean.”
I lift my mug and watch her eat, enjoying the act of just looking at her—skin glowing beneath the Edison bulbs, her tongue sliding to the corner of her mouth to pick up the flaky bits of pastry. It’s giving me all sorts of ideas. If I stood up now, I’d be arrested for indecent exposure.
“What are you drinking?” she asks.
“A black eye,” I reply, clearing my throat. “Dark roast with two shots of espresso.”
“That sounds awful.” She wrinkles her nose, and it’s cute as fuck.
My chest vibrates with a chuckle. “I like the taste and smell of coffee; anything else gets in the way for me. But I follow the trends to offer customers a variety of choices.”
“Must be nice to run a café,” Lexie muses. “To have something of your own.”
“That was the appeal.” I glance around the warm interior, proud of what I’ve built. “What about you?” I ask. “What do you do in The Windy City?”
Her expression dims a little. “Public relations, but it’s not my passion.”
“Photography is?”
“I’m not sure I see a career for me in that,” she sighs. “I’ve always loved art. I traveled all over when I was younger. France. Italy. The galleries and cathedrals—they were exquisite. It inspired me to study art history in college. I took some photography classes, too, and found I had a knack for it.”
“You definitely have a knack, but I’m curious to know how you ended up in PR from art history.”
Her gaze falls away, and she glances down at her mug with a slight frown. “Art history wasn’t a practical choice. I switched my major in my second year—international business. After graduating, I started my career in marketing. But now, I’m looking to do something else.” She sighs and glances back up. “That’s why I’m here—to figure out what I want to do with my life.”
“Your solo retreat.”
“Mm-hmm.” She nods, her expression tensing as she traces the edge of her mug with her fingertips. “An idea that sounded good in theory but is more daunting than I expected. I had all these plans to do mind-mapping and thirty-day goal setting. But here I am on day four, and I haven’t even opened my laptop. Sorry.” She waves her hand. “That was a lot to dump on you.”
“Not at all.” I lean in, giving her an encouraging smile. “What could be more therapeutic than confiding in a relative stranger?”
“Most strangers aren’t interested in someone else’s problems.”
“I’m interested in yours.”
Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “Why?”
“Because I like you.”
“You just met me.”
“What’s time got to do with it?”
She lets out a short laugh. “That sounds like it could be a song title.”
“I might just write it.”
“You really are a charmer,” she laughs. “You must have women falling all over you.”
“Some days, it leaves quite a mess at the café,” I joke.
“I bet.”
“You think I’m a player who’s feeding you some pick-up line.”
“Not exactly,” she says after a thoughtful pause. “I don’t get the sense that you’re playing me. I just want to make it clear that the conditions of my stay haven’t changed. Dating does not fit into my plans.”
