Hey, Blue. I’m whipping up a new latte with a secret ingredient. Need your expert opinion. When can you get here?
I feel an automatic smile tug at my lips. I know I should stay here and get some productive work done. But he’s like a drug, and I’m already hooked. Afraid of where this is heading but too addicted to stop.
Lex: Be there in 15.
Barely a second passes before the next ping.
Chaz: I’ll be waiting.
When I arrive at the Acoustic Café, I’m greeted with the familiar hum of conversation, the clinking of mugs, and the smell of espresso. Chaz is behind the counter wearing an apron over a Henley shirt, open at the collar and pushed up to reveal those thick, inked forearms, his afro a mass of curls. He’s not the clean-cut preppy type like Richard or any of my prior suitors. His piercings and tattoos alone would have my mother clutching her Mikimoto pearls.
He catches my eye and flashes that deep-dimpled grin as he prepares a customer’s order. It’s an unfair advantage that never fails to release a swarm of butterflies in my stomach. I offer a modest smile and a finger wave.
“Hi, Lexie.” Sophia greets me at the counter. “C said you’re coming to dinner tomorrow.”
“Only if you don’t mind me crashing your birthday party.”
“I’m glad you’ll be there. It’ll give us a chance to talk outside of the café.”
“I’d like that.”
“Grab a seat. C’s working on something for you.”
“Can’t wait to try it,” I say, reaching for my wallet.
“He won’t let you pay.”
“I feel bad, though,” I admit, not wanting to take advantage.
“Why? Doing something nice for you makes him feel good. C is all about acts of service for the people he cares about.”
I nod, unsure how to respond, and put my wallet away.The people he cares about.A big statement said so simply. Of course,it plays over and over in my head as I find our spot by the fireplace. I straighten the sugar packs, waiting for him to finish behind the counter.
He stops at a nearby table first, dropping off a drink. “Here you go, Miss Arlee.”
“Thank you, handsome.” She tucks a silver strand behind her ear. “Will you sing me a little Al Greene? You know, I love me some Al.”
“I’d be happy to.” His baritone eases smoothly into the chorus of “Let’s Stay Together.” She puts a hand over her heart and sways. I know just how she feels—swept off my feet.
He kisses her hand at the end, and she thanks him with the most adoring gaze.
“Looks like Miss Arlee is in love,” I say when he reaches me.
“I am popular with the seniors.” He chuckles. “They think I have an old soul.”
“Uh-huh. I’m sure that’s it. You sounded amazing, by the way.”
“Anytime you want a private concert, say the word.”
Is it possible for a pulse to race and stutter at the same time? Mine seems to be doing both. “So, what’s this drink you need my expert opinion on?” I ask, trying to pull myself together.
“You tell me.” His eyes carry a teasing glint as he joins me, setting down the saucer and mug. “You’ve guessed them all so far.”
I lower my gaze to admire the stunning latte art. The creamy foam swirls with dark, glossy lines of chocolate that curl in graceful arcs, forming the shape of dancing flames. Cookie crumbles are artfully scattered around the edge, creating the impression of embers. “Wow!” I lift my phone, snapping several shots. “I can’t believe all the details.”
“I wanted to get it right.”
“You did.” I pick up the mug and take a sip. “Mmm…chocolate, marshmallow, and oh . . .” I lick the crumbs off my lips. “Graham cracker. It’s a s’mores latte. It even has that campfire taste. How did you manage that?”
