“But isn’t that place for young folks?”
Willow laughed. “Weare young folks.”
George wanted to challenge this, but decided not to. Instead, he allowed her to lead the way. Perhaps he was simply under her spell, but he soon found himself entering a crowded coffeehouse where what sounded like folk music was playing and most of the crowd looked about half his age.
After a quick discussion at the counter, where George confessed to not being a coffee connoisseur, Willow insisted on ordering and paying for their coffees. “This is my little thank-you for writing that letter for Collin,” she said as they settled with their coffees at a little bistro table in a semi-quiet corner.
George never drank coffee past the noon hour, but so many things about this evening were outside of his norm, he decided it didn’t matter. And after his first sip, he was surprised. “This is really good,” he told Willow. “What is it?”
“Just Brazilian medium roast,” she said. “You said you weren’t a fancy coffee drinker so I just chose a basic.”
“But it’s so tasty.”
She looked amused. “So, tell me, what coffee do you usually drink?”
“It’s just a generic grocery store brand.”
“Oh.” Her eyes twinkled. “Let me guess—it comes in a can.”
He nodded, then took another sip. “Well, thank you for this. It’s surprisingly good.” He smiled. “But I’m the one who owes you a thank-you tonight.”
“Whatever for?”
“For helping me to escape Lorna Atwood.”
She laughed. “That woman is really into you.”
“So did it take very long for her to get discouraged and leave?”
“I didn’t actually see her go, but I’m sure she remained for a good fifteen minutes. She was hanging near the door ... probably in the hopes of snagging you up again. Did you actually break a dinner date with her?”
“No.” He firmly shook his head. “It was never a date. She asked me several days ago and I couldn’t think of a good excuse so I put her off by saying I’d think about it. The other day, I told her I had another commitment. It wasn’t exactly a lie. I planned to think of something else to do, to make it true. And then you told me about the art walk tonight. It sounded like the perfect excuse to go out.”
“But not with her.”
“That hadn’t been my plan.” He frowned. “It’s not that she’s particularly unpleasant, she’s quite cheerful really ... although she talks a lot.”
“She is rather attractive.”
“In a cupcake sort of way.”
“What?” Her brows arched.
He chuckled. “Oh, that’s a bad habit of mine. Not the sort of thing I usually say out loud.”
“Tell me more.” She leaned forward with an attractive tilt to her head. “What is a cupcake sort of way?”
“The truth is ... I have an embarrassing tendency to compare women to baked goods.” Had he really just admitted that?
“Seriously? And Lorna Atwood is a cupcake? Why?”
“Well, because she’s sort of fluffy and a bit too sweet and colorful for my taste.”
“Interesting.” Willow nodded to a pair of attractive younger women seated nearby. “What about those two? What sort of pastries would you use to describe them?”
He studied them briefly. “Well, I don’t really know them so this is pure speculation, but the blonde might be a French cruller and the brunette could be a frosted brownie.”
“Hmmm ... I wonder what I would be.”
