A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Perks for you, maybe, but for me, it’s like walking through a minefield.”
“Where’s the fun in making it easy for you?” she asked, leaning in slightly.
“Fun for you,” I muttered, shaking my head as if that would help to dislodge the thoughts of her from my mind. “Daily struggle for me.”
“Oh, poor you,” she said in a voice that bordered on sarcasm and dripped with annoyance. She tilted her head slightly, letting her hair fall perfectly over one shoulder, making it even harder to focus. “Tell me, how do you cope?”
“I survive,” I said, my voice thick with irony. “Just barely.”
She laughed, the sound a melody I couldn’t help but be drawn to. “You know,” she said softly, her tone shifting to something almost affectionate, “some people pay good money for this kind of attention. You’re lucky I even come to these breakfasts.”
“Oh, is that right?” I replied, raising an eyebrow and forcing a smirk onto my lips. “Do they get a loyalty card or something? Buy ten torments, get one free?” I leaned back, trying to putsome physical distance between us, hoping it would help to clear my mind.
She laughed again—a light, airy sound that made my chest tighten. “If only. But then, where’s the spontaneity in that?”
“Spontaneity?” I echoed. “Is that what you call this?”
“Absolutely. Life’s too short for predictability.”
“Predictability,” I repeated, musing over the word. “And yet you are reliably late.” I looked at her, waiting for her reaction, and she didn’t disappoint.
“Keeps you on your toes, doesn’t it?”
“Hmm,” I said, looking down at my watch, trying to hide the smile that threatened to break free. I could feel her gaze on me, studying each and every move I made.
“You don’t have patience,” she said, reaching out to touch my arm lightly. The gesture threw me off.
“Patience?” I echoed once more. “I have plenty of patience. Especially when it comes to you.”
“Is that so?” she asked, a sly smile creeping across her face. “Then why do you always look like you’re about to lose your mind?” She raised an eyebrow, challenging me.
“Because,” I replied, keeping my voice steady, “you’re a master at pushing my buttons.” I leaned in closer again, closing the distance between us just enough to make my point.
“Can’t have you getting too comfortable,” she said with amusement.
“Comfortable is the last thing I am around you. You make me anxious.”
“And yet here you are,” she pointed out. “Every Monday morning at 9 a.m. sharp.” She uncrossed her arms and rested her hand on the table, her fingers inches from mine.
“Glutton for punishment, I guess.”
The sunlight filtering in through the window cast a glow on her face as she grabbed the very same meal she’d chosen duringour breakfast last week: avocado toast, topped with a sprinkle of sea salt and a drizzle of olive oil.
She didn’t have anything smart to say back to me. Finally.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” she blurted out suddenly, her voice breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between us. “About the contract.”
“Quickly,” I said, looking down at my watch. “I have a meeting to get to.”
“Another one?” she asked curiously. “Is that where you are all day?”
“I’m in and out of the city. With your father’s marina, I now have double the work,” I explained. There was a part of me that wanted to ditch the meeting completely and stay here with Rosalie all day.
“I see.”
“What was your question?” I asked.
“Well, I might as well just ask it. Can I have your money?”
