Actually, I prefer it with milk.
“I wasn’t sure how you liked yours. So, I brought one of my favorites and one black.”
What’s her favorite? The urge to know more about her overwhelms the desire for my regular plain black coffee. “I’d love to try yours.”
Her smile turns a little wicked.
What have I gotten myself into? Did she make some weird concoction with rose water, lavender, soy, and matcha?
“Do you mind if I join you?” She gestures to the empty chair across from me. “I thought you might have some questions for me.”
Dozens. Who hurt you?
But she isn’t going to tell a total stranger that. Let’s start this easy with questions I know the answers to. “Please.”
She settles into the seat across from me, reaching for the cream and sugar. The amount of both that she dumps in her cup makes me question my choice.
You eat octopi with the heads still attached. Sweet coffee won’t kill you.
Most likely.
I close my laptop and slide it to the side, moving the coffee cup closer.
Don’t show fear. “So, do you own this place or are you the manager? Dahlia didn’t mention which.” This way, she won’t suspect that I spent a few hours researching everything there is to know about her digitally.
Which isn’t much. Maddox’s tech guy does a good job protecting his people. Though I know she pays her taxes. Lives simply except for a slight clothes addiction—which, what beautiful woman doesn’t—and buying gifts for others—which, given her job, makes total sense.
Fiona lifts the mug with a smile. Her whole body relaxes. “That should be an easy question to answer. Your grandmother sold me the place years ago.”
“Sold it to you?” Nonna has so much money from when my uncle, the former Don, died, not to mention Ethan is loaded. Why did she charge a street kid for this place?
“Yeah. She said we’d appreciate it more if we worked for it. But it really isn’t mine. I’m a guardian of sorts. This place will always belong to the kids who come here to find refuge.”
“So, it’s a calling more than a job.” I love that. I knew even back then when I saw Fiona with the kids that her heart was her best feature.
“You could say that.”
“But you wouldn’t?” Is she humble or embarrassed?
“No. These people are…They’re my family. There’s nothing special about being there for your family. It’s just what you do.”
Those words hit me hard. “Not many people understand that.” I take a sip of my coffee and remember that I wasn’t supposed to do that. I wait for a cloying sweetness that never comes. It’s sweet and nutty, but the bite from a dark roast or espresso balances it out.
“Do you like it?”
“It’s delicious.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.” She lifts her own cup to her lips with a smile verging on a smirk.
“Everything about you surprises me.” And I probably shouldn’t have said that out loud.
A blush steals up her face.
“Like that cookie. It should have tasted like a mess, but it was amazing. Where did you get the recipe?”
“Well, there’s actually a story with that…”
***
