“This is together,” I announce, holding up my credit card before she can object. “I’ll have a large coffee, Americano.”
She shakes her head. I can tell that she’s the type of woman who doesn’t want men to pick up the tab. But she doesn’t argue, so I count that as a win.
“Coffee Americano?” she teases.
I shrug. My father often talks about Italian coffee and how the American variety is so watered down that he finds it disgusting. I beg to differ. I’d rather have a full cup that I can sip for an hour while I work, instead of a concentrated shot that wakes up my sinuses.
“I guess I’m American,” I say sheepishly.
I pay for our drinks, and we take them back to a seat near the window. I can clearly see my bodyguard through the glass. He’s sitting on a bench now, doing his best not to look like he’s watching us. I fight the urge to wave at him because that would be way too obvious. Instead, I focus on Sofia.
“This may be a little forward,” I begin, working my way up to the big ask. “But I was wondering if you want to have dinner sometime?”
“Do you ask out all the girls you meet at the library?” she counters, her face assuming a poker player’s expression. I can’t tell if she’s into the idea or not.
“I don’t actually meet that many girls in the library,” I say.
“Why not?” she challenges. “It’s a good place to meet people.”
I look away, wondering when she’s going to stop giving me a hard time. I don’t want to ruin the rest of this coffee date, if that’s what this is, by pressuring her to see me again. But I’m hoping to spend some more time with her.
“When I want to pick someone up, I usually go to a bar,” I mutter.
“And how often do you do that?” she wonders.
“Rarely,” I admit.
Silence settles over us, but I decide I’m not going to let her off the hook. If she’s playing games, then I can play them too. I’ve made my intentions clear, and the ball is in her court now. Instead of talking, I wait her out. Silence is often a great motivator. Finally, she smiles and nods, taking a sip of her latte before answering me with words.
“Okay,” she agrees.
“Okay?” I check, just to make sure I’m not imagining things. This girl is too beautiful for words.
“Yes,” she clarifies. “I’ll have dinner with you.”
“Great,” I say, relieved that we’ve made it past the first hurdle. I quickly ask for her number before she can change her mind. I really like this girl. There’s something about her that makes me want to get to know her better. Maybe it’s all the mystery surrounding her research, or that she didn’t tell me exactly what she wants to write. Or it could be her stunning good looks. Either way, it’s a powerful combination.
We talk about everything and nothing for a good thirty minutes before she says she has to go.
“I’ll walk you out,” I offer.
“No,” she decides. “That’s okay. I took the bus, and the stop is right across the street.”
“I’ll wait for the bus with you,” I suggest.
“No,” she shoots me down. “I’ll see you later.”
“Okay,” I manage, standing up to let her go.
We walk out of the coffee shop together after throwing our cups away. She looks even more beautiful as the afternoon sun slides toward the horizon. I don’t want to leave, and my brain is trying to come up with clever things to say.
“So, I’ll call you,” I say.
“Okay,” she agrees.
“It was really nice to meet you,” I continue.
“It was nice to meet you too,” she replies.
