She settled on the chair, tucking her feet underneath her. That left the sofa for me. I moved one of the pillows out of the way and parked myself in the corner, trying to banish the hair-stroking image from my mind or at least schooling my face so the too-perceptive woman couldn’t read my thoughts.
“This is amazing.” She took a sip of coffee and her lips curved in a cat-licking-cream smile over the rim of her cup. “It seems so simple, but the orange liquor changes everything.”
“The orange is my favorite, but you can try the same thing with lots of other flavors.” I sounded like an infomercial for Coffee Drinks for Dummies.
“You don’t say.” She gave me a look that made it clear she knew how hard I was working to hold onto normal.
Even when she wasn’t doing anything more than sipping coffee, this woman managed to get me twisted up.
“What are you reading?” I motioned to the e-reader on the table beside her and took a sip of my coffee before I did something more awkward.
She gave me an almost sheepish grin. It was an expression I hadn’t seen on her before and one I wanted to see a lot more of.
“Discovery of Witches. You made a compelling case.”
“And? What do you think?” I wanted her to tell me I was right, but more than that, I wanted her to love the book as much as I did. A pleasure shared was a pleasure compounded.
“It made me lose track of time.”
“That’s high praise.” Charlotte immersing her mind deep enough in anything to lose track of things felt like a very big deal.
“It is. A vampire watching a witch magic a book down from the top shelf isn’t the kind of meet-cute I usually go for, but I can empathize with the heroine. Personally, I’d love to be able to do magic. I’d move all kinds of stuff with my mind, but I understand the urge to put away childish things. Even if it diminishes some of the joy. Sometimes you’ve got to push stuff to the side to get things done.”
“Maybe.” It sounded incredibly sad, but I didn’t think she’d appreciate me pointing that out. “But pushing her power away means not living authentically. That doesn’t feel grown-up or productive. It feels like living a lie.”
“Grown-ups don’t lie? Some days, it feels like one of the only things we all have in common. That and an almost irrational dependence on coffee.” She raised her cup, daring me to contradict her.
I needed to, because she was wrong. Or if not completely wrong, she’d picked the wrong focus. Understandable given the way she spent her days, but too joy-killing to let stand.
“I did a semester in Paris.”
Her eyes widened over the rim of her cup, and I bit back my grin. Charlotte’s curiosity was a constant and one of the sexiest things about her.
“Aside from the out-of-this-world bread and an interesting attitude to dog walking, one of the things that made the biggest impression on me—and actually stayed with me—was the French attitude about coffee. They don’t race around carrying travel mugs. They stop, sit down, and take the time to drink and actually enjoy their coffee. It’s not an accessory ora drug. It’s an experience.”
“I’ve never thought of it like that, but you’re right. Afternoon coffee was one of the things I loved about Paris. That and the small bite of chocolate that came with it.” She smiled at the memory. “Where did you go to school?”
I could almost see the other questions racing behind her eyes, and I was grateful she’d landed on an easy one. Contrary to my normal preferences, I didn’t want to hold anything back from Charlotte, especially when we’d started out talking about lying. Truth had kind of been a thing between us from the first night when she lied to the dumbass and told me the truth about what she did. Knowing she didn’t have a clear picture of the extent of my business made me uneasy. Or worse. But I was also sure Ford the bartender stood a better chance of getting to know her than Ford the restauranteur.
Not exchanging last names the first night added an unexpected weight to things. One I hoped didn’t end up crushing something important.
––––––––
I SHOULDN’T HAVE led with thewhere did you go to schoolquestion. That path led to questions about goals and work—both his and then mine—none of which I wanted to talk about. But the idea of a younger Ford, spending time in Parisian cafes, charmed me. I assumed he’d been younger, but maybe not. Maybe he’d gone back to school as an adult. Maybe he was still a student now and bartending was his side gig.
My overdeveloped sense of curiosity meant I wanted to know everything about him. I just didn’t want to share any of my work stuff in exchange. I didn’t need anyone to tell me how fucked up that was. And contrary to my normal stance, and for reasons I wasn’t comfortable looking at, I didn’t want the balance of power to be that far out of whack between us. Whatever it was we were doing, I liked the idea that it was a mutual thing that didn’t follow my old well-trod paths.
“LSU. Go Tigers.” Ford raised his hand and made a clawing motion, which had mymind spinning off in other directions. The pin me down, teeth scraping the back of my neck tiger and his prey kind of directions which, given the circumstances, wasn’t more helpful than the school/work track.
“Your family’s from Louisiana?” I asked for confirmation, not really an answer. Ford’s accent made it clear he, at least, had grown up in New Orleans.
There. I managed to slide sideways into more intimate, but somehow safer—at least for me—territory.
“Back to the 1800s. My papa’s descended from the early French settlers. My maman likes to say her people were pirates.”
“Were they?” I asked, grateful he’d shifted direction so easily.
“Isn’t everyone a little?” He hit me with a wink and that smile that made my stomach do a little flip.
