We move on, and I find myself walking closer to him, our arms occasionally dusting against each other. I point out which vendors I trust, which ones overcharge, and the ones who slip a little extra into your bag if they like you.
“Hmmm,” he muses. “Do you think they like me?”
I look him over, deliberately, and cock my head a little to the side. “Undecided.”
Grinning arrogantly, knowing I am no longer talking about the vendors, he shares, “I’m pretty sure I could win them over.”
Yeah… so am I.
At some point, I realize he is carrying my bags. He took them when my hands were full and never gave them back. “You don’t have to do that,” I insist, reaching for them.
“I know, but I want to,” he replies easily, pulling them into him. I don’t argue, letting him keep them as he steps into a tiny coffee shop, with a sign that boastsAuthentic Local Roast,wedged between a leather goods stand and a brightly colored knock-off sunglasses stand. “I’m getting us coffee. Don’t argue.”
“I wasn’t going to,” I lie, but against my better judgment, I’m going to let him treat.
He arches a brow, as if he knows exactly what I am thinking. “You were thinking about it.” He orders two withoutasking what I want. When he hands me the chipped ceramic cup, our fingers brush, and I can’t deny the excited tingle it sends running up my arm and down my spine.
I take a careful sip and immediately regret everything.Oh… Oh no.I grimace at the taste, struggling to ingest the—so-called—coffee. “That’s… just… Wow.”
Taking a sip of his own before realizing what I said, he winces as he gulps it down in a single swallow. “Yeah. That is aggressively bad.”
I laugh. “It tastes like someone whispered ‘coffee’ to hot water.”
“And yet”—he beams, lifting his cup in a mock-toast—“I finally got my coffee date.”
I glare at him and blurt, “This isnota date.”
“Sure it is.” His mouth quirks as he pretends to think about it before playfully arguing, “We’re walking through a market together. We just had coffee. There is definitely flirting happening.AndI’m carrying your bags.”
“I didn’t ask you to?—”
He plucks the bags from the seat beside me before I can grab them. “Too late.”
Shaking my head, I mutter, “You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told… on several occasions.”
Opting not to finish either of our coffees, Jagger leaves a generous tip. The market thins when we reach the edge, the crowd waning and the loud noise softening. The sun fallslower in the sky, slowly painting everything in a soft shade of amber.
“You aren’t…” The words slip out before I can stop them. I pause to swallow and find the courage to continue my thought. “You’re different from what I thought you’d be.”
“Different how?” he asks curiously.
“I don’t know.” I shrug before gesturing at him vaguely. “I guess I expected more… intensity. Definitely less joking.”
He chuckles softly. “Yes, well, we adrenaline junkies don’t run around constantly waving guns, screamingYippee-ki-yay, motherfuckerall the time. It’s far too exhausting.”
A giggle bursts out of me so loudly that I slap my hand over my mouth. “Oh my God. Did you really just?—”
“Disappointing. I know.”
“No,” I mumble, meaning to say something else entirely. “It’s… nice.”
We walk a few more steps in comfortable silence before he asks, “Do you need a ride home?”
“I don’t usually… I can take the shuttle. It should be here shortly.”
“No pressure,” he adds. “I promise I’m not a serial killer.”
