“Don’t you dance?” I ask, and her cheeks turn into two balls of fire as she shakes her head from side to side.
I don’t know why I wanted to tease her. I’m not in the habit of making jokes, and strangely, my own behavior surprises me, so I add, “There are community colleges. They’re more affordable, I presume.”
“Yes, there are, but right now I need to save money for another project. I don’t work very well trying to concentrate on several things at once.”
She places a steaming cup of coffee in front of me instead of the usual pot served in cafes.
“Try it,” she says, as if talking to a friend, but then quickly corrects herself, adding, “sir.”
The appearance of the coffee is at least better than it usually is in restaurants here in the United States.
“Just black?” she asks again.
“Yes. Always.”
I lift the cup and smell—the scent isn’t great, since as she said herself, she couldn’t perform miracles with the raw materials she had, but when I take a sip, I can’t help but let out a pleasurable moan.
I’m not used to allowing myself emotions in front of strangers, so I put the cup back on the table. However, as I look at her and notice her disappointed expression, I pick it up again and take a longer sip this time.
The hot and strong liquid goes down like fire down my throat, and I close my eyes for a few seconds to assimilate the sensation. When I open them again, I see that she’s watching me closely, and there’s something in that look that puts me on alert.
No. Absolutely not.
Don’t even think about it, girl. It would be complicated in so many more ways than I could try to explain.
Realizing her interest only makes it harder to ignore how beautiful she is. And I’ve been trying hard ever since I saw her picture for the first time.
“Good?” she asks, and I can see her swallow hard.
“Yes, you weren’t lying.”
She smiles, looking relaxed now. “I was raised by a woman who made the best coffee in the world. It’s not like I invented the formula; I just copied.”
I nod in agreement, but my mind is still traveling to other places.
Paying no mind to my silence, she continues to speak. “Business in the area, huh? Sorry, but you don’t seem like the type who would have anything to do around here unless you came to buy the whole neighborhood,” she says and laughs, but I think she remembers again that I’m a customer. “Terrible joke. I promise not to open my mouth again. Anything else to go with your coffee, sir?”
“No. Just the coffee, Olívia.” I don’t want her to leave yet. I have more questions to ask, but before I can speak, an elderly man enters the café.
“Olívia, my morning flower. What do you have today to make my day happier?”
“Abraham, I thought you weren’t coming. You’re late. Sit down, and I’ll bring the coffee and today’s special.”
“Sweet?” the man asks, sounding hopeful.
“Apple pie with cinnamon.” She excuses herself before going back behind the counter.
“Oh, my God. I know I’ve asked before, but are you sure you don’t want to marry me?”
She smiles, not stopping what she’s doing. “You know, the idea is tempting, but I think I’d rather stay single. That way I can read my books in peace.”
“Smart girl.”
The exchange between them shows me that he must be a regular customer, but it also brings the certainty that Olívia is an open girl. She seems friendly to everyone, which, in some way, irritates me.
Knowing that there’s no chance I’ll ask anything else in front of a third person, I take another sip of coffee, take a fifty-dollar bill out of my wallet, and leave without saying goodbye.
Chapter 3
