“Yeah, I don’t want that. I want you to murderize my cappuccino with chocolate. Like, an inch-thick crime scene, no foam visible.Total coverage.”
Her mouth twitches. “I gotchu.”
“Thank you.” I pay, and as I turn to move aside, I see him.
Jacob Stewart. Back of the line, framed in the doorway, scrolling his phone like the most absorbing thing in the world lives on that screen. He absolutely looks like the type who reads long articles about chess openings or obscure tech papers before heading to some sleek office to secure networks and save the world in a quiet, behind-the-scenes way no-one ever finds out about.
“And,” I add quickly, sliding back to the till, “I want to pay for the tall guy’s order. The one in the blue knit sweater. Dark hair, cheekbones, hot in an Egon Schiele, ‘totally forgot he’s a masterpiece’ way.”
Her eyes flick to him, then back to me with a conspiratorial half-smile. “Good choice.”
I hand over cash, tell her to keep the change for the tip jar, and step aside to wait. I already liked this place, with its wooden beams, floral tablecloths, pop art prints, and soft lamps making everyone look a little more romantic. The fact it’s also served me a second crack at Sadie’s shy, gorgeous brother? That’s worth a generous tip.
I still can’t get over the whole “no tipping unless you really want to” thing in the UK. My American brain itches every time. Then again, they pay more of a living wage here.Wild concept.
Eventually, Jacob reaches the counter. His order, Earl Grey, delights me. It fits the hot professor vibe he doesn’t know he has. He’s very elegant, very British, very…tidy.
I want to muss him up. Tug his hair, bite his lip, shake loose some of that careful neatness until I reach the secret spark I’m certain is waiting for someone in the center of his chest.
I hear Leo’s stern warning in my head and have to smother a grin:“Do me a favor and don’t break his heart. I want big family reunions on the reg, so don’t make them weird and uncomfortable for everyone by eating Jacob for breakfast.Onlyboink him if he’sfully preparedfor the Tippi vanishing act.”
I’m not interested in breaking his heart.
But breaking his bed? While I’m here? If he wants to? Abso-fucking-lutely.
“Already paid for,” the barista tells him when he reaches for his wallet, nodding in my direction with a little smirk. “She got you.”
He blinks at me like he’s hallucinating, and blushes as he walks hesitantly over to me. “I, ah… th… thank you.”
Even his stammer is adorable. I’d be in trouble if I wasn’t such aflight risk.
“You’re very welcome.” I smile my specialyou’re cute and I’ve definitely noticedsmile. “Your order’sfarclassier than mine.”
He pauses, visibly buffering, then manages, “I’m… sure that’s not true.”
“Cappuccino with an obscene amount of chocolate for Tippi?” the barista calls, sliding my cup over.
I could blow her a kiss for the timing. She’s taken me literally: there’s more sweet cocoa than coffee, not a single scrap of white foam remaining.Good girl.
I arch a brow at Jacob. “I rest my case. Want to sit with me?”
“Um…” His gaze flicks around the room like he’s searching for a fire exit, but I don’t get the sense he wants to escapeme. It’s more like the whole situation is a size too big for him. “I… yes. Sure. Yes.”
“Are you sure?” I tease.
He looks at the nearest Lichtenstein print for a few seconds, a small self-deprecating smile forming. “I am, I promise. Sorry, I’m so…” He sighs in resignation. “Socially challenged.”
“That’s OK. I can do the heavy lifting.” My interest kicks up a notch. He knows he’s awkward; that awareness softens it, making it vulnerable instead of stiff or cold. The mystery wrapped in the riddle wrapped in the enigma.My very favorite type. He’s tall, dark, and handsome in the most buttoned up, accidentally sexy way, and I privately promise myself that one day I’m going to have both hands threaded tightly in that thick, dark hair while he’s between my thighs and making me scream opera.
Maybe he feels some echo of that thought, because his face reddens again and he clears his throat. “I’ll - I’ll bring my drink over when they, ah…”
“Sure. I’ll be over there.” I point to a table by the window and head over, watching him walk back to the counter from the corner of my eye.
He has a great ass. That thing lookstight. I can think of several excellent things to do with it. To it.Forit.
When he joins me, he sets his tea down with hands that tremble slightly and sits very straight. It’s like good posture is his shield.
“So,” I say, “are you a regular here?”
