Me. All five-foot-three of me in my two-year-old Converse and torn up jeans.
“Who sent you over here?” he asks.
“Sent me? Nobody sent me. I work here. Just trying to be friendly.” I glance at his book, trying to change the subject to something he’s more into. “You’re into security systems?”
His jaw tightens, and his eyes narrow. He glances behind him, then looks back at me, squaring his shoulders. “What exactly is your interest in what I’m reading?”
I take a step back. The warmth I walked over with is swept away with something cold. Embarrassment. I drop my eyes. “I’m sorry. If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. Have a nice day.”
I turn to leave, feeling deflated. After three weeks of wondering about this man, thirty seconds of conversation has told me everything I need to know. He’s rude, paranoid, and probablyisthe kind of person you would cross the street to avoid.
“Wait.”
His voice stops me mid-step. It’s softer now, like he heard himself and realized just how harsh he was being. I stop and hesitantly glance back over my shoulder.
“This is a book for work,” he says. “I’m in security. I’m a consultant.”
Something about his face has changed. The chill is still there—the steel. But there’s a softness now. A flicker of something that might be regret. Or at least something close to it.
He’s making an effort, but I don’t say anything.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” He stops and takes a breath. “I’m not used to people approaching me. My name’s Chris. What’s yours?”
He extends a hand—a strong, capable hand that has me chewing my lower lip. I set the mugs down on the table in front of him and take it. A jolt runs through my wrist and up my hand like an electric current, and in an instant, my pulse is racing.
“Avery,” I manage to say. The corner of his mouth moves. Healmostsmiles.
“Thanks for the coffee, Avery.”
I should walk away now while I’m still ahead. But my heart is pounding, and it’s like an invisible force pulling me closer and closer. I nod to the chair in front of him, and he nods back. I take a seat.
“Security consulting,” I say, crossing one leg over the other in an attempt to look cute. “Is that an interesting profession?”
“Not to most people.”
“I’m not most people.” It comes out bolder than I meant. Almost like I’m flirting, which I havenoidea how to do. My cheeks go hot. “I mean—this is just my day job. I really want to be a photographer one day.”
Why am I telling him this? I don’t tell anyone about my dreams. Except for my best friend, Jules.
He watches me with those pale blue eyes, and for the first time, his defensiveness seems to have softened. Now he looks at me with curiosity. The way you might look at a bird you’ve never seen before that just flew through your window and landed on your bed.
“You live around here, Avery?” he asks.
“City Heights. Not far. I rent a place with two other girls. How about you?”
The defensiveness returns. He moves his head side to side noncommittally. “Close enough.”
It’s not a real answer, but he does finally take a sip of the coffee. And he doesn’t set it down right away either. He holds it, which tells me he’s not in a hurry to leave this conversation. In fact, he pulls his chair closer to mine.
My heart jumps. Being this close, I can actually smell him. It’s a clean scent—woody with citrus notes. Maybe the soap he uses. But it goes straight up my nose and down into my core, anchoring me in place.
“So what kind of photography do you do, Avery?”
He’s asking me questions now. I almost don’t know how to answer. “Portraits mostly. I like people, I guess, so I like taking pictures of them.” I laugh and it comes out like a snort, causing my cheeks to get even hotter. How embarrassing. Chris, however, doesn’t react.
“You take pictures of strangers? Friends?”
Chris may not be used to being approached by people, but I’m definitely not used to gorgeous men asking me questions about myself. I don’t even know how I found the courage to come over here and talk to him. Now my head is swimming in the clouds.
