She looks like Sunday morning.
"You got coffee without me," she says, looking at the cup in my hand.
"I don't know your order."
She looks at me sideways. "You've never asked."
She's doing this again. "Okay. What's your order?"
"Oat milk latte. One sugar. No vanilla, even though everyone assumes vanilla." She's already moving toward the café counter. "And before you say anything, yes, I only just started working at the coffee shop, so my order might change over the next few days because I'll need to taste test the practice orders."
I follow and watch her order. She pulls her card out before I can and taps it against the reader.
She looks at me over her shoulder as if to see if I'm still here.
I am.
Her face softens like she's relieved.
Her coffee comes. She wraps both hands around it and smiles at the first sip.
I lead her to a table and pull out her chair.
She sits and pulls her knees up onto the seat. I've never seen her do that — fold herself into a chair like she's comfortable. Like she's somewhere she doesn't have to perform posture.
She looks at the bookshelves around us.
"I love bookstores," she says.
"Libraries are better."
She looks at me while turning her cup slowly in her hands. "We should have met at the Central Library downtown instead." She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
"We came here for a reason," I say.
She sips her coffee to hide her blush. It doesn't work. "And what is that?"
"Finish your coffee, and you'll see."
She tries to hide her excitement. I can see it in her eyes anyway.
She finishes her coffee in comfortable silence.
I stand. "Come on."
I take her to the dark romance section.
She doesn't think anything of it at first — she's looking at all the books. Then I pick up a book with a skull on the cover and hold it out.
"Have you read this?"
She looks at it and shakes her head. "Have you?"
I smirk. "No."
A pause.
"So we have something in common."
