“I’d hardly call this ungodly. And it’s a surprise.”
I pick up his, frankly diabolical, ‘coffee’ order, and hand it to him.
“Here you go. This might help warm youup, too.”
“T-thank you.” His voice sounds surprised, as though nobody’s ever bought him a coffee before. He takes a sip, and his eyes almost roll back in his head. I like knowing he enjoys it. “Oh my God, that’s incredible. How did you know what I’d like?”
“Poppy remembered your order when I was tapping on the café window this morning while she was baking.” I turn my head briefly and grin at him, then turn my attention back to the roads, which are treacherous with black ice this morning.
“Oh, that’s so thoughtful. Do you want some?”
I indicate my own coffee.
“That’s OK, thanks. I got my own. And mine actually tastes like coffee.”
His jaw drops in outrage.
“So does mine,” he cries, voice an octave higher than usual. I laugh.
“How anyone can be so indignant about a drink with so many ingredients in it you can’t even smell the coffee, let alone taste it…” I smirk at him as he huffs and puffs around his righteousness, his eyes wide open, reminding me of how he looked like a rabbit caught in the headlights when I called him short the day we met.
“It does smell like coffee, thank you very much, Doc.”
“I’m pretty sure that smell is coming from my cup, little rabbit.”
“Ugh. That nickname’s going to stick, isn’t it?” he checks.
“I’m afraid so.” I nod, lips pursed in all seriousness. He snorts.
“Well, maybe Doc will stick, too,” he says with a sarcastic shrug.
I raise an eyebrow at him, and he chuckles. It’s almost… cute? I mean, Corey is a very attractive man, but as he laughs, thinking he’s gotten one over on me, nose scrunched up in delight… yeah, he’s cute too.
“I bet I know exactly what your coffee order is,” Corey says a second later. I have no doubt he’s right. “Lemme guess. Black Americano, no sugar, no syrup, no nothing. Just an extra shot of espresso, maybe, since it is the crack of sparrow’s fart o’clock.”
“I’m not even going to try to deny it. You should try it. It’ll put hairs on your chest.”
“I don’t want hairs on my chest, thanks.Saves me a fortune on waxing, not being able to grow any.”
“Ha!” The laugh bursts out of me. “Take the win, I suppose.” I smile at him again, and he returns it with a blinding one of his own.
“OK, Doc. So, if you won’t tell me where we’re going, at least tell me how far it is?”
“It’s about twenty minutes from Aidan’s, so settle in and have some breakfast.”
I indicate the back seat with my head, and Corey perks up. He grabs the insulated bag and opens the zip, the smell of warm, buttery pastry quickly filling the air inside the truck.
“Oh my God, you are king amongst men,” he gushes as he searches through the selection of croissants before selecting one and taking a huge bite. He groans around the flavour.
“I honestly thought you’d be a chocolate croissant man,” I say, nodding in approval at his choice, which just so happens to be my favourite, and I thank my past self for buying four of the almond-filled ones.
“Show me a man who doesn’t like almond croissants, and I’ll show you a sociopath.” He looks at me suspiciously. “Are you a sociopath, Doc?”
“I am not. Hand one over. They’re the best ones.” His nod of approval makes me smile once more – I don’t remember the last time I laughed, or smiled, this much before seven o’clock in the morning – and he hands me a warm almond croissant, wrapped in a paper napkin.
The rest of the journey is made in silence as we each devour two almond croissants, and precisely none of the chocolate ones or the pains aux raisins I had in there as well.
I turn into the lane that leads to the car park at our destination and pick my way around the obstacle course of suspension-breaking potholes.
