“Thursday then, around five?”
“Yes. I’d love that.”
“Great. I’ll see you then.” She paused. “Ms.Rossi.”
Lucia hung up, unable to suppress the smile forming on her lips.
~ ~ ~
The following Thursday, Lucia arrived early (likely in vain) to calm her nerves from firing like she was about to go swimming in a thunderstorm.
She picked at the seam of her sleeve and took a seat in a corner spot. She’d never visited this café before. Not a chain, it was more like a coffee shop of old, with nature paintings intermixed with coffee-themed images adorning the walls. Sunlight-dappled potted plants everywhere, and comfortable chairs to sit back and relax in while enjoying your coffee.
She glanced at one of the paintings: a serene meadow with a stone well overgrown with lichen and moss. A bright, sunny piece meant to evoke tranquility.
A subtle scent of coffee and cinnamon hung in the air. Muted jazz trickled from hidden speakers—overall, an environment that should have relaxed Lucia, yet she still sat as stiff as a board.
It wasn’t just meeting Blackwell like this that caused her disquiet (it surely wasn’t a date); it waspreciselybecause she was meeting Blackwell here.
Francesca’s suggestion to charm Blackwell hung like a fat rain cloud above her head.
The tension between the fact that what shewantedto do was also what she wassupposedto do—but she didn’t want to do it forthatreason—left her in a state of…mild panic?
She didn’t want to lie to Blackwell and be here under false pretenses, but she was—yet somehow wasn’t—and it was all starting to make her head throb.
Maybe that was why she didn’t notice Blackwell stepping up to her.
“Hi, are you all right?”
Lucia blinked rapidly. She shook her head and rose. “Yes, yes. I’m fine.” Heat crawled up her neck. “Hi.” She stuffed her hands into her pants pockets, stealing glances at Blackwell, who wore a navy-blue jacket over a soft beige blouse tucked into dark slacks, every detail precise yet effortless. Her hair was pulled into a severe bun that only emphasized the delicacy of her features: understated makeup, elegant posture, and that familiar air of quiet authority—Lucia felt underdressed by comparison.
“Uh, want to go order?”
“No.” Blackwell dropped into the seat across from where Lucia had just sat.
Lucia did a double take.
Blackwell laughed. “Sit down. Someone will come and get our order.”
“They didn’t for me.”
“Well, considering how you were staring holes into space, I’m not shocked no one approached you.”
Lucia retook her seat. “But you are approachable?”
“Naturally.”
The moment the word left Blackwell’s mouth, a server appeared at their table.
Lucia really shouldn’t find Blackwell’s smug expression appealing.
“What can I get you, ladies?” he asked.
“I’d like a cappuccino and a serving of your tiramisu,” Blackwell said.
“And you?”
“Uh, the same?”
