“So, I wasn’t sure what your coffee order was and I was scared I’d wake you up if I texted you.” He faces me, lifting the cup held in his right hand. “We’ve got two options. This one is a cappuccino, and this one”—he holds up the left—“is an espresso.Or a caffé, as the barista called it. Pretty sure it doesn’t have milk, but honestly, I have no idea.”
“I’ll drink either, so you choose,” I offer, grinning when he immediately passes off the caffé, as I suspected he would. “Thank you.”
“I also got some stuff from the bakery,” he tells me, taking a sip of the cappuccino and eyeing my makeup array with interest. I wave him toward the chair opposite as I sit back down and pick up the eyeliner pencil. He sits down, big fingers fiddling with a bronzer. “You won’t mind if I watch?”
“Nope. Watch away,” I tell him, swiping a black line across my eyelid with a practiced flick. In my periphery, I see him lean forward as though hoping for a closer look. I bite the inside of my cheek and try not to poke my own eye out.
He stays mostly silent, and I work fast, having a lot of practice from the last couple years. When I catch his eye, he smiles, scratching idly at his bearded cheek.
“Not trying to make you uncomfortable, but this is all very sexy,” he tells me.
Drinking my shot of espresso, I sit back in my chair and reach for the cornetto he left for me, smiling around a small bite. Worried that him finding the makeup sexy will make me uncomfortable? Adorable.
“Some guys don’t like it.” I shrug when he frowns, looking even more the Viking than he usually does. “But I do, so that’s why I do it.”
“You were beautiful without it,” he tells me, gesturing toward the door to remind me I answered with a single raccoon eye, “and now you just look unreal. Like we should be propping you up on a plinth next toDavid, and charging ticket fees.”
“Half the price, though, since I’m not quite as tall,” I joke. He scoffs.
“Triple the price. You’re worth ten of that marble bastard.”
Wearing a smile that is wide enough to hurt, I toss everything back into my bag and fold up the mirror, clearing the table in case we want to use it later for anything other than pampering. Leaning forward, edge digging into my chest, I wait for Roman to meet me halfway. It’s not a kiss so much as a peck—a good morning, “hi, how are you?” familiar kiss you might share with someone you’ve kissed a thousand times.
“Ready to get out of here, and meet that marble bastard?” I ask, before he kisses me again, smiling into it.
