“So, are you two dating?” My mom surveys my outfit. Which admittedly isn’t very me. It’s not a suit or work clothes for the orchard. I’m wearing chino shorts, a button-down shirt, and sandals. The leather sandals are stiff because I’ve never worn them before—everything I’m wearing, Caroline purchased. The clothes don’t feel me, but that might be a good thing. I’m not convinced Lettie likes me. I mean, the way she kissed me last night would say otherwise. Honestly, I think she likes me alright but wishes she didn’t. She’s the opposite of most women I meet. They all seem more interested in the idea of me, but not nearly as into me, the person. While Lettie hates the idea of me but, in the end, she likes me.
“We’re not dating, but I’m hopeful.”
***
Lettie waits outside the coffee shop, tappingher red sandaled foot. I’m a few minutes late after the conversation with my mom. Lettie gives me a tight smile and walks over. She’s wearing jean shorts and a cropped sweatshirt so baggy it keeps sliding off her shoulder. Her hair is up in a messy bun, and she’s wearing large gold hooped earrings. If I had to guess, I’d say I spent more time worrying about what to wear this morning than she did.
“Sorry, I’m late,” I say, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. She smells like flowers and pine forest. “Do you know what you want to order?”
She stares at me for a moment, blinking, her cheeks crimson. She puts her hand to her face where I kissed her. My little cheek kiss left Lettie Benson flustered, I realize with some satisfaction.
She clears her throat. “Um... normally I take the Earl Grey with cream and sugar. And maybe a couple macarons—caramel and raspberry, oh, and blood orange.”
“Cookies for breakfast?” I raise one brow.
“Are you judging me?”
“Never. I just want to get your order right.”
“I had a protein shake for breakfast in case you’re wondering. And this place makes the best macarons.”
“Sounds like a solid breakfast. But for the record, I make the best macarons.”
“You make macarons?”
“Yeah, it’s a family tradition—almonds.”
“Of course. And are they good?”
“I said I make the best.”
“You could be bragging.”
“Fair point. But no, I really am a decent baker—and my macarons are excellent.”
“Good to know.” She says and bites her lower lip. I can’t think of what to say or do now because Lettie is standing in front of me and she’s just so pretty.
“Are you going to order?” she asks.
“Um, yeah... do you mind if we get it to go? I thought we could walk by the river.”
“I’m always up for a walk.”
I can’t stop grinning as I place our order. It feels so good to be out with Lettie. I’m so at ease with her. Sure, our first date fell apart, but that was partly because of how comfortable I feel around her. I glance over at her, sitting on a bench in the sunlight. I cannot believe she’s here with me—and not scowling.
“Liam!” the barista calls, breaking me from my reverie.
I retrieve our order and quickly return to Lettie, handing her a portable cup of tea and her bag of cookies.
“Shall I drive?” I ask.
“No,” says Lettie. “I believe it’s time you met my car.”
“I’m honored,” I say a bit sarcastically. But I am, really.
“So, sandals?” she asks with a glint of amusement in her eyes. We walk the tree-lined street in a historic district with brightly painted Victorian homes, many of which have been converted into law or dentist offices.
“Too casual?” I ask lifting a foot to be inspected.
