The sales associates clock me as soon as I walk in. I don’t know how, but they do. There’s two of them working in the first store I enter, and both of them glance over at me, look me up and down, and must think I’m a poor tourist because both of them focus on the one middle-aged lady that’s looking over some watches. Surely she doesn’t needbothof their help.
But that’s fine, honestly, because their attention would just make me nervous, anyway. Still, I rehearse what I’m going to say to them if they do decide to grace me with their presence.
The stuff in this boutique is cute. Honestly, nothing grand. But theyshould befor the prices they’re asking for. $600 for a plain white clutch handbag? I feel like I’ve seen the same thing at Walmart. I probably have. Wouldn’t put it past designer labels to just swap out their tags.
Even if I can stomach making my grandparents pay for these prices, we have another issue:size. The biggest sizes this boutique goes up to is medium. Since I’m decidedlynotthat, I venture out and go to the next shop. And then the next. Until it quickly becomes a pattern ofhey, you don’t belong here, and we aren’t going to accommodate you.Not in customer service, not in sizes, certainly not in prices. And not in the heavy perfume that seems to flow through all of these shops like oxygen. That’s reallynotaccommodating for anyone autistic.
This is exhausting. I decide I need a break, so I can try to figure out how to tell my grandmother her plan to get me well-dressed has some fatal flaws. I need to feel normal for a bit, not some outsider who’s trespassing.Coffee. Coffee will do it. Just going to a normal person’s coffee shop, breathing in the delicious scent of those beans, and blending in with the crowd. I need to blend in, just for an hour or two. Then I can go back to luxury-ville and maybe manage to convince one of the clerks to let me buy a shopping bag big enough for me to wear, because god knows that’s the only thing that’ll probably fit me in those shops.
I plug in ‘coffee’ to my phone’s GPS, and look beyond the hotel’s cafe and the Starbucks that are dotted around nearby to service the rich crowd. Finally, I find what seems like a mom and pop shop a couple blocks away and get to walking.
The city is loud. A car honking on the street startles me every few minutes, even though I know it’s normal. It’s New York City, after all. I think about putting in some earplugs I always keep on me, but honestly, I’m worried about limiting my senses and getting mugged or something. My anxiety battles with my overstimulation, and by the time I reach the coffee shop, I feel rattled.
It sucks.
The coffee shop is full of people. At least, that’s what it feels like to someone who’s overstimulated by crowded spaces and is used to small towns. In reality, I don’t think it’s at full capacity, since it’s two in the afternoon and the baristas look relaxed even as they make the drinks. The loud screeching of the coffee machine makes me wince.Oop. This may not have been a good idea after all.
I get in line, ignoring the jingling of the bell over the door as people enter and exit. I shuffle to let people pass, and when someone gets in line behind me, I make sure I’m not in their way. The anxiety of the moment distracts me, and I don’t even look at the menu until the person ahead of me is ordering.Shit. I need to focus. What do I want?
In truth, I really didn’t come here for a drink, but just to feel normal for a bit. And normal people drink coffee and do some research in coffee shops.
I finally decide on a mocha cold brew with toasted marshmallow foam. Seems like a good choice and right up my alley. I’m not used to such fancy options in the cozy coffee shops in my small town in upstate New York, where it’s mostly country.
Finally, it’s my turn to order, and the barista is chipper as she greets me. I stutter a bit as I place my order,damn mouth not working properly, the traitor,and I get out my wallet. “Will that be all?” The barista asks as she puts in my order.
I open my mouth to say yes when a voice speaks up behind me. “No, I’d like a large flat white, please.” I look over my shoulder to the guy behind me, about to tell him off for tacking onto my order, or at leasttry tosince my brain isn’t in the mood to cooperate apparently, when I realize his accent is Irish. It’sIrish.And then I recognize him from the pool I had just visited hours earlier, the really good looking guy that smiled at me.
Shit. Double shit. Triple shit.
As my mind reels, the barista looks between us in some confusion as she probably thought we weren’t together. Hell,Ithought we weren’t together until he joined my order.
He tells her that’s allwe’re having, and pulls out his card and pays. My open wallet is dangling limply because I’m either an idiot or I’m in shock, or both. As the barista hurries to make our orders, he gently pushes my hand down with the wallet. “I thought it was time for us to meet, Miss Astero. And I wanted to do it on our own terms instead of some awkward arranged meeting. I hope you don’t mind.”
I just blink up at him, mind feeling foggy, like it was filled with mush instead of neurons. “Um, yeah. Thanks for the coffee.”
He grins at me, as if he can tell I’m frazzled and finds it amusing.Damn it.“It’s my pleasure. Shall we get a seat?”
I nod, holding onto my wallet like it’s a lifeline, and follow him as he finds an empty table in the corner. He pulls out the seat for me before sitting down on the opposite side, his vantage point giving him a clear view of the entire coffee shop.
I shift nervously in my seat. “You’re…him,I suppose?”
He chuckles softly, eyes twinkling with amusement.Apparently everything I do is amusing to him.“Yes. I’m Kerry Alasdair. And you’re Amy Astero, my fiancée.”
Ah, fuck.Here he is. In the flesh. Looking calm, confident, and way more handsome than I thought. Like…not a baldspot on him.Damn him. Instead, he could be a model. I had compared him to such before I even knew his identity.
This is going to be an interesting meeting. Hell, it’s going to be an interestingmarriage.
And I’m petrified to find out what he wants our marriage to look like.
7
Kerry
Ican’t keep from smiling around her. This is perfect. We’re meeting on neutral ground, and it’s casual, but I was still able to pay for her and show her that I can provide for her—whether she wants it or not.
And it was good timing that she came to this coffee shop, too. After seeing her around the hotel, and then coming in closer contact at the pool…I was dying to speak to her. I practically rubbed my cock raw in my suite last night, thinking of that sweet, nervous little smile she gave me. It had taken all of the self-control in me not to march over and talk to her right then and there, but I didn’t want to scare her off. So seeing her leave the hotel felt like a gift from the gods. I’ve been keeping track of her since I arrived, which was days ago. She arrived in the afternoon, and I arrived at three a.m the same day.
I wanted to observe her before allowing her or her grandparents to know I was here.
