“Yeah.” Rose smiles. “But he really seems to want to change.”
“Perhaps,” says Grandma. “You’ve come an awfully long way, Nash. I just worry they might be missing you at home. Aren’t you sad to be without your friends and the life you left behind?”
“Nope.” His face is pure confidence. “Here with you and June…I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be.”
CHAPTER THREE
We don’t sleep together again. Nash spends the night in the third bedroom on a blowup bed. Grandma had it delivered, just in case he decided to stay. I am not disappointed to wake up alone. It’s a possible awkward moment avoided. No need for worrying about morning breath or bed hair around an overly attractive person with a large social media presence and an even bigger bank account.
Last night was weird. Having him at my mercy. Pretending we’d been a couple. It’s important I don’t let it go to my head. I had a stern talk with myself in the shower about how romance sucks and feelings are wrong and unnecessary. And to be brutally honest, solo sex is usually more satisfying.
There’s no sign of Grandma or Nash, since it’s only eight am. I put my hair in a ponytail, did my makeup, and dressed in my favorite dark blue jeans, a pair of flat silver sandals, and a white tank. Sheer coincidence on the part of my playlist for music by Aaron Porter to be on while I do my prep. Then I walk the couple of blocks to Main Street for my favorite coffee. It’s not far, and my car started making strange clanking and grinding noises during the last couple of hours on the long journey here. I need to talk to Mac the mechanic, sometime.
Mornings aren’t really my thing. So it’s just as well I don’t have to chat to anyone on my way. Life before caffeine is harsh and unnecessary. I love how this area is all trees and grass and flowers. Arizona is beautiful. The vastness of the desert takes my breath away. But the green of this place is healing for my sore heart and bruised ego, care of the ex.
I walk by the variety of shops catering to locals and weekend visitors. My personal favorite is the antique store, with itsbeautiful display of antique jewelry and bizarre selection of vintage taxidermy. One day, Professor Crow will be mine. Just as soon as I pay for the repairs on my car, etcetera.
I enter the coffee shop and realize I’m definitely receiving more attention this morning. Guess gossip about last night has gotten around.
Grind is doing a good business. It’s situated in what was once the old fire station. Another of those repurposed buildings. The new fire station is twice the size of this place and located a street away. The coffee shop is painted dark green with black and white stripe awnings. There are a couple of empty tables outside in the morning sun, though all of the ones inside are full and the place is bustling.
Carmen and her husband are seated at a corner table, holding hands. Maybe the scene at the bar prompted them to have an in-depth conversation. What a wonderful outcome.
I join the line and wait my turn to order. Which is when I see him. Nash is standing behind the counter, working the big-ass, complicated coffee machine.
What in the ever-loving fuck?
“You’re so right,” he says, over the hiss of steam. “I need to start thinking about being fully present in the moment.”
“Living deliberately is a choice,” answers the middle-aged, red-haired woman dressed in yoga gear. I would pay good money to have her toned ass. Like, take out a mortgage. Though I don’t actually own any property so it could be hard to arrange.
Nash sets a cardboard travel cup on the counter. “Half-strength, oat milk mocha.”
She gives him a bright smile. “It was great having you at morning meditation. Hope to see you again tomorrow!”
It’s safe to say I understand nothing about what is happening here. Yoga girl leaves with her order in hand. And Nash moves on to making whatever coffee is up next.
I’m not the only one obsessed with watching his biceps as he works. They way he fills out his tee is no less than a work of art. Damn him for being such a pretty man. No wonder the inside tables are in demand, despite the great weather. With the combination of gossip, his gorgeous face, and the best biscuits in town, the place is packed. And having this many curious sets of eyes on me is a lot for this hour.
The couple in front of me gives their order, takes their number, and goes in search of a table. And then the owner of the coffee shop, Isa, is giving me a welcoming smile. She’s a Black woman, with a nose ring, cool geometric tattoos, and a short afro.
“Hope you don’t mind,” she says. “I borrowed your ex. My barista had car trouble and is running late.”
“Light of my life!” Nash gives me a grin. “What can I get you?”
Isa raises a brow. “You don’t know her coffee order?”
“I think we established last night how much I have to learn.”
“I’d say to add it to your list, but your hands are full,” says Isa.
Nash laughs. “It’s so great how everyone in town knows everything.”
“Get used to it.”
“Low-fat latte with a shot of vanilla, please,” I say, holding my phone up, ready to pay. “And a breakfast biscuit, thank you very much.”
“No.” Isa shakes her head. “This one’s on me.”
