Page 8 of Only Lovers in the Building

She wondered if he realized he’d changed her name. Normally, she objected when people did that. Not this time.

“Let me make you coffee,” he offered.

“No way!”

“Why not?”

Lily gesticulated wildly at his sporty attire. “You’re headed out for a run.”

“I’m not up for it this morning,” he said. “That was wishful thinking on my part. Let me make you coffee.”

Lily considered him. She should not have lumped him in with all the losers she’d loved before. Badass bartender aura and all, he had a certain elegance in his manners and speech. Last night, he’d said something about grad school. She hadn’t asked about it then but was curious now.

“If you insist,” she said.

“It’s the neighborly thing to do. Come inside.”

And that’s how, at six forty-five in the morning, Lily found herself in her hot neighbor’s apartment.

Ben’s place was the mirror opposite of hers, with more natural light and a nicer view from the kitchen window. Only his apartment looked like a Before picture, and hers the After. The parquet floor had a yellowish-orange tint. The walls were textured, not smooth like hers, and painted a shade of alabaster, whereas hers were a stark white. The kitchen countertop was butcher block, the backsplash vintage tile, and the black cabinet doors were uneven on brass hinges. It was perfection, every detail.

“You have patina, and texture, and warmth, and brass, and . . . a gooseneck faucet!”

“Don’t get excited. It leaks.”

“My point is you’ve got character.”

“Jake isn’t done remodeling. He’ll get to my side of the street eventually.”

“Could we stop him?”

“Join forces?” he suggested.

“Yes!”

“Not likely,” he said. “Sit down.”

Lily sidled up to the breakfast bar and watched him work, stricken by déjà vu. It was like last night except with caffeine.

“How do you take your coffee?” he asked.

“Bitter and strong,” she said. “I’m a New Yorker to the core.”

If he had a standard-issued coffee machine, he wasn’t using it. Instead, he rinsed out a moka pot and filled the reservoir with hot water. “I’m Cuban,” he said. “I take it creamy and sweet.”

When he started grinding coffee beans and the aroma filled the kitchen, she thanked the coffee gods above. “Do you always go all out like this, or are you trying to impress me?”

He tossed her a grin and went on working. “It’s just coffee, Lily.”

“No,” she said. “Mr. Coffee is just coffee.”

He cut her a glance. “Come here. You’ve got a lot to learn.”

Now, why was that so hot?

Ben walked her through the steps of filling the reservoir with water and the little metal basket with the freshly ground coffee. He placed a hand over hers and showed her how to tamp it down and apply the right pressure, even though a child could do it. “Remember,” he said, “we want to pack the grounds tight.”

Lily looked up and studied his focused expression. This was who he was at the core: focused, attentive to detail. Last night, she’d treated him like man candy. That wasn’t right. She was stressed, not in her right mind, but that was no excuse. All the man had done was smirk at her, and she’d somehow taken that as an invitation.