Coffee Cup Confessions - Trish Williford Page 0,15
line waiting to be served spans from the register to the door, and the four baristas behind the counter are running around like crazy.
Jake turns to me with an apology. “Misha, I’m sorry, but I need to help them. I can let you into my office to hang out until we get the line under control.”
“Absolutely not. I’ll help. Come on.”
I pull him behind me toward the register, but he stops me when we reach the counter.
“I appreciate the offer, but you don’t have to do this,” he says loudly over the noise so I can hear him.
I stand on my toes and say into his ear, “The sooner your customers are taken care of, the sooner we can get back to our date.”
He pulls back and looks down at me with a wicked smile. “Then, we’d better get to work.”
He gives me a quick peck on the cheek, and I don’t have time to react. He leads me behind the counter, and the only male barista sighs in relief.
“Thank God you’re here. We’re being eaten alive.”
Jake laughs at the young barista’s exaggeration. “Caleb, you focus on just making drinks.”
Jake gives the other three directions, and he puts me at the front of the line to take orders and run the register. It only takes me a few minutes of badgering Jake a couple of times before I get the hang of it, and by the time the band comes out to start their set a half hour later, the line is taken care of, and the customers are enjoying the music.
“Thanks for the help. We really needed it,” one of the female employees tells Jake and me.
Jake puts his arm around my shoulders and squeezes me to his side. “It’s not exactly what I pictured for our date tonight.”
“You don’t bring all your dates here to put them to work?” I nudge him in the ribs.
“He doesn’t bring dates here, period,” Caleb offers.
“Seriously, he doesn’t. We kind of thought he was gay,” the girl whispers.
Jake’s eyes grow wide. “Wow … and the truth comes out. You want a latte, Misha?”
“That would be great.”
“Caleb, black coffee and a vanilla latte, please,” Jake orders.
The band starts to play a ballad, and Jake extends his hand. “Dance with me.”
I cross my arms over my chest and pop my hip to the side. “That didn’t sound like a question.”
“It wasn’t.”
I quirk a brow, but he continues before I can call him out, “I didn’t ask because you could say no … and I really want to dance with you.”
He displays a shy smile, and I’m a puddle.
“Well, how can I say no to that? Lead the way.”
He takes my hand and finds a small area free of the crowd. “This should do.”
He pulls me close, and his free arm wraps around my lower back to press our torsos together. I rest my hand on his bicep, and he begins to slowly move us in a circle.
“I haven’t slow-danced since my senior prom,” I confess.
“I can tell; you’re a little rusty.”
I pretend to be offended, and it earns me a wide grin in return.
“I’m kidding. You move in circles beautifully.”
“I’d better. I did take years of dance.”
“Did you really?”
“No.”
His head falls back, and he full-on belly laughs. I determine that this is probably one of the most attractive things about him. He’s devastatingly handsome, but when he laughs, his eyes light up, and the dimples on each side of his mouth show despite the dusting of stubble on his cheeks. He’s breathtaking.
He catches me looking at him. “What?”
“My grandmother says that if you have a dimple, you were kissed by an angel.”
“My mom said that too.” He smiles warmly. “I used to hate them when I was a kid.”
“And now?”
“I’ve grown to embrace them.”
“Which actually means the ladies go crazy over them.” I giggle.
He nods with a chuckle. “I won’t deny it. But what about you? What do you think about them?”
“Does it matter?”
He thinks about it for a second. “Yeah … it does.”
I raise my hand and run my fingers across his stubble-covered cheek, and my thumb brushes over where the dimple is. I love the way he watches me so intently, and I really wish I knew what was going through his mind.
“I like them a lot. Dimples go hand in hand with your laugh and smile, which I find extremely attractive.”
A touch of pink crosses his cheeks, and if I wasn’t standing so close to him, I probably wouldn’t have noticed