up in a suit, as if that’s all he has to wear. Instead, he’s casual in black jeans and a dark green knit sweater rolled up mid-forearm. His hair is just as unruly as it was in the office, and his jaw is just as sharp.
“Wish me luck,” I whisper to the potted succulent on the center of the table.
When Talent turns toward the corner where I’m sitting like he knew I was here this entire time, I wish I had a laptop or smartphone to look preoccupied with. The full force of his metal stare meets my own, and there’s no pretending I wasn’t watching him.
I sip from my drink, but cold vanilla and caramel do nothing to turn down the heat smoldering inside of me. My entire body flushes as he comes closer with eyes only for me, like maybe he remembers what I look like without clothes, too.
“I didn’t think you’d show up.” He takes the seat across from me, placing his drink down carefully. His cappuccino, with the frothy latte art on top in a matching mug and saucer, is ridiculous and I can’t help but crack a smile. So does Talent. “It’s the best in town, I promise.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it,” I answer.
“Angie’s flowers have improved a lot.” He lifts the mug to his lips and blows the shape from the steamed flowers before taking a mouthful. “Angie’s the barista, by the way.”
Butterflies are exhausting. Blushing is stupid. I don’t want to be the shy type. The ups and downs of not being an emotional mute aren’t the life for me.
Retreating into myself, I drop the smile from my lips and fold my hands in my lap. Talent must be accustomed to women talking his ear off, fishing for compliments and doing everything they can to impress him. That’s not what this is. He studies my indifference, swallowing his cappuccino without a care in the world. Silence is never uncomfortable for me, and it looks like Talent can deal with it. But we’re here to talk.
“You look different,” Talent observes.
“Is that your way of saying that I don’t look like a whore?”
His eyebrows shoot up, and he leans back in the chair to put more space between us. He laughs, but it’s a callous laugh—a who-does-this-person-think-she-is laugh. It’s the only indication that he’s taken aback by me, and it’s so brief, I could have made the entire thing up. The lawyer in him gives nothing else away.
“I never thought you looked like a whore.” He doesn’t break eye contact, and it feels like a dare and the truth. “Obviously.”
The sun sets amid our staring game, and the night sky somehow intensifies the scent of ground coffee beans in the air. The table shrinks under the dim artificial light from above, and the walls hold us tight. Outsiders see two people quietly enjoying the best cappuccino in the city, but Talent and I are still trying to navigate this conversation. We tiptoe, tiptoe around the elephant in the room.
“Inez explained what happened. Why am I here?” I turn my straw in my cup, mixing the whipped cream with the rest of my drink. “When she said you wanted to see me again, I didn’t think it would be in this capacity.”
A faraway look crosses his expression, and I know he’s remembering our night in his office. “I’m not sure inviting you to my office again was a good idea, Lydia. Or would you rather I call you Cara?”
“You can call me whatever you’d like, Mr. Ridge.” I wink.
“Do you have a last name?” he asks.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Talent shifts in his seat to look around the shop. For a person who has his every move scrutinized, he looks at home here. A few people stare and stare again, and I catch the baristas talking among each other, stopping only to glimpse at Talent Ridge. But he isn’t being treated like he has one of the most recognizable faces in the community.
“One of those chain coffee spots is literally across the street from our building,” he says, still enjoying his surroundings. “It would be so much easier to get coffee there than coming across town to this place. But this was my mom’s favorite shop. They’ve always made me feel comfortable here, so I hoped it would be the same for you.”
“Do you drink a lot of coffee?” I ask.
Talent faces me again. “Honestly, I fucking hate coffee. I get the cappuccino