Wonderful.
* * * * *
We walked into Fortnum’s together. It was a few minutes before opening but there were already two people waiting to get in. I let them in and left the door open. Jane and Tex were behind the coffee counter. They both looked up when we arrived and Tex opened his mouth to boom but I got there first.
“Eddie doesn’t have a coffee maker. Coffee! Now! No lip!” I snapped.
I went directly behind the counter and stared at Tex as he banged around the espresso machine, making me a strong Americano at the same time he made Eddie a cappuccino.
The whole time, he was grinning.
I handed Eddie the cappuccino that Tex gave me, sloshed milk into my Americano and took a sip without stirring it.
I looked at Tex. He was stil grinning.
“What’s funny?”
“You, Loopy Loo.” His eyes moved to Eddie, “Sorry Chavez, but she’s a lot more fun when people are shootin’
at her.”
“You’re a nut,” I told him.
“That I am, darlin’,” he replied, unperturbed, and turned to the first customer.
Eddie backed me into the counter behind the espresso machine.
“Gotta go,” he said, his arms sliding around me, one hand stil holding the cup.
My hands were between us and it was either wind them around him or spil coffee over both of us. As coffee was a life force at that moment, I wound my arms around him.
His eyes had that warm and tender look.
“After work, we’l go shoppin’ for a coffee maker,” he said.
Dear Lord.
Shopping with Eddie for a coffee maker.
How did this happen?
I just stopped myself from checking to see if my hair and eyebrows had burned off considering our relationship was progressing at the speed of light.
He watched me and then his face came closer to mine. “I hate to say this, but part of me likes that you’re forced in a corner, that way you can’t retreat and I can see you real y want to.”
It was my turn to watch him.
“What happens when I’m out of that corner and I don’t need you to rescue me anymore?”
It was the six mil ion dol ar question and I held my breath waiting for the answer.
“One thing at a time,” he said.
Not the right answer.
“No, I real y want to know. What happens when I’m not getting shot at and I’m not interesting anymore?” His eyes changed and he looked at me as if I’d asked him if I could spend the afternoon painting his house in shades of Pepto-Bismol and adorning the front yard with plastic flamingos.
Then he said, “You think I’m a little scary? I think you’re a little crazy.”