The Rush (The Siren Series) - By Rachel Higginson Page 0,48
falling from the trees that lined Farnam Street in decorative pots.
Delice was a European bakery with simply the best orange and raisin scones ever, in the history of scones, and even better fruit tartlets. The small gourmet coffee shop used to live in the epicenter of downtown but when midtown started to rebuild so did Delice. The shop migrated a little west, upgraded their rent and opened for business directly across the street from me. It was love at first sight between the two of us, we were young and lonely and couldn’t get enough of each other. Well, until I was banished until my brain got better…. my long six-month absence stretched out between us like a tragic Shakespearean play.
But I was back now, and walking through these doors felt more like coming home then well…. coming home did.
The small shop was all but empty, save for an elderly couple cuddled together over the morning World Herald in the corner. I walked straight to the counter so that I could eye the case of pastries up close. The racks were filled with elegant, precisely decorated goodies that triggered my taste buds into an immediately hungry frenzy. Yesterday I had 87 ounces of water, a snack sized bag of pretzels, a banana and one arugula and ricotta cheese canapé.
Oh and a half glass of champagne that went straight to my head.
I deserved to eat this entire case of unnecessary calories as far as I was concerned. I wiped my thumb against the corner of my mouth, discreetly checking for drool and then lifted my head to address the cashier. I hadn’t been here in a long enough time that I didn’t recognize the college-aged hippy across the counter. But then most of the girls that worked here were imported from the local universities and so job turnover flowed with the school schedules and breaks.
“Can I help you?” the dread-locked twenty-something girl asked, but her eyes moved from mine to the door that opened behind me. A smile lit up her face and she gave a tiny wave to whoever just walked in.
“Yes,” I announced, drawing her attention back to me. “I’ll have a caramel macchiato and an orange scone.” The girl started to ring in my confident order and suddenly I felt panicked to add onto it, desperate to break the rules and fill my empty stomach, “And a chocolate croissant.” I cringed at how frantic I sounded, treating this breakfast like my last meal before the electric chair, but that didn’t stop me from throwing in another pastry, “And a cream puff!”
I reached forward, clutching at the counter until my knuckles turned white. I didn’t want to give up one of the pastries or even any of them, but even as she pushed the right buttons on her computer screen the unwanted guilt of eating such an extravagant breakfast started to sink in through my skin like acid eating away at my resolve. I looked down at my wallet on the counter as if it would have the answers for me, either enough guilt to make me change my mind or enough solace to wipe away the remorse completely. Meanwhile the girl behind the counter rattled off my total without noticing my internal struggle.
I decided that I really only needed the chocolate croissant and was just about to tell her that when a deep, recognizable voice from behind me spoke up first, “I’ll get that for her Tarryn, just add it to my total.”
I spun around on my heel, shocked more than I should be to stand face to face with Ryder Sutton. “I can pay for my own breakfast,” I snapped quickly. I trained my eyes on his gunmetal grays, refusing to take in his sleep-mussed hair, morning scruff that outlined his chiseled jaw or the thin black t-shirt and loose jeans that hung on his body deliciously. I simply refused to notice all that.
Besides he was just wearing jeans and a t-shirt. There was absolutely nothing special about his boring outfit. In fact, allowing myself one, tiny, insignificant glance, it looked like he had dug them out from underneath his bed, everything was wrinkled! There was so nothing attractive about that….
“I never thought you couldn’t buy your own breakfast,” he sighed, already agitated with me. I couldn’t really blame him, but that didn’t mean I dropped my defenses. “I’m just trying to do something nice for you, Ivy.”