Reid
Reid
By the time I reach Perfect Brews, I’ve convinced myself she’s not coming.
I claimed a booth in the corner, ordered a coffee I barely tasted, and tried not to imagine the dozen ways a college grad with her entire life ahead of her might talk herself out of meeting a man like me.
But then the bell over the door rings, and she walks in.
Her blond curls are tucked neatly into her hat, cheeks pink from the cold, eyes sweeping the room until they land on me. A small smile lifts her lips.
I rise before she reaches the table.
“You came,” I say.
“Of course I did.” She sounds breathless. Or maybe I’m imagining it.
I gesture for her to sit, but she shakes her head.
“I’m going to order something first. They have the best pain au chocolat in the state.”
“I’ll get it.”
“I can do it,” she protests but her smile brightens when I insist.
Glancing back while I wait on her order, I see the way she fidgets nervously with her mittens. She bites her lip when she catches me staring.
When I finally come back with a latte and her pastry, her breath hitches.
Good.
I want her flustered. I want her aware of me.
“You warm enough?” I ask. She’s still not wearing a coat and I don’t care if the walk from her friend’s house to this coffee shop was brief. I don’t want her cold.
She nods.
“Warmer than in the Civic.”
“Warmer than an icicle. Got it.”
She laughs, bright and musical. If I weren’t already hooked, that sound alone would do it.
“You’re really heading to Colorado?” she asks, tearing off a corner of the croissant.
“That’s the plan.”
“What for?”
“New start. New shop. New everything.”
Her eyes soften.
“That’s brave.”
It’s not bravery. It’s survival. But I don’t say that.
“You excited to be going home for Christmas?”
She brightens instantly.
“Very. The town comes alive this time of year. Everyone decorates, even the grumps. With all the Christmas lights at night, our town is brighter than the full moon.” Then her voice drops quieter, almost shy. “I want you to see it.”
My pulse kicks up a gear.
She doesn’t realize what she just admitted, or maybe she does. The hope in her eyes tells me she’s feeling the same thing I am.
“Then I will,” I say simply.
Her breath catches.
“Reid—”
Before she can talk herself into fear, I reach across the table and take her hand. She doesn’t pull away. Not even a twitch. Her mittens are off, her fingers small in mine, warm and slightly trembling.
“Tell me something,” I murmur. “What made you ask me on a date?”
Her lips part. She stares at our joined hands.
“You wanted to take care of me.”
Blue eyes dart to mine, sharp and piercing.
“I liked that. I really liked that.”
Fuck. She’s keeping this conversation PG because we’re in public, but I understand her meaning perfectly. My words turned her on. The thought of me taking care of her, of pleasuring her, made her wet.
For me. Fuck.
“Jodi?”
“Yeah?” Her voice is barely a whisper.
“You want get out of here?”
She stands before I can finish the sentence.