Chapter 19
Chapter 19
The aroma of a freshly baked cake and piping hot coffee are two of the comforts in life I take great pleasure in. In my job at the Cozy Cottage, I get to indulge myself all day, every day. Today, as the mouth-watering aroma of a freshly baked cake reaches me out by the coffee machine, I feel my tightly-wound shoulders begin to relax, my neck begin to loosen, and my sense of calm slowly begin to return.
Despite my resolve to do as Darcy said and redirect my “energies,” those pesky, inconvenient feelings for Jason have been running through my mind all week, grabbing my focus, and twisting me up in knots. It’s not a good state of being, and if I could wrinkle my nose and magic these feelings away, I would do it in a heartbeat.
As I froth a large metal pot of steaming hot milk, I chew on my lip. All I’ve got to do is find a more appropriate subject for my “energies,” and everything will return to how it is meant to be.
Easy. Or not . . .
I let out a heavy sigh. Where am I going to find someone who can rival Jason? Mermen, feeders, and the like sure don’t make the grade, and with no one else on the horizon, I’ll be stuck with being a stammering wreck around Jason from now until eternity.
A voice shakes me out of my self-pity. “Sophie? Earth to Sophie.”
I look up to see Paige standing beside me. She’s wearing a pretty yellow sundress, a questioning look on her face, her forehead crinkled.
I give myself a mental prod. I can’t let my personal life interfere with my job. “Sorry, I was away with the fairies.”
“I hope they were fun fairies, but by the looks of you, they weren’t.”
I shrug, slightly weirded out by the fact I’m discussing imaginary fairies with my boss. “No, just fairies. Nothing to be concerned about.”
Her face breaks into a smile. “Good to hear.”
“How are you feeling?”
“I have my good days and my not so good days. I’m meeting Bailey out back. Catch you soon?”
“Of course.”
As Paige disappears around the door into the kitchen, I refocus my efforts on my day job. What I should be doing is working on my High Tea proposal, not obsessing over my roommate.
I pour the milk into some coffee cups, top the cappuccino off with a dash of powdered chocolate, and deliver them to the customers. Back behind the counter, I remove the coffee machine arm, tap it on the Grindenstein, and watch as the used coffee grounds fall out in a disc-like clump.
Bailey comes out of the kitchen and begins to serve the customers as I continue to make their coffee orders. I notice she’s a little jumpy, constantly watching the café door. I don’t think much of it. Maybe she’s expecting her husband, Ryan? It’s perfectly understandable for her to feel excited; they are newlyweds after all.
Sometime later, I feel a hand on my arm and look up at Bailey. “Sophie, honey? Can you hold the fort down for a while? I-I need to get something out back.”
“Sure.”
Her eyes dart toward the café door then she turns back and shoots me a grin. “Be right back. You stay . . . here,” she says before disappearing through the doorway into the kitchen.
I knit my brows together. Weird.
With no one waiting to be served, I return my attention to prepping the coffee machine for the mid-morning onslaught. Seriously, I must make hundreds of cups of coffee a day. Strange that I’ve never counted them before. I wonder how many times I’ve pulled the arm into place, pressed the button, steamed the milk . . . My thoughts continue down this less than scintillating path until a deep voice says, “Excuse me?”
I drop my cloth on the counter, wipe my hands dry on my polka dot apron, and turn my attention to my new customer. “How can I . . . help . . . you.” My words slow as I look up into a set of warm blue eyes behind a pair of glasses, set in a handsome face—a superhero’s face. Yup, Clark Kent’s doppelg?nger is standing in front of me, the cute regular Bailey suggested I ask out way back when we agreed to the No More Bad Dates Pact.
“I’d like one of your fantastic coffees to go, please,” Clark Kent says to me as his face creases into a smile.
Even though I know the answer—double shot latte with extra foam—I pretend I don’t when I ask, “What would you like?”
“A double shot latte with extra foam, please.”
“Coming right up.” I grin at him, my belly surprisingly un-butterfly-infested as I gaze at his superhero hotness. Strange. “Do you want a slice of cake with that?”
He leans down to peruse the cakes in the cabinet. There’s the apple streusel cake that I personally cannot get enough of, as well as all the other favorites the café is known for. As he straightens up, he pushes his black-rimmed glasses back up his nose. It’s totally cute and hot professor-like.
Still no butterflies.
What is wrong with me?
“As tempting as those cakes look, I’m going to have to pass. At the risk of sounding totally lame, I’m in training.”
Training for superhero stuff? I don’t say it. Clearly . But I can’t help but think it. Instead, I ask, “For what?”
“Life, I guess.”
I feel a smile tease at the edges of my mouth. “You’re training for life ?”
“Sounds, dumb, I know. I used to be a rugby player back in the day, you see. I guess I’ve always liked to stay in shape. It gets harder as you get older.”
My mind instantly brings up an image of the famous All Black Dan Carter, all muscles, pretty face, and nimble footwork. I size him up. He can’t be more than late-twenties, thirty tops. “You don’t look old.”
“I’m positively ancient,” he replies with a laugh. “Well, if twenty-nine is considered ancient.”
I smile. “It’s not. Who did you play for?”
“Well, my university team did pretty well, and then there was the Cyclones. I played for them for a few years until I got onto the New Zealand team.”
My eyes spring open wide. “The All Blacks?”
“Yup. A grand total of one game.”
I’m seriously impressed with Clark-Kent-slash-Dan-Carter right now. He’s a former pro rugby player who represented our country in the mighty All Blacks, and he comes to my café most days of the week? I mean, who knew?
Jason, that’s who. Major rugby fan. He’d know exactly who Clark Kent was, and if he were here, he’d be rolling his eyes at me for not recognizing him.
But I’m determined not to think about Jason.
“So, you were seriously good.”
He gives a self-effacing shrug. “Good enough, I guess.”
“Now I know you’re being modest. You played for New Zealand!”
“As I said, only one lousy game.”
“What happened?”
“I blew my knee out.” A cloud passes briefly over his oh-so pretty face. “Anyway, that’s all in the past, and right now, I see an awesome coffee made by a cute girl in my future.”
It takes me a full four seconds to tag onto the fact he means me. Seriously. I’m the cute girl. And right on cue, my cheeks begin to heat up. “Oh, I . . . sure. I’ll get onto that coffee. Double shot latte with extra foam.”
“You’ve got it.” He smiles, and his entire face lights up. He doesn’t move from his spot. Instead, he simply stands where he is, watching me.
I glance at him as I slot the coffee arm into place, and he smiles. The guy is totally hot. There’s got to be something seriously wrong with me when an ex-All Black who looks like Clark Kent calls me cute and all I manage is one minor blush that I wasn’t even particularly committed to.
As I clip the lid onto the takeout cup, Clark Kent slash Dan Carter clears his throat and I turn to look back at him. “Err, I’m not quite sure how to say this, so I’ll just come out with it. Your boss? She thought you might be interested in going out with me some time, you know, when your busy coffee-making schedule allows.”
My eyebrows spring up to meet my hairline. Did she now? I should be annoyed with Bailey for meddling, especially for not telling me she’d done it. But really, who am I kidding? Rugby-playing Clark Kent might be just what I need to take my mind off certain other people. Maybe I could redirect some of those “energies” to him?
We could create our own chemical equation. Ugh . Now I sound like some kind of lame-o song.
When I don’t respond, he shifts his weight, looking uncomfortable. “Well, this is awkward. Look, I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ll just take my coffee to go.” He pulls some bills out of his pocket and offers them to me.
I look dumbly down at them. Snap to it, Sophie!
“No, really, it’s fine.”
He does not look convinced. “Fine?”
“More than fine. I-I’ve been too focused on something else. Sorry.”
His handsome face crinkles with confusion. “Ok aaa y.”
“I guess what I’m trying to say is yes, I’m sure I could squeeze a date with you into my busy coffee-making schedule.”
Relief visibly washes over him. “That’s great. I thought I’d been given a bum steer.”
I smile at him, trying to muster the types of feelings I know I should have when a guy as near-perfect as him asks me out. “No bum steer.”
“I’m Cameron Lewis, by the way.”
“Sophie McCarthy.”
“Great to meet you, Sophie.”
I tear my eyes from Clark Kent—Cameron—to see Darcy and Erin standing in line behind him. Their eyes are trained eagerly on the two of us, and I shoot them a questioning look.
Cameron turns to them and says, “Sorry, ladies, I’m holding you up.” Still with the cash in his outstretched hand, he says, “Thanks for the coffee.”
I wave his cash away. “It’s on the house, Cameron.”
“Thanks, that’s really sweet of you.” He slides his cash back into his back pocket and then leans across the counter.
I shoot Darcy and Erin a quick look before I lean in to him. I hear Erin say, “Have you seen this lovely painting of a garden over here, Darcy?”
“Please, show me,” Darcy replies, about as obvious as the sky is blue, and they wander away from us.
“Well, Sophie, it’s been great finally meeting you. And thanks for this.” He raises his cup. “I’ll drink it and think of you.”
“Okay. I’ll, ah, give you my number, if you want?”
“That would be great.” He pulls out his phone and hands it to me to type my details in.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Darcy and Erin with smirks on their faces. So much for looking at that painting.
“Thanks, Sophie. I’ll call you,” Cameron says.
“I’ll look forward to it.” I watch him leave, wishing I could feel more. More . . . something. Anything.
I give myself a mental shake-up. He’s gorgeous, he’s sweet, and he was an All Black, for goodness’ sake. What’s more, he’s interested in me—and he’s asked me out.
Why am I not dancing around the room like an ecstatic lunatic?
Isn’t this exactly what I’ve been looking for?
“OMG! Did that totally cute guy just ask you out on a date?” Erin looks all innocent as she and Darcy return to the counter, their faces bright.
“He’s a total hottie, Soph. If he did ask you out you should go out with him,” Darcy adds.
“Definitely. He’s a total smokehouse,” Erin confirms.
I narrow my eyes at them both. “So, you two just happened to turn up here to see it all go down, did you?”
“Yes,” Erin says.
“Absolutely.” This from Darcy.
“Bailey didn’t say anything to either of you?”
“Bailey? No,” Darcy replies.
I put my hands on my hips. “Come on, you two: confess.”
My friends have the good grace to look as sheepish as a couple of ewes in a paddock.
“Bailey might have said something about this cute guy who comes in here at this time most days,” Erin replies.
“And we might have suggested she have a word with him and then vacate stage right,” Darcy adds. “We thought we’d swing by to check things out.”
I try to wrap my mind around what just happened. “Everyone was in on it? Even Paige?”
Erin shakes her head. “She’s a little preoccupied right now. You know, baby stuff.”
“Plus, her horse lost the race, remember?” Darcy adds. “Oliver the feeder. Crashed and burned.”
I harrumph. “More like crash-landed in a bowl of mushy soup, which he then wanted to spoon-feed to me.”
Erin giggles. “Now, there’s an image. So, you and the smokehouse exchanged numbers, huh?”
“He took mine, so I guess I’ll know if he’s keen if I hear from him.”
Erin gives a sage nod. “Oh, he was keen.”
“One hundred percent keen.” Darcy’s voice is firm, uncompromising when she adds, “He’s a good choice, Soph. A really good choice .” Although her lips are moving, her eyes are doing the talking. I know what she’s telling me: choose Cameron, not Jason. Cameron’s available and interested in you.
Jason? Well, that would be a hard no on both counts.
“A good choice? Are you kidding?” Erin is incredulous. “He’s gorgeous! Sophie is so lucky.”
“You know he’s a former rugby player, Erin?” I say.
She looks surprised. “He is?”
“Yup. Played for the Cyclones and one game for the All Blacks. And you don’t like jocks, remember?”
“Well, I’m not the one dating him,” she replies smugly. “Come on, Soph. He’s perfect.”
“You’re right,” I say with a brisk nod. “He’s perfect and I’m really lucky he’s asked me out.”
“Atta girl,” Darcy says.
“Right. Coffee?” I offer.
As I go about making my friends their coffees, I harden my resolve. Cameron Lewis is just the guy to take my mind off Jason.
And I’m determined to make it work.