Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Astrid
“Your fan base is limitless.” Berk chuckles as I pack my guitar into its case. “That little guy was spellbound when you were singing to him.”
I tap the gold hoop in my right ear. “He’s more interested in my earrings than my voice, but I think that’s typical for a two-year-old.”
He rakes me from head to toe when I stand back up.
I hurried out of my apartment this morning after a quick shower. My hair is pinned up in a messy bun, my face is bare of makeup except for a light coat of mascara, and I’m dressed in jeans and a bulky black sweater that Eloise didn’t knit.
I’ve had it since high school, and on mornings like this, with a chilly bite in the air, it’s perfect under my leather jacket.
“You did pretty good today.” Berk motions to my jacket pocket.
I shoved all of my tips in there after he generously dropped a few twenty dollar bills in my guitar case after I sang a song to the little boy about a tiny spider going up a water spout.
“Thanks to you,” I say with a smile. “You’re incredibly generous, Berk.”
He huffs out a laugh. “I’m generous? Something tells me that you enjoy giving much more than I do.”
I can’t let that pass by, so I straighten my shoulders and fight back a smile. “I do enjoy giving.”
His chin tilts back. “As do I. I suddenly feel the need to point that out. I really, really enjoy giving, Astrid. It’s in the top three of my favorite things to do.”
I close my eyes briefly to try and ward off the image of his face between my thighs with my hands roped through his hair, clinging to him as I ride through an orgasm.
I sense him moving closer to me, so my eyes pop back open. I glance up at him. “What are the other two things in your top three?”
He studies my face before his gaze locks on my lips. “I’d much rather show you than tell you.”
Flirting this early in the morning on a crowded subway platform may be new to me, but I could get used to it.
The moment is broken when a man rushing toward a train knocks his briefcase into my hip.
He tosses me an awkward smile with a silent mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
I smile back because anger won’t slow him down. I’ve often seen him race through here as he tries to catch the train headed uptown.
“Do you have time for a coffee before you open the store?” Berk asks as he reaches for my guitar case.
I glance at the watch on my wrist. “I have time.”
“Good.” He looks over my head toward the concrete steps that lead up to the street. “We’ll discuss when we can have dinner again.”
Heads turned when we walked into this bustling café in search of coffee and a table.
No one glanced at me because Berk Morgan, in all his GQ-page-worthy-splendor, entered their orbit.
Admittedly, it was primarily women clutching tightly to their overpriced coffees who looked at him.
I’m guilty of that too.
I don’t turn away when a good-looking man crosses my path, but it’s usually a brief glance before moving on with my day.
The exception to that was when I first saw Berk.
I’ve learned to train myself not to stare at him with my mouth agape whenever I’m around him.
“Berk!” A black-haired woman wearing a red pencil skirt and a plaid jacket practically screams from where she’s standing near the counter.
The barista, who seems to be in the middle of taking her order, glances in our direction. Her hand drifts to her hair to smooth it back in place.
I feel like I just walked into a high school gymnasium with the star quarterback at my side.
He glances at the woman near the counter. “How are you?”
“Can I grab you a cup?” She practically yells. “If I remember correctly, it’s one sugar and no cream.”
“I’m good.” He sends that message in her direction with a smile and a wave of his hand as if he’s swatting away her good intentions.
“All right!” She barks that back at him. “I’ll call you this week. We should talk, right?”
He nods but doesn’t offer her anything else as we find our place at the back of the line.
“She seems…” I pause to lock eyes with him. “Nice.”
“Persistent is the word you’re looking for,” he corrects me. “She wrote a thriller, but her true calling is accounting.”
Relief barrels through me. “Oh, I thought…”
“You thought wrong.” He tightens his grip on the handle of my guitar case. “She’s convinced her book is phenomenal. It’s not.”
I watch as the woman exits the café with a large coffee in hand. Her gaze lingers on Berk’s back before she disappears into the foot traffic on the sidewalk.
We step closer to the counter as another person’s coffee order is taken and prepared.
“Do you get that a lot?” I question.
“Do I get inundated with bad manuscripts a lot?” He perks one dark brow. “Yes.”
“No.” I chuckle. “I don’t think she’s calling you to talk about her manuscript.”
I accentuate the last two words with air quotes.
The corners of his lips quirk up. “Did you just toss air quotes around her manuscript?”
I nod.
“Because you think she was referring to what, Astrid?” He leans closer to lower his voice. “Are you saying she has an ulterior motive for calling me?”
I step back and huff out a nervous laugh. “I’m saying she’s calling because you look like that.”
He glances at the counter as the line inches forward. “I look like what?”
Shaking my head, I drop my gaze to the floor. “You know what you look like.”
His finger finds my chin to inch my head back up until our eyes are locked. “I know that you think I’m a hot dad.”
“Okay, I admit it, you are,” I whisper.
“As long as you see me that way…” His voice trails as he points a finger at me. “That’s all that matters to me. Other women can take their manuscripts to someone else.”
I chuckle at the way he enunciates every syllable of the word ‘manuscripts’.
“I have your coffee ready, sir.” The barista who was fixing her hair earlier calls to Berk as the person in front of us steps aside to wait for their order. “It’s on the house. It’s just the way you like it. One sugar and no cream.”
He reaches for my hand and steps toward the counter. “I take my coffee black. I’ve always taken it black.”
Her cheeks blush pink. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I heard your friend say you like it with one sugar and no cream.”
“She’s not my friend,” he says before he draws my hand up to his lips to kiss it softly. “This is my friend, and she’d like her coffee…”
“Black as well.” I nod. “Just like his.”