Chapter 5
FIVE
Mocha
Celeste
I walk around the block from where I parked towards Biblio & Brew, my buttercream yellow sundress swishing at my thighs.
It tickles the bare skin of my legs, making me smile.
The clouds are nowhere to be seen and I take a moment to close my eyes, tilt my head up, and just feel the sun warming my cheeks.
I inhale deeply, the warmer weather of the summer months has just begun.
I smell the freshly mowed lawn across the street, the green hue vibrant.
I feel the zest of life right down to my bones today.
This blissful feeling started the moment I woke up and saw Mom working on the little garden out front of our house.
I caught her eye in the window and watched as her smile grew so wide it could have touched her ears.
The heady combination of hope and joy blossoms in my chest from watching her become so active in the last few years.
She even insisted I stay home while she became more independent with her grocery shopping, doctors’ visits, and even going to see movies by herself.
She’s embraced her life so fully and I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her.
Mom is sunshine in human form. She’s been through so much but remains so optimistic it’s baffling. I don’t know if I inherited all that positivity from her, but I hope I have just enough. I know if I didn’t, she would be there with bells on.
I feel like I’m channeling her sunshine right now, glowing from the inside out while I go to my new coffee spot.
I’m actually very happy with this recommendation.
It’s cozy, full of books by local authors, and if I’m being totally honest, employs a very hot barista.
His broody demeanour can be a little surly based on my limited interactions with him, but hey, he’s easy on the eyes and makes a killer caffeinated drink.
A drink I’ve been thinking about since I woke up.
The bell above the door at Biblio & Brew tinkles a delightful little sound gifted by the coffee fairies.
I glance toward the coffee bar to maybe or maybe not scope out if a certain surly someone is behind it with his boring black coffee in one hand and some obscure book in the other.
I feel my elevated mood dip when the cafe area is unattended.
I try to rationalize my feelings by telling myself that I’m here for a huge coffee and there’s no one here to make it for me.
That’s all. I steal another sweeping glance.
There’s a thirty-something woman over by the register for book sales but other than that, I don’t notice anyone else working. Damn, I really wanted a coffee.
My shoulders droop and I turn to head toward the sports section, the cafe now at my back.
There’s a small reading table in front of the stacks.
I casually run my fingers along the spines inhaling the smell of freshly printed books.
I spot a tall, lean, chestnut haired guy with his back to me, a large varsity jacket pulled tight across his wide frame.
I pretend not to notice and put on my best damsel in distress act, reaching for something sports related on a shelf above my head.
“Can I help you grab that?” I hear Varsity say, closer to me than he was a few seconds ago.
Hooked.
“Oh! Yes actually, thank you. This one right here…” I glance up and point toward the book I’d been pretending to reach for…
The Intricacies of NFL Press Conferences.
I suppress the urge to groan. I know absolutely nothing about football.
Canadian, American, hell, I don’t even know European football.
“Here’s your uh…oh cool, you like football?” Varsity asks, intrigue glinting in his rich brown eyes.
“Um, yes! Love it, go Lions!” I pump my fist in the air for effect.
The Lions are something right?
“That’s cool, but unfortunately I’m a Vikings fan. You know their history…” Varsity begins rambling on about some rivalry. I nod at the appropriate times, smiling encouragingly.
Loyalty…to a sports team, I guess that counts, check.
Tall, check.
Handsome, check.
“…and that’s where I realized my love for the sport! You know?” Varsity is smiling at me, waiting for a reply.
Oh shit, what did he say?
“Totally! Me too. So do you study here?” I ask quickly, hoping to get off the football topic.
“Yeah, I’m in my third year in the business program. You?”
“Fourth year biomedical sciences,” I reply as delicately as possible.
Fragile ego in 3…2…1…
“Yeah, that’s cool.” Varsity scratches his head, looking around. “So I gotta run, see ya.” He leaves so abruptly pages of a nearby open book stir in his wake.
I release a very long and breathy groan while rubbing circles on my temples.
What I need is a knight in shining armour type.
The mental checklist in my brain on what I’ve determined necessary in a dating candidate doesn’t waver.
It can’t. I want this experiment to be as close to my real life dating preferences as possible to get the most accurate results.
I shouldn’t have to lower the bar for men who can’t appreciate a smart woman.
I’m incredibly proud of my hard work and sacrifice to get where I am, not just for myself but for my mom too.
It’s almost always been just us. A small inheritance helped us float by and Mom helped me study every time she could.
Ever since the first grade I’ve wanted to help people through medicine.
At first I wanted to be a doctor but it became too daunting of an idea, holding someone’s life in my own hands.
I preferred the idea of being the brains behind the operations.
A medical researcher, I’d decided, was my calling.
When I finally landed on that idea at nearly ten years old, there was no going back.
That was my path. Finish my bachelors degree biomedical sciences at Remington University—stay local and save funds—then head straight into medical school.
Together my mom and I did everything we could to save, apply for grants and keep my grades as high as possible to get any and every scholarship I could be awarded.
She would stay up late studying with me, balancing chemical equations, memorizing every facet and function of a human cell.
The mitochondria was the powerhouse of the cell sure, but what about the role of the Golgi apparatus?
I had to know it all. I needed to succeed to make both our efforts mean something.
I file away the football book huffing in frustration before turning towards my actual preferred section, Feminist Horror.
I’ve noticed it’s very off-putting for men when I browse books with covers titled The Bloody Chamber and Nightbitch.
I agree though, it is a little unapproachable for someone trying to start up a romantic conversation, hence why I decided to scope out the sports and political science section.
At least there I could snag an athlete or a trust fund baby.
It feels a little surface level to begin experimentally dating someone like this, however, if they aren’t great on the surface then what’s the point in going deeper?
I cast a glance up toward the feminist horror section.
This is when I’d love a real knight in shining armour, a prince charming if you will, to help me out a bit.
Unfortunately for me, feminist horror is a real niche and not so popular genre, therefore it is shuffled away well above my reach.
I pull over the little reading table that no one seems to be using and climb on top, careful not to wobble it too much or flash someone walking by.
I reread the spines of novels I’ve already read.
Nothing new, yet. I hop down in disappointment, the skirt of my dress billowing out like a Mary Poppins landing.
I amble around the fantasy shelves—my second favourite section—hands running across the spines of the many thick novels.
Across the covers are a plethora of magical beasts, royalty ready for battle, and princesses in the arms of knights.
I pick up one novel in particular that shows a red haired maiden in a voluminous corseted gown.
She’s resting within the embrace of a very attractive man…
no, male? He’s some sort of fae variety, if the pointy ears are any indication.
Either way he’s a gorgeous specimen of man meat.
His dark hair drapes over his own broad shirtless shoulders…
“We have a strict no drooling policy, Hoot. However, once you purchase, you can…do whatever you want to that cover.” My eyes threaten to bulge out of their sockets as I hear Dominic’s husky voice from just over my shoulder. I shove the novel into my chest, feeling my cheeks grow warm.
Why does he throw me off so much?
I take a calming breath to settle my rapid heart rate and throw on a mask of haughty confidence before turning to face him.
“I’ll have you know that not only is this male gorgeous, his personality matches.
He’s sensitive, wields shadows, and puts his mate’s wants and needs first.” I raise my eyebrows as if I’m not at all embarrassed.
“Are there no men on this planet that meet your expectations? Or are you only into fictional fae?” he asks tauntingly, folding his arms across his chest making his shirt under his apron pull taut across his muscular arms. His dark hair is swooshed back effortlessly today, and his devious smile is tantalizing.
Am I fucking ovulating? Get a grip, Celeste.
I clear my throat and push my shoulders back, “The problem, dear Dominic, is that these men are fictional because the ones we love the most are written by women.” I tap across several titles I’ve already read to prove my point.
“Men in the real world don’t even listen to women, let alone stand by them,” I add less confidently, then stiffen, suddenly wondering why I felt compelled to share something so vulnerable in front of Dominic.
His smile falters a fraction at my honesty.
“I’m sorry to hear that Hoot.” His brows pull together, “You know if you ever need someone to listen, I’ve been told I’m the sullen and quiet type.
If you ever need to talk I’m always here.
” He gestures around. “Well, Monday to Friday anyway.” His mouth tugs up on one side into an adorable half smile, an attempt to turn my sudden sour mood around.
His tone is lighthearted, but his intention feels genuine.
His attention is unwavering and I feel my skin prickle from it, a heat summering just under the surface.
“I appreciate that,” I manage, looking away from his concern. “Although, I think the saying is ‘strong and silent type’ but I’ll take it. Wait, maybe broody fits you better,” I add playfully, trying to lighten the mood.
“So how did Lance fare for you then? He might be strong but definitely not silent,” Dominic asks, leading us back to the coffee counter, then gestures to a stool. “Pull up a seat, stay while.”
I pull the stool just off to the side of the espresso machine, out of the way but still somewhat behind the coffee bar.
“Lance?” I ask.
“The varsity player you were talking to over in the sports section,” Dominic clarifies.
“Ah, okay Lance. I didn’t catch his name. He heard my major and couldn’t get away from me fast enough.” I glance around as if Lance is hiding around a book stack, cowering in a corner.
“Why, what are you studying?” Dominic asks as he moves around the space, crafting a latte for a customer. “Please don’t tell me it’s mortuary sciences.” He looks towards me with mock nervousness.
I huff a laugh. “Quite the opposite actually. I start my final year in biomedical sciences in the fall. Did my MCATs this past semester to get ahead of the curve, and I’m hoping to get into medical school after graduation.
The goal is to get into research from there.
” I cross my hands in my lap, pulling at the hem of my skirt.
“Research? Not a doctor?” Dominic asks, wiping down the espresso machine with practiced hands, my eyes catching on his forearms and the tattoos that decorate them.
I chew on my lip wondering how to casually explain my all too well understanding of hospitals and dislike of it all. The sterile smell, the harsh fluorescent lighting, the lacklustre food…I can feel my heart in my ears suddenly, my hands getting clammy at the abrupt flashbacks.
“Hoot,” Dominic’s voice pulls me from the past into the present.
“I know I said earlier that I would always listen, and I will, but if you don’t want to talk that’s fine too.
” He looks at me with the same soft concern as before.
He’s leaning against the back counter, giving me the space I need to vent if I want to.
He’s giving me the option. I suddenly feel grounded and grateful for his presence.
This man I barely know is making me feel at ease so…
easily. At my lack of explanation he continues, “So that’s why Lance took off?
Because you have a cool major and you’re smart? ” He scoffs and shakes his head.
A shaky breath leaves me in an anxious rush and I begin to relax a little into the stool and prop my back against the wall.
“Isn’t that sad? I mean, yes, it can be a little intimidating but come on, it’s no mortuary science.
” I smile at him and he barks a laugh, startling an older lady waiting for her cappuccino.
He begins profusely apologizing to her, offering her the drink on the house.
I snicker behind my hand, muffling the sound.
I stand from the stool and stretch out my back, “Thanks for …everything,” I say awkwardly, grabbing my bag.
“No problem. Come by anytime. Chat or sit, whichever,” Dominic replies.
“Thanks, Peggy,” I tease, making Dominic roll his eyes as I head for the door.
I make it just past the exit when I look back to see him glancing up, catching my eye through the window.
I bite my lip and give a little wave. He returns it with a small salute to his brow and a half smile tugging up one side of his full mouth.
I feel a zip of energy run through me, carrying me down the street on an energetic high.
Only after I make it back to my parked car do I realize I never even ordered a coffee.