Chapter Eight
Sydney hadn’t slept in two days. Not since Morgan had messaged back agreeing to coffee. Even when she had managed to sleep, it was fragmented, and restless, with Morgan’s face spinning through her dreams like a revolving door.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t feeling fresh, chipper, and just a bit excited. All the way down the street, she felt like she was floating, like she had butterfly wings stuck to her back.
Okay fine, I’m very excited.
Sydney pushed open the glass door of Stella’s coffee shop and spotted Morgan already sitting at the table by the window. The woman looked different than usual, less… put together. She looked as if she hadn’t slept much, either.
Sydney caught her eye. Morgan’s hair was a curly mess. She had no make-up on, and a button was undone in the middle of her blouse. But even completely bare, showing all her imperfections, the faint lines beside her eyes, Morgan was still gorgeous.
Sydney had dated twenty-year-olds who refused to be seen without an entire layer of makeup, always rushing to the bathroom the next morning to apply at least a bit of mascara. This was refreshing.
“Hi,” Sydney said, sliding into the chair opposite her. Her heart was beating so fast and loud she could hear it in her ears. “I woke up this morning thinking you weren’t going to show.”
“Why would you think that?” Morgan asked, her voice like steel, and her beautiful face icy.
Her demeanor was everything Sydney had expected it to be—cold and distant.
It had been that way at the gallery, again at the speed dating event, and even three days ago at the wine tasting.
But Sydney also knew that in between those moments of chill were pockets of warmth.
She just had to find them and then bring them to life.
“I don’t know. Just a gut feeling.” Sydney shrugged and then leaned forward as she placed her elbows on the table.
There was a second where Morgan’s eyes scanned the tattoos on Sydney’s body, studying them—possibly wondering why anyone would get an octopus wearing sneakers on all eight of its legs inked on their skin—before she caught herself and glanced down at the table instead.
A waiter arrived. They each ordered a coffee and a custard-filled pastry.
Stella’s had the best pastries in all of Carmel.
The owner had spent three years in France perfecting the croissant and didn’t miss an opportunity to tell the story to anyone who listened.
Right now, Stella was at the back of the counter wearing a bright pink apron and pointing vigorously at something in the display case.
“Don’t you have to be at work?” Morgan asked, locking her gaze on Sydney. Those gray eyes were like shards of ice—sharp, penetrating, and carving a hole straight through her. “Shouldn’t you be saving people from kitchen fires?”
“Liv’s covering for me.” Sydney pointed to her cell phone with the screen facing up. “She’ll call if there’s an emergency.”
Morgan took a moment to consider that, then slowly splayed her fingers across the lacquered table, both hands stretching out.
She had long, slender fingers, perfectly trimmed nails, and cuticle beds that belonged on an Essie ad.
Neurosurgeon’s hands. Hands that saved lives.
Hands that were probably insured for a small fortune.
Sydney, who was slowly slipping into a trance looking at Morgan’s hands, jerked her head up when the waiter placed their coffees on the table.
“And you?” she asked. “Now that you aren’t saving people’s lives, what are you doing with your free time?” As soon as she said the words, she regretted them.
If it was even possible, Morgan’s eyes turned colder. She pressed her lips thin, a twitch settling in at her jaw. It was entirely obvious that the topic of work was a sore spot, a wound that was either still healing or had never fully healed.
“What I meant to say,” Sydney added quickly, hoping she could still save the conversation by changing course. “Do you have any hobbies, anything you’re enjoying at the moment?”
“Hobbies?” Morgan raised a single lovely brow. “Like what?”
“Um…” Sydney suddenly hit a blank, which wasn’t like her, especially when it came to hobbies.
She had several, including surfing, crocheting, pottery, and hiking.
But maybe it was the way Morgan was staring at her, unblinkingly, that completely wiped her thoughts.
At last, when Morgan finally looked away, focusing instead on the elderly couple settling into chairs at the table beside them, Sydney said, “Like camping.”
Morgan’s eyes narrowed.
“Do you like camping?” Sydney asked, glimpsing down at the cup of coffee. Steam wafted off its surface, and she brought the cup to her lips to blow on it.
“No,” said Morgan, without even having to think about it. But then again, people either liked camping, or they hated it. There was no in-between. Unless, of course, said person had never been camping, then there was still a glimmer of hope.
“Have you ever been camping?”
“No,” said Morgan just as quickly. She touched the rim of her coffee cup and then settled her hands on either side of it as if to warm them.
It was hot out. Far too hot to need to absorb heat from the cup, but perhaps Morgan was one of those people with chronically cold hands.
There was a syndrome for that. Sydney nearly reached over to touch the woman’s fingers but held back.
The last thing she wanted to do was to scare her off.
“Why don’t you come with us this weekend? Liv, my brother, and I are heading to Big Sur. A fourth would make it even. It’s perfect.”
The idea of Morgan sleeping in a tent right beside hers made Sydney feel both excited and terribly nervous. The idea of them actually sharing a tent brought a rush of prickly goosebumps to her skin.
Morgan’s nose crinkled. She had a very cute nose, if Sydney had to say so herself. “Are there bugs at the campsite?”
“Considering we’ll be sleeping outside, naturally there will be bugs, yes.”
“And bears?”
“They’re very rare.”
“And what about the bathroom situation? Would I have my own toilet and shower?”
“It’s communal.”
“Well, then you’ve got your answer, don’t you? It’s a big fat no.”
Sydney laughed. “Oh, come on, Morgan. Big Sur is extremely beautiful. All those redwoods are so majestic. You might be pleasantly surprised.”
“The last time I was pleasantly surprised was when a former First Lady unexpectedly ended up in my OR. I promise you, Sydney, camping will not have the same effect.”
“Not even if I told you that it’s obligatory to eat as many s’mores as you want. No one will be there to judge you. There’s no judgment when camping. You can pee behind a tree and get away with it.”
“I can’t think of anything worse.”
Sydney laughed, mostly because it was hard to tell if Morgan was serious or taking the joke.
Her expression seemed the same for both.
Either way, the woman looked a bit more relaxed.
She was leaning back in the chair instead of sitting upright.
Her posture was no longer ramrod straight, and she was trailing a finger across the rim of her empty coffee cup instead of clutching it for dear life.
“Well, the offer is there. You can take it or leave it.”
“I’ll leave it… but thank you.”
“We leave on Friday, just so you know, and I’ve got a tent for you and a sleeping bag, and we can share all my cooking equipment. I’ll even set the tent up for you—”
“Sydney,” Morgan interrupted, shaking her head. But there was nothing cold about the way she said her name. In fact, the grin she had slipped on her face brought an immediate lightness to the table. “I’m not going camping, alright.”
Was Sydney just imagining things or had she found a gap in that icy wall?
“Fine,” Sydney relented. She couldn’t help but smile herself. This coffee date was going far better than she had expected. Not only had Morgan not run off yet, but she had also not bitten Sydney’s head off yet. “I’ll stop trying to convince you.”
“Good.”
“Instead, we can talk about your friend Tessa and why I think she’d be the perfect woman for my brother Vince,” Sydney said, remembering Tessa in that bright pink dress she wore at the wine tasting.
Tessa was fun, delightful, and just a bit clumsy—Sydney had seen her almost topple over her glass of wine several times.
Tessa was everything Vince loved in a woman and needed in a partner.
And Sydney would be more than happy to welcome Tessa to the family, even if she were a few good years older than Vince.
What was that saying? ‘Love knows no age.’
“And don’t worry, he’s finally moved past his miserly days.”
“How old is your brother?” Morgan asked, taking a sip of her coffee. She watched Sydney over the rim of the cup, her gray eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“Seven years older than me.”
“And how old are you?” Morgan asked, placing the cup down. She rested her hands flat on the table on either side of it and leaned a little forward as if she were dying to know the answer.
“Twenty-eight.”
If Morgan was shocked by the revelation, she didn’t show it.
Her features were stoic and impassive, as if she was made of marble, carved to perfection with zero room for human emotion.
Sydney wondered if the way the woman held herself was a byproduct of her profession.
After all, they often had to deliver tough news while remaining calm and unshakeable.
Who trusted a neurosurgeon with their brain if they appeared anything less than utterly composed?
Not Sydney, though she had a feeling she could completely and fully trust Morgan with her life.
Sydney stretched her leg, and her calf ended up bumping against Morgan’s. Expecting Morgan to jerk her leg back, Sydney was stunned when she didn’t. Instead, Morgan’s calf lingered, pressing against her own.
For a hot minute, Sydney couldn’t concentrate.
Something tight and bunched up suddenly unraveled in Sydney, as if her stomach had been a knitted ball of yarn moments ago and was now slowly being smoothed out and stretched.
All those angsty nerves were gone, but in their place was something far more profound.
An undeniable infatuation. Sydney wanted to kiss Morgan again, to lean over the table and weave her fingers through Morgan’s hair, to bring their lips together.
She ached to pull her flush. Sydney wanted to brush her fingers everywhere across the woman’s body and she wanted Morgan to do the same, to trace the tip of her finger over her tattoos, down her back, across her breasts…
The waiter was back. “Anything else to drink?”
“Nothing,” said Sydney and Morgan at the same time. Though neither asked for the bill. They just sat there while the world passed around them, staring at each other, calves touching, wondering what the other was thinking. Or at least Sydney was desperate to know Morgan’s thoughts.
Her phone rang.
Reluctantly, Sydney flicked her gaze to the screen. Liv’s name popped up in bold letters. Her stomach bottomed out. The last thing she wanted to do was to go back to work, not when she had undoubtedly cracked through at least one of the icy layers surrounding Morgan.
“Do you need to take that?” Morgan asked, brows raised, glimpsing down to the phone.
“I do,” Sydney replied, dejectedly. She really did have to take it. If there was a fire somewhere, or an accident, Sydney had to respond immediately.
Sighing, Sydney answered the call and pressed the phone against her ear.
“You need to get your butt back to the station!” Liv cried. “There’s a fire on Bree Street. Captain’s calling all hands-on deck, and he’s really pissed that you’re not here.”
“I thought you were covering for me.”
“I can only do so much, Syd. Now get over here before we’re both fired.”
Morgan’s brows were still raised when Sydney ended the call and remained that way when Sydney slid her right hand across the table, closing the gap to Morgan’s slender fingers.
“I want to see you again,” Sydney said, watching as Morgan’s gaze lingered on their interlaced fingers. “Soon. Like really soon.”
Slowly, after what felt like forever, Morgan’s eyes traveled up from their joined hands to meet with Sydney’s. “Well, you’ve got my number, don’t you?” Morgan said.
“I’ll text you.” Sydney was up. Her body was humming with static.
She did the bravest thing she could think of…
she stepped forward to Morgan, and bent down, kissing her softly on the cheek.
She smelled like a sunlit meadow of flowers, with a hint of coffee, and something else that Sydney couldn’t pinpoint but wanted to wrap herself in.
And the way Morgan’s curls brushed across her cheek only intensified that electric hum a thousand times over.
Morgan hadn’t flinched or moved at all, and when Sydney stepped back, she swore she could see the start of a smile on her face.
Too bad she had to go before it could fully unfold.