Chapter 10Olivia
Olivia
My legs slow down, eyes acquainting themselves with the tinted windows of Smooth Brew. Brows drawing in, I focus on the white paper taped on the inside of the glass door.
Temporarily closed due to a pipe burst.
Sorry for the inconvenience.
-The Smooth Brew Team
“What the fuck?” I grunt under my breath, spinning on the heels of my thigh-high boots.
The brisk air crashes into me, and my palm meets my beanie before plucking my phone from my bag. I tap the Google Maps app, typing in the search engine for another coffee shop nearby.
Just my luck.
This is what I get for arriving ten minutes late to work every day. Even though I’m always the last one to leave the office, I swear karma is catching up quickly. It just won’t let it go. Thwarting my Saturday morning plans, nonetheless.
Taking myself on a date to a local café? Way too much to ask for.
To add insult to injury, on-street parking is not an option when I enter the village a few towns over. Instead, I have to curl my Rav4 behind the string of brick buildings lining the sidewalk.
My stomach pinches, warning bells ringing over my nerve-endings.
The rev of the engine dissipates once I park the car, and my hand immediately reaches over the console to unlatch the glove compartment.
I grab the discreet pink can, plopping it in my top-handle bag before stepping out on the blacktop.
Once my feet maneuver around, the friction of the anklet chain loosens the knot in my lower belly.
I’m safe.
Then I close the car door behind me and travel to The Grind.
With one palm clutching my plaid jacket closed, the other curls around the handle of the café entrance door. It’s an immaculate recipe of industrial and farmhouse-style vibes. Polished concrete floors under black, steel beams across the ceiling.
The barn-style order counter is located to the left. Globe pendant light fixtures dangle in the center, and bar-height counters with stools are stationed in the rear. But my favorite touch? The Tiffany blue painted benches and cabinetry throughout the space.
At least if I couldn’t hang out at Smooth Brew today, the next option doesn’t seem half bad.
Eventually, I idle behind the line of people at the order counter. Angling my chin up to read the menu, wafts of coffee beans and sweet treats dance under my nose. The ambient lighting injects a calmness, complementing the mumbled conversations and subdued music.
Once my order is ready, I slide onto a stool behind the counter against the rear window. I place the vanilla latte on the white quartz, a small smile creeping over my face as the foam art stares back at me.
At the surface, the tiny suds have morphed into the vanes of a feather.
I roll my shoulders, allowing my coat to drag down my arms, and a tender warmth wraps around me.
Like a cloak of armor.
Like somehow, my guardian angel sent me this little easter egg.
Reassurance that I’m going to be okay.
I’m safe.
Instinctively, my hand digs into my bag, retrieving my phone to hover the camera lens above the drink. My thumb taps the white circle on the screen, and I snap a photo of the foam art as a keepsake.
When I review the image, there’s sunlight filtering through the picture window in front of me. I swivel my body in the stool, my free palm forming a visor around the device when my knuckles collide with something solid.
Splashes of warm liquid sprout about, a few droplets landing on the black sleeve over my wrist. And to my dismay, the rest sprays the navy hoodie on the tall man standing over me.
“ Shit ,” he grits out, peering down at the mess I’ve created.
My cheeks flush with a blazing heat, mortified that the source of the liquid shower is the coffee cup he’s cuddling in his palm. I pop off the stool, holding out my hands as my eyes lock on the soaked fabric around his torso. A misfortune that I just caused.
Only me.
“Oh my god. I am so, so sorry,” I plead.
Streams of hot coffee decorate the outside of his white, plastic cup, dribbling onto the back of his hand as he suspends it away from him. The rear of his clean hand wipes his sweatshirt, and my gaze roams over his sun-kissed, corded forearm.
Thick veins and taut skin eat up my vision, my eyes dragging up to his dipped head. If we’re estimating, he must be at least six-foot-two or three.
Distressed silence hangs between us. My belly pitches in anticipation of his words, heart pumping wildly through my humiliation.
I drag my stare everywhere now, admiring the generous black and gray ink decorating his forearm attached to the hand holding his half-spilt drink. It seems that the tattoos extend to the back of his right hand, but it’s hidden behind the cup.
The hem of his hoodie is semi-tucked behind the black belt of his dark jeans. Denim that crumples just enough to spare room for his muscular physique but also hints at his lean build. My eyes trail farther down, catching the black, leather boots donning a few scuff marks on the toe portion.
“As long as you got your social media post in, right?” he retorts, a deep tenor grinding the shell of my ear.
Wait, what?
My puzzled eyes blink repeatedly, brows creasing when my gaze darts to his. “Excuse me?”
A pair of blue-gray eyes settles on me, and I almost forget what we’re discussing. He’s absolutely striking . Thick, dark hair styled haphazardly on top, with a stubbled and accentuated jawline around full, peach lips. An oxymoron in human form if I ever saw one.
“Oh, my bad,” he tosses mockingly. His free fingers touch his temple as if he should know better, his sarcasm as cool as a cucumber. “I should’ve been more mindful of things taking place on your phone instead of where I was walking.”
“Fine, I get it,” I assert, whirling to gesture to my phone resting on the counter. “But you didn’t have to chuck that crappy comment at me. You have no idea what I was doing.” A sigh slips from my mouth when I turn back to face him. “Look, I’ll buy you a new one. What was it?”
He steps forward to reach for the napkin dispenser with a cynical smirk, his stare never leaving mine as his arm curls around me. “I’ll just take this. Thanks.”
I ignore his woody musk—something between outdoorsy and spicy. My stomach flips, but I’m ready to match his attitude when he steps back.
Just as he did before, I place my fingers to my temple, sarcasm dripping from me as I feign an epiphany.
“Wow, you know what’s crazy? If you just accepted my apology from the beginning, you could’ve stopped talking to me two minutes ago.
” Then I pop my shoulders with attitude.
“But I guess you’ll never amount to anything more than being a jerk. How sad.”
“Anything else besides spilling my coffee and calling me a jerk?” He gestures his chin to the opposite corner of the coffee shop, and I follow his direction.
There, a laptop lays on a circular tabletop with a leather coat resting on the built-in bench.
“Because even though this was really great , I’d like to give the rest of the day a chance to be spectacular.
” I return my attention to him, and his eyes pinch with humor as he skates a hand up and down an invisible scale.
“I always like to see if I can one-up incredible events of the day. You know? Shoot for the stars.”
Okay, that was kind of a good comeback.
But any sliver of attraction instantly vanishes, and my chin tilts up to level with him.
If he wants to be a complete douchebag, then he found his match right here.
“Did I say jerk? I meant asshole. You’re a real asshole ,” I spit out.
Narrowing my gaze, I hold my middle finger sideways to mimic the way he shifted his hand up and down.
“Does that land higher on the scale for you?”
I don’t wait for his full reaction before I resume my position on the stool.
Hot fumes swirl inside me, my skin heating with aggravation when his boots pad away along the polished concrete. His woody scent links around me tauntingly, as if to say he won that round. And whether I like it or not, he’s going to rain on my parade this morning.
Looking back, I would’ve opted for a complete shutdown of Smooth Brew over the unfortunate encounter with this prick. I only tried to rectify the situation with an apology and offer to buy him another drink. Surely, he has every right to be annoyed, but seriously, was all of that necessary?
Unable to accept the fact that I could piss someone off over a measly cup of coffee, I pick my phone back up to open my text messages.
Me: I met the biggest douchebag at The Grind in Stardust Cove.
Lauren: Ew, wtf happened?! Spill. NOW. NOWWW.
Me: I accidentally made him spill his drink, and he practically threw a tantrum. It’s too bad his hot coffee didn’t spill all over his crotch instead of his hoodie. I would’ve loved to see him squirm from a burnt dick. Such a shame the stars didn’t align on that.
Lauren: Want me to come there and finish the job? I’m not doing anything right now …
“Kind of, yeah,” I mumble. Lifting my latte in one palm, my free thumb shoots a response to Lauren.
Me: I mean, sort of. But he’s also not worth the time you’d spend in a police car.
Lauren: You won’t have to ask me twice, babe ??
Me: It’s a shame though. With looks like his, it’s such a waste that he’s a huge asshole. Oh, did I mention I called him an asshole? My first confrontation. I almost shit a brick, but we made it out alive.
Lauren: WHAT?!!! Olivia, I’m beyond proud! But wait, how hot are we talking?
Me: Blazing inferno. Witty too. Fucker.
Lauren: There’s always a flaw.
Me: Yep. Tragic.
Lauren: I’m sorry, girl! But I promised to go out with you tonight, and you’ll forget this ever happened :)
Me: I’m absolutely holding you to that.
Lauren: I’m not worried. If my anti-social ass is going out, I’ll make it worth it ??
I silently chuckle, flipping my phone over to plant it on the bar top. My elbow slides forward across the quartz surface, palm settling on my beanie as I cross one leg over the other. Through the picture window, the bare tree branches lining the courtyard are ornamented with tawny buds.
I take a sip of my latte. As much as my curiosity is shouting at me to peek to that morbid corner of this café, I suppress my instinct. The only thing worse than being scolded by this mystery man is letting him know he’s consuming my mind at the moment.
Damnit, Olivia.
No.
A new season is approaching.
A fresh start.
My gaze scans the cobblestone. I catch the last mound of hard snow nestled between two planter boxes, and another sip of the warm beverage travels down my throat.
A tender heat radiates through me, my ankle bobbing until I register the chafing of the silver chain.
I suddenly wonder what he would look like if I ever met him.
My lower belly captures butterflies, their wings fluttering impatiently to burst free.
There’re so many unanswered questions that pour into my mind, and I ponder if I’m ever going to be so lucky to be graced with his existence at all.
If only for a brief moment, even just for a fleeting second, I’d give anything to look him in his eyes and say all the words I’ve been forced to stow away.
It’s almost like unrequited love. So much of my heart belongs to this person, and yet I’m unsure if I’ve ever crept into their mind even once since our paths crossed.
I still have no idea if he’s read my letter or opened the gift box.
An ignorance so cruel that some days I just want to scream into the void.
Has he been graced with my spirit the same way? Maybe then I’ll find fulfillment. But at the same time, I have a grave suspicion even the smallest truths won’t ever be enough.
After another half hour, I’m approaching the front door of The Grind when clusters of neon colors invade my line of sight. My eyes skate to the cork board mounted beside the entrance of the café, brows dipping as I read the dispersed written messages.
Don’t forget to smile today!
The Grind slaps.
Shake it off.
Hey girl, send me those digits …
I’m no photographer, but I can picture us together. ;)
A soft laugh escapes me when I notice the banner above the frame—“Hello Board.”
So, I do the only thing a girl would do in this situation. My hand reaches out, plucking a Post-it and pen from the secured holder, and I leave my mark behind before exiting through the glass doors.