Page 89 of The Pucking Wrong Man

“Do you not like coffee?” I asked, studying her face and committing more of her expressions to memory.

“I do like coffee,” she said slowly.

“Is there a particular place you’ve been wanting to try? I can order it,” I said quickly, wondering if she would like those super sweet Starbucks drinks—like Ari.

“I…I don’t want to drink it because when I leave here I won’t be able to afford it, and then it will make my life even more miserable than it was before.” She blurted the words out, and my mouth dropped at the little nugget of honesty I’d just gotten out of her.

Her cheeks were a bright-red color, and she slid her hands over her face, trying to hide from me.

She was adorable.

“Hey,” I murmured, trailing my fingertips across her cheek. She shivered, and I held in a grin.

“I know what you’re going to say,” she rushed out before I could say anything. “You’re going to be nice because, along with being beautiful, you also happen to be the nicest guy I’ve ever met in my whole life.”

I opened my mouth to say something, and she held up a finger.

“But you shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep. And anything that says I’m going to be able to drink fancy coffee every day for the rest of my life—because I just know one sip will never be enough...it’s not a promise you should be making.”

This time I couldn’t keep the smirk off my lips when she finished her little speech. “Are you done?”

“Done?”

“Well, I don’t want to cut you off when you’re on a roll.”

She gaped at me. “Are you—laughing at me?” she asked indignantly.

I pushed the cup closer to her. “Drink the coffee, little dancer. Who knows, you might hate it. And then your...spiel...would have been for nothing.” I dared her with my eyes, and I watched as she slowly reached for the mug. I held her eyes the entire time—as she lifted the cup to her lips, as the deep, earthy notes danced across her tongue, the bitter taste perfectly balanced with the cream and sugar I’d put in it.

She moaned softly as she swallowed it down, immediately going for another sip.

I was damn good at making coffee.

“Liked it, huh?”

She groaned, and took another sip for good measure. “See, I told you. Now, I’m going to be craving it every day.”

I leaned forward, my thumb brushing some of the coffee foam off her lip, and her eyes tracked my movement as I brought it to my mouth and sucked it off.

“I’ll just always have to be here to make you another one,” I told her.

Her breathing stuttered and she blinked several times…before taking another sip.

There was a little smile on her lips now, though.

After she stopped fighting me about the coffee, she ate, and I mostly stared at her.

Best meal of my life.

She’d started out slow, but a few bites in, the floodgates opened, and she was scarfing down the food, not stopping until the plate was completely clean.

“Wow. I…I can’t believe I just ate all of that.” Anastasia stared at the plate in horror. I had to admit I was impressed and immensely happy she’d liked the food enough to eat that much.

But then a bad feeling carved its way through my rib cage.

“When was the last time you ate?” I said haltingly.

She bit her lip, looking everywhere but at me. “It’s been a few days since I’ve eaten an actual meal. I had a piece of bread yesterday morning and some of that sandwich last night.”

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