Page 66 of I Love a Good Challenge

As I wander around the café, arranging the freshly picked flower stems, the overhead bell rings. I look up with a smile that instantly freezes. Graham is here. His eyes are wide, tentatively taking everything in. While he has been here before for the cake tasting and once to rescue me from a runaway espresso machine, this is the first time he has come in without an invitation.

“You’re here.”

He nods, and the entire space seems to go quiet. Sparrow rushes in from the back kitchen with a tray full of macarons. She pushes them toward me, trying to give me something to hold before she thinks better of it. I know I should be mentally prepared for this monumental moment, but I’m not.

“Don’t want you to jump him,” she mutters before placing them on the counter. “Graham, welcome! It’s so good to have you here, and I’m glad you’re feeling better. Have a seat at the counter. Rafe usually sits over there,” she continues cheerily, pointing to the soft white countertops and an empty stool.

He moves toward them.

“Coffee?” she asks sweetly.

Meanwhile, I stand like a statue in the middle of the floor, my mind positively combusting at the idea of Graham willfully entering this place and seeing it for what it is. I wonder what he thinks. Is it less glamorous than he imagined, now that he’s about to really take it in, and we’re not at odds? Or is he glad he managed to avoid the woman with her feet currently frozen to the floor in her natural habitat for so long?

As these thoughts race wildly through my mind, I spot a fresh bunch of chamomile sticking out of his suit jacket’s pocket. My eyes light up and meet his, and it is then that I see a grin deep enough to reveal a dimple gracing his mouth.

As his voice blurs under the pulse in my ears, I think Graham agrees to have a coffee.

“Lily, will you make a cappuccino? For the man who cared for you while you were on death’s door last week? Please?” Sparrow is pinching my side and shoving a cup into my hands.

If I wasn’t having so much trouble with the degree Graham has caught me off guard, the comical scene would make me laugh.

“Chamomile,” I declare, finally coming to my senses and doing my best not to notice the tips of his hair sticking up everywhere after he must’ve just run his hand through it. My heart does the thing where it starts to make a scene within my ribs, and I have to will it to calm the heck down.

Miraculously, I make a cappuccino on sheer willpower and manage to place it on a saucer and in front of him with a hand that is only slightly shaky. Per usual, he’s wearing a button-up shirt tucked into suit pants. If I could see his feet under the counter, I know they would be dressed in Italian leather shoes. I know his suits cost more than my monthly rent, and as much as I want to hate the expenditure, I can’t. I don’t, and I can admit that. I love the stylish way Graham dresses.

When neither of us speaks, Sparrow breaks the silence with her joyful chatter. “Graham, we found all these lovely bunches of chamomile flowers growing outside the shop door this morning. Lily was thrilled, of course . . . well, not of course.” She pauses awkwardly.

“It is her favorite after all.”

He says it so casually, not at all like the little comment just broke through to another part of my heart that has been boarded up over the last two years. I feel the countdown clock to my implosion from his nearness begin in my bones.

“It is,” Sparrow exclaims, a hint of delight in her tone.

No doubt, this scenario is more confusing to her than enlightening. Inwardly, I vow to do something extremely nice for her soon to show her how much I appreciate her friendship. No one handles my messy, roller-coaster emotional situations with such grace and dignity.

“It’s a bunny.” Graham stares at the top of his cappuccino.

I nod. My latte-slash-cappuccino art has finally progressed from unintentionally indecent figures and blobs to identifiable objects.

“I thought you banned them from your existence until next Easter.”

“Oh, I did. But I’m not the one drinking it.”

“This is good,” Graham says, taking a sip.

The deliciousness of the moment unfolding before me creeps into my consciousness. I would guess he means the coffee, but from the intensity of his gaze, the ceramic cup tiny in his muscular hand, I can’t be sure.

The bet I challenged him to weeks ago hovers in my mind. I don’t want to call an abrupt end to our game for fear of what it could mean for our budding relationship renewal. I like challenging Graham and seeing how far he’ll let me push the limits of his dignified, steady demeanor. Making him squirm while he rises to the occasion is immensely attractive. Will our feelings for each other fade without a circumstantial tie to pull us closer together?

As we grow closer to the date that we will officially be beyond our friends’ wedding, this is something that has been ours, and I don’t want to let it go. And because I’m the queen of awkwardness when it comes to him, I yell the first thing that comes to my mind.

“Eclairs!”

Sparrow looks at me like I’ve lost it, and Graham raises a single eyebrow. “You’re making them?” he asks with more diplomacy and dignity than I expected, to be honest.

“Yes! Right now. Sparrow, are you okay here?”

“Yes, of course,” she replies hesitantly. “I’m just going to finalize the order for the Rochester wedding. I’m good here. Do you want me to put those in water?” She motions toward the bouquet of chamomile that threatens to be squished if I hold it any longer.

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