Page 9 of More Than Words

Saturday was the day I allowed myself the luxury of sleeping in, and this conference ruined it. Usually, I’d wake up at 9:00, walk to the café down the street for a latte at 10:00, and spend at least two hours reading something I wanted to read instead of what I was paid to read.

I couldn’t complain. I got paid to do what I loved, but there was a difference between reading for pleasure and reading in editing mode. Half the time, once we got to the proofing stage, I wasn’t absorbing the content of what I was reading; I was just scanning for grammatical flow and spelling errors.

My phone chimed in my pocket at precisely 6:45, so I grabbed the handle of my luggage and walked toward the front entrance, where I could see a black sedan idling in the loading zone. At least he was on time since he made me wake up this early. Just because conference registration began at noon didn’t mean we had to be there at noon.

I would have been fine showing up at 2:30 and slipping upstairs to take a power nap before the arrival dinner started at 5:00.

But clearly, Adrian was one of those obnoxious morning people.

“Good morning, gorgeous. You look nice.” He exited the driver’s seat and jogged around the back of the car, popping the trunk and meeting me on the sidewalk.

“Hmm,” I hummed, letting him take the handle from me to stow my suitcase next to his in the open trunk. His black leather messenger bag was neatly placed next to his sleek black luggage, not a scuff to be found. Knowing him, that thing was probably cleaned and polished every week. Mine was only wiped down if I spilled something on it.

“Ah, not a morning person,” Adrian chuckled while he stepped around me and held open the passenger door.

“Please don’t say something stupid like ‘your chariot awaits, milady.’ I don’t have the patience for it this morning,” I grumbled, bracing my hand on the door frame, climbing into the car, and dragging my purse and messenger bag with me.

Adrian closed the door and made his way to the driver’s seat, glancing over at what I was sure was a frown on my face.

“Wow, remind me not to try to talk to you before 9:00.”

“That’d be ideal,” I agreed. “Let’s just plan on that. You don’t talk to me until then, and I go back to sleep. Like I should be right now.”

“So, you don’t want the coffee I picked up for you?”

Glancing at the cup holders, I saw two paper travel cups with steam built up at the opening of the lid. “What kind of coffee?”

“Don’t sound so skeptical. I’m capable of being observant. It’s a skinny mocha latte with one pump of sugar-free vanilla and one pump of sugar-free caramel. Two Stevias.”

Adrian started laughing at my gob smacked expression. My shock at him, somehow, knowing my coffee order, was surely plastered across my face.

“Have you been stalking me? That’s creepy. Even for you.”

“Nah, I’m just that good,” he teased with a wink.

Narrowing my eyes, I looked down at the other cup, turning it to inspect the label, when his hand moved to cover mine, guiding it to the correct cup.

“I asked Andrea what you order when she does the coffee runs.”

“Still a bit creepy, but coffee is coffee, so thank you.” This kind of thoughtfulness from him wasn’t anticipated, but I’d take it.

“No problem. I was getting myself one and figured you’d appreciate it. Do we need to stop anywhere before we get on the highway?”

Turning to study his profile, I took in the neatly trimmed stubble, the crisp button-down shirt, then focused on the label of the other coffee in the cup holder to see if I could guess his order.

“Are you one of those morning people who only drink black coffee? Is that why you’re such a dick? Because you drink the coffee of serial killers and don’t load it up with fake sugar like a normal person?”

Adrian shook his head as he put on his turn indicator, pulled into traffic, grabbed his cup, and took a generous sip before glancing at me briefly. “No, I drink tea in the morning, with real sugar and heavy cream. No serial killer coffee for me. But it’s nice to know how much of a monster you think I am.”

Stunned at his confession, I picked at the label on my cup, suddenly feeling guilty that I aimed this much animosity toward him. We clearly had our differences, but he was being kind for once, and maybe I’d misjudged him a little.

“Sorry. I’m not much of a morning person.”

“Yah don’t say,” he teased with a smirk before returning his attention to the early morning traffic. “I never would have guessed that. You have such a pleasant demeanor before dawn.”

Thankfully, since it was ungodly early on the weekend, it didn’t take us long to get on 95 headed north out of Boston. Four and a half hours in a car with him would surely test my patience. The small space was filled with the aroma of his cologne tinged with a hint of something sharp, likely his aftershave.

I’d noticed before that he smelled nice, but to sit in an enclosed space concentrated with it was sensory overload. Add in the thoughtful coffee provisions, and I was at a loss. He’d dragged me out of my apartment way too early to harbor fond feelings for him.

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