Page 20 of Falling For Us Again

He takes the cup from me. “Your hands are trembling, Jenna, why is that?”

I refuse to let him get under my skin. That’s what he wants, and I refuse to give him that satisfaction. A thick blanket ofsilence descends between us, and I can feel him staring at me as I shut down my laptop. The only sound around us is the clicking of cups on the table by the other customers and the shuffling of feet from Maggie.

I finish my cup of latte. “Thanks for the Wi-Fi, by the way,” I say, effectively changing the topic to something less tense.

“No problem,” he says, leaning against the table. “Also, about what Ms. McCormick said...”

“It’s fine,” I interrupt. “I don’t remember her being that much of a yapper though.”

“I was just going to say I found it funny. But yeah, I guess that's what old age and retirement does.”

My lips curl into a smile before I catch myself. “I guess. She was an amazing teacher, though. Only a few good ones like her.”

“Yes, she was. She was your favorite teacher, wasn’t she?”

“She was.”

"Anyway, I was going to ask, did the carpenter and groundskeeper come by?"

I set my coffee down, nodding. “The carpenter did come around; thank you for that. But the groundskeeper is out of town.”

"That's a shame. I can come over later this weekend to help with the lawn. If you like."

“No, thank you,” I say immediately.

I’m not sure I can handle being alone with him. We’d either end up fighting or wake up to find ourselves tangled in bed sheets. There was a high chance that it would end up being both. I try to put the thought away.

Dylan taps his fingers on the table; a look of impatience crossing his face. “I’m just trying to help Jenna.”

The jungle, I mean grass in the yard flashes in my mind. He’s right, I’m being childish. With a sigh, I nod. “Okay, thank you. I could use the help.”

“Great. I’ll see you on Saturday then.” He turns to leave.

“Why do you keep hanging around me?” The words pour out before I can stop myself.

He chuckles. “Just want to make sure that my customer’s comfortable.”

A text pings on my phone. It’s from Lola who said she’s nearby. I gather my things, eager to leave. Our hands brush against each other as we both reach for my tote bag. The simple touch sends a jolt through my body, reminding me of the deep connection we once shared. For a moment, our eyes lock, and it feels like time stands still.

I snatch my hand away as if I’ve been scalded.

“See you on Saturday.” He says it like a challenge, a promise, and then he turns away without another word.

I watch as he walks out of the cafe, car keys dangling in his hands while my hand is still tingling from the brief touch. My fingers curl tightly around the mug in my hand until I fear that I might break it.

I can’t prevent my traitorous eyes from following the confident sway of his hips, admiring the way his jeans molded to his tight buttocks and grip his muscular thighs.

The door chimes as it closes behind him, and the sounds of the café rush back in to fill the space he’s left—clattering cups, low murmurs of conversation, the soft hum of background music.

My fingers are still tingling from the fleeting contact, the sensation crawling up my arm like a live wire. I grip the mug tightly the cool ceramic a stark contrast to the heat racing through my veins.

“Jenna?” Lola’s voice cuts through the fog in my mind, bringing me back to the present. I glance up to see her approaching, her eyes downcast, lips pressed into a thin line.

There’s something off about her, something I can’t quite place until she’s standing in front of me, close enough that I can seethe redness around her eyes and the way her makeup seems hastily reapplied.

“Lola,” I murmur, pushing the mug aside and rising to meet her. “What happened?”

She glances around, as if the café’s small but cozy space is suddenly too public, too exposed. “Let’s go to the studio first,” she suggests, her voice tight.

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