Page 73 of Coffee Break with the Billionaire

I have a week to get this place party ready.

Coffee for the Sole is not as busy when I push open the door, but then again, it’s a lot earlier than yesterday. There are only a few customers at the tables absorbed in crossword puzzles and newspapers, and no one is in line as I prop my broom and mop against the wall with my bucket of supplies.

“Whatcha got there?” Wyatt calls to me. He’s the only one behind the counter.

“I’m cleaning.” I enunciate the word because it’s a first forme. “Cleaning.”

“So you said. Where are you cleaning?”

Silas comes out of the back room with a bottle of syrup in his hands. “Hey,” he says with a surprised smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.” When I see Silas, it’s like a light switch is turned on inside me, or a string of Christmas lights plugged in for the first time. I feel in focus, at attention.

I feel seen. Silasseesme.

I make my way to the counter on suddenly shaky legs. Silas makes me feel seen. Tiger…

Tiger only noticed himself with me. Lennon wanted me for arm candy. Emmanuel, Tamir, Stavros… no one made me feel like Silas does. Gunnar came close, but there’s been no one—

“You okay?” Silas asks. He’s back to wearing flannel—this one a simple blue, red, and white pattern that does nothing special to his eyes—and his scruffy beard is more scruff than beard. But he’s smiling at me, the smile reaching his green eyes.

My stomach flutters like the leaves of a maple tree when an October wind blows through it.

“Great.”

“No exclamation points on your great today?”

I shake my head. “Not this morning.”

“Let’s hope you get them back today. The regular, I assume?”

“Please. And a cinnamon bun. I think I need the sugar.”

Wyatt stands firm behind the cash register, which means Silas, with a quick rueful shake of his head, makes my drink. “You just work weekends?” I ask Wyatt.

“And school holidays. Silas says I need to study more in my spare time, not fool around in here after school.” Wyatt makes a face.

“You want to go to university, you need the grades,” Silas tells him as he pumps syrup into my cup.

“He’s right,” I say.

“Where did you go to school?” Wyatt asks me.

“I did a semester at UCLA, but school was never my thing. I started modeling then and you can’t be in Europe and a classroom at the same time.” That semester I spent in college feels so long ago.

It was also the last time I felt like a regular person, at least before I came here.

“I wish I finished though,” I add. “I really think I missed out on a lot. Where do you want to go?”

“Montreal.” Wyatt sounds excited just saying the name, but by the expression on Silas’s face, he clearly doesn’t share the excitement.

“Montreal is a great place.”

“I have one more year of high school, and then I’m gone.”

“You’ve got it all planned out.”

“I can’t wait.” Wyatt sounds impossibly young. Or maybe it’s just in the light, he looks less like a clone of Silas. As he warms up my cinnamon bun, Wyatt chatters about his plans for the future.

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