Page 10 of The Sound of Us

I huffed out a breath, still uncertain about whether he was here for the challenge or out of genuine interest. “You’re listening to it now.” I pointed to the speaker in the corner that was playing Van Morrison’s “Brown Eyed Girl.” I’d convinced my boss to switch up the smooth jazz for something more upbeat because I’d noticed people came to the café to socialize, not study. “I put a little bit of everything in it, from Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes to the Eagles, Adele, Tracy Chapman, CCR, Queen…” I handed him my phone so he could see the entire playlist. From our briefconversation in the alley, I knew that he’d appreciate it in a way no one else did.

“Jesus.” He scrolled through the list. “That’s some mix. You’ve got over three hundred thirty songs on here.”

“I wanted my boss to be able to play it all day and not worry about repetition or having to switch from one playlist to another.”

“I approve.” He smiled. “But there’s a song missing.”

“What song?”

“ABBA’s ‘Take a Chance On Me.’”

“ABBA? How old are you?”

“Twenty-three, and they are one of the greatest pop bands of all time.”

Laughter burst from my chest before I could stop it. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he said. “Quinn was being a dick. If he hadn’t chased you away, I would have given you my number and then I would have spent the entire weekend waiting for you to call.”

“That’s very presumptuous. What if I didn’t call?”

“You would have called.” His voice was strong, confident, daring me to deny the connection we’d had in the alley.

“Someone thinks a lot of himself.” I gestured to the line forming behind him. “Also, that someone needs to order a drink because there are people waiting.”

“What do you recommend?”

“Coffee.”

“What kind of coffee?” He tapped his lips with his finger, considering. “Latte? Cappuccino? Macchiato? Filter? Espresso? I hope you use fair trade beans. I’m thinking espresso, but only if your machine is set and calibrated to pull a double.”

What were the chances we had yet another thing in common? I’d applied to Buttercup my first year because I love everything about coffee, from the rich, complex taste to the heavenly scent and from the warmth to the caffeine buzz. It’s one of my comfort foods, easing me back to life in the morning but keeping me relaxed at the same time.

“The split-style portafilter halves the shot for a single,” I said. “So, do you want a double espresso?”

“Hit me. Or hit on me like you did the other night. I’m easy.”

“I’m sure you are,” I muttered under my breath as I wrote his name on the paper cup. Were his parents fans of the famous Italian writer of theDivine Comedy, or had they decided to set him up on a journey of redemption?

“Did you say something?” He put his hand to his ear. “I couldn’t hear you.”

“I asked if you would like something to eat with that,” I said loudly. “I recommend the lemon squares. The shortbread crust is to die for, unless you don’t have a sweet tooth, in which case I can’t really talk to you anymore because I don’t really understand savory people.”

His lips quivered at the corners. “Savory people?”

“You know, the ones who order the cheese plate instead of dessert, or the chips instead of the chocolate bar.” I leaned over the counter, dropping my voice. “Are you one of them? Because if you are…”

He studied me intently. “I’ll take six lemon squares.”

“The sensible thing to do would be to buy just one. What if you don’t like them? You’ll be stuck with six squares, and it will be my fault.”

“‘Sensible’ isn’t a word I would use to describe myself.” His voice dropped to a low rumble that made me shiver. “Also, I like to share.”

Beside me, Haley made a show of fanning herself with her hand.

At least we didn’t have that in common. I’d always done the sensible thing. Basketball was the sensible thing. Havencrest was the sensible thing. Staying home to recover after the accident was the sensible thing. Getting a part-time job at the local library during my recovery to help my mom with the medical bills was the sensible thing. The only times I hadn’t been sensible, Isla had been involved.

After writing out the order, I handed the cup over to Haley, who was making no effort to conceal her interest in both Danteand our conversation. I didn’t blame her. He had a dark, dangerous vibe that was utterly electric.

---