Page 13 of Not in My Book

After walking nearly to Chelsea and back, I decided it was probably best if I sat down and tried to churn something out. Think Coffee was one of my favorite places to study and write. Hordes of students came after classes and settled in with their laptops and textbooks. I loved to sit in the back of the caféwhen it was cold. Thewarm lighting and cozy music made it easy to fall into my own words.

I marched in and promised myself I wouldn’t leave until I had something to work with.

I knew I wanted to write an enemies-to-lovers story. A hallmark of romance novels were the different tropes employed. A lot of people called them overdone or predictable, but readers (including me)lovedthem.

The enemies-to-lovers trope would also piss Aiden off, which was an added bonus. Not only would he think it’s cliché, but we’d have to drag out the romantic part of the novel before we got to whatever horrific ending he wanted to write.

I was the last in line to order, right near the door. Every time someone opened it, the autumn wind hit me. I was used to the cold from back home, but in Tennessee it was momentary. You braced the cold for maybe ten seconds on the jog to your car, where you sighed in relief over the seat warmers. New York made you face the cold head on in order to survive.

I longed to visit home soon. I was picking up every single shift I could at the Hideout in hopes of being able to not only swing the flight home but also the full week off without pay. Not easy, when the tuition for NYU went up every year and so did rent. Still, I was determined. I knew if I worked hard enough, it’d pay off.

The bell above the door chimed as another customer entered, but this time I heard a small “Oh” as the door opened. I turned around and Aiden was standing behind me, wearing a white cable knit sweater. He gave me one of those smiles that was more of a grimace. Like it pained him to be semipleasant toward me.

I narrowed my eyes, before turning around quickly.

“Come to get some work done?” he asked. I ignored him, pretending to scan the menu a couple of feet in front of us, even though I knew exactly what I was going to get. He repeated his question, but I turned my chin up, continuing to give him the silent treatment. Although I had agreed to Ida’s stipulations, I wasn’t eager to become Aiden’s friend. “Ah, what else could I expect other than the utmost maturity from Rosalinda Maxwell,” he muttered.

“Just so you know,” I said over my shoulder. “I’m more mature than you. I ammaturelynot responding to you.”

“Just so you know, you just did.”

“What’re you even doing here? This ismycoffee shop. You can have Starbucks.” I turned around to face him and had to look up to even make eye contact with him since I was wearing my sneakers. Aiden was as tall as he was broad. He took up nearly all the space in front of the door of the coffee shop; every time the door opened, he was big enough to block me from the wind. His cheeks were still slightly flushed, the tips of his ears pink, and he looked a little adorable as much as I hated to admit it.

He raised his eyebrows. “You own Think Coffee? Congratulations on its success, Rosalinda,” he said, sarcasm dripping from this voice.

“Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, killing puppies? Or other writers’ dreams?”

His green eyes flashed, his eyebrows raising in disbelief. Up close, it was impossible to deny how attractive he was. “Shouldn’t you be dreaming about shirtless men alone in your room?” he asked mockingly.

“You’re just jealous because you’ve never been one of those shirtless men.”

“Really?” he asked, incredulous. I knew he was just making fun of me, but with his eyes trained on me like this, it was as if he was looking right through me.

“Really.” I prayed he would blame my blush on the cold. It was hard to ignore how attractive he was when he was this close. I usually had the barrier of the workshop table between us, but with him leaning down and looking me dead in the eye, I had to force away the thoughts of how infuriatingly soft his hair probably was.

“It’s you.”

My head jerked back, my heart hammering against my chest. “What?”

“It’s your turn.” Aiden nodded behind me to where the cashier was waiting for my order. I rushed to the counter, apologizing profusely. Once she took my order, I reached into my bag for my wallet.

“I know it’s in here,” I muttered. I set my messy tote on the counter, digging through it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I looked at her, smiling sweetly. I’ve learned one thing since moving here: New Yorkers either love the country accent or they don’t. I’ve gotten eyerolls, but hey, I’ve also gotten discounts. I exaggerated my accent now—a twang on the “a”s and a drawl on the “o”s, hoping it’d save me from anotherembarrassing moment in front of Aiden. “Do y’all happen to take Venmo? Or can I start a tab here, like a bar?”

She furrowed her brow, confused. “Um …”

“I got it.” Aiden stepped forward and inserted his card into the machine.

“No, it’s okay.” I tried to pull his card out, but he grabbed my wrist to stop me. His hand warmed my skin, and I still felt his touch even when he pulled away. “I can pay for it,” I said through gritted teeth. The last thing I needed was to owe him a favor.

“Just let me do something nice for you,” he hissed.

“You probably paid them to put laxatives in my coffee.”

He spluttered out what would’ve been a laugh if Aiden were capable, his eyes opening in shock. The cashier handed me my receipt, and I walked to the end of the bar, Aiden following suit after placing his own order.

“Thank you,” I said begrudgingly to Aiden from the corner of my mouth. “You can be nice. Sometimes.”

He nodded. “I’m actually nice most of the time.”

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