Page 62 of My Best Years

“Well, I’m hoping the croissants are just as good… Because I’m starving.”

“Me too,” he concurs, nodding his head. “I normally don’t eat breakfast, but the smell in here has me salivating.”

“It doesn't help that we’re sitting right next to the kitchen,” I scoff, jerking my head toward the steel doors where servers are shuffling through.

“That’s true,” he chuckles. “At least we got a table. This place is fucking packed.”

The space between us falls silent as Callum clasps his hands together and taps one thumb on top of the other.

For the first time since our run-in at the grocery store, we have the opportunity to just talk. To have a mundane conversation. The problem is that I don’t think either of us knows where to start.

“Thank you,” I mutter, breaking the quiet spell, “for getting here early and saving us a table. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” he smiles. “Thank you for asking me to coffee. I can’t lie; I was starting to lose my damn mind after not hearing from you for almost two weeks. I thought I might have to track you down again.”

A wolfish grin curves his lips. I can’t help but mimic his smile.

“Oh really?” I arch a brow. “You would have resorted back to your stalker ways?”

He shrugs.

“I was hoping I wouldn't have to. But for you, Birdie Wren, I would do just about anything.”

Damn him.

He knows what it does to me when he uses my first and middle name in the same sentence. My pulse picks up speed as the muscles in my core tighten.

I try to speak but can’t find the words as a wave of heat rolls from my head down to my toes. Before I begin to word vomit, I’m saved by our server walking up to our table.

“Breakfast is served,” she smiles before placing our cappuccinos in front of us and a basket of croissants in the middle of the table. Steam rises off the golden pastries, looking absolutely mouth-watering.

“Wow,” Callum’s brows lift. “That was fast.”

“Yup,” our server proudly nods. “They’re our most popularitem on the menu, so we always have plenty hot and ready to serve.”

“Well, they look delicious,” Callum replies. “Can’t wait to dig in.”

“They are definitely worth the extra calories, I’ll say that,” she chuckles. “You two enjoy. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be around.”

When she turns to walk away, Callum and I waste no time dipping our fingers into the basket. My skin tingles when his fingers brush against mine as we both pull out a croissant. It’s the faintest of touches, but it feels like fire against my skin. By the way that Callum’s throat is bobbing, I can tell that the touch affected him too.

Trying to avoid the adrenaline coursing through our veins, we take a bite at the same time.

The instant the buttery croissant hits my tastebuds, I’m reminded of how hungry I am. All I can think about is how flaky and divine this pastry is.

I could never be one of those people who willingly gives up carbs. It’s like an instant dopamine hit when I even think about bread.

“Damn,” Callum hums between chews. “These are fucking amazing.”

“Mmhmm,” I agree, struggling to keep my lips closed with a mouth full of food.

Callum swallows down half a croissant before reaching for his coffee and taking a sip. I can’t help but study the way his Adam’s apple bobs as the liquid slides down his throat.

When he sets his mug back down on the table, his lips turn up in a coy grin. His eyes roam down my chest before landing on the mug resting between my hands. I feel him everywhere as he slowly returns his gaze to my face.

He’s shamelessly admiring me as if I’m the only one in the coffee shop, setting my insides ablaze.

“Cute scrubs,” he remarks.

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