Page 20 of Shadow Dance

Lately, though, it feels like the little crush I’ve been trying to ignore is solidifying into something inconveniently real. I can’t remember the last time I had butterflies around someone. Not like this.

“I’m making myself an omelet and was wondering if you’d like one,” I say.

His soft, brown eyes crinkle at the edges as his smile turns real. “I already had breakfast. But thanks.”

“Oh, okay.” I step back from the door, pausing. “Do you want some coffee, then?”

Shrugging, he steps out of the guest house. “Sure.”

Heart thrumming, I head back to the house, ultra-aware of him right behind me. It’s probably not good, but I can’t bring myself to care. In fact, it’s kind of the opposite. Now that we’re sort of friends, I don’t want to go back to how things were.

In the kitchen, I pour Jaime a cup of coffee. “How do you take it?”

“Black is fine.”

I make a face. “You like it like that?”

“I didn’t say I like it like that,” he says, sliding into a seat at the counter with his newspaper. “I just said it was fine.”

“How do you like it?” Well, that sounded a little sultry.Get it together, Maeve.

“With sugar?—”

“I have sugar,” I interrupt, reaching for the jar I keep on the counter. He cocks his head, lips pressed together. “What?”

“It’s not …” He shrugs. “I like Cuban coffee. Cafecito.”

“Oh. Are you Cuban?”

“You don’t have to be Cuban to like Cuban coffee,” he says, his eyes twinkling.

Scoffing, I fold my arms. “Obviously.”

“I’m just messing withyou,” he says. “Cuban dad, Puerto Rican mom. One hundred percent Brooklyn.”

That’s no surprise. I knew he was from New York the first time he spoke to me. “Well, tell me how you make this coffee, then.”

“With an espresso machine,” he says.

“Do you have one?”

“Yeah, a little one.” He pulls the coffee I gave him closer. “You whip the sugar with a few drops of the espresso until it’s foamy, and then you pour in the rest of the coffee.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.” His eyes hold mine over the top of his cup as he takes a sip of the basic, black, not-Cuban coffee I just gave him.

My stomach flutters. “Hm.” I turn, putting the sugar back. “I’ll have to try it sometime.”

“Careful.” Jaime opens his newspaper, laying it flat. He’s the only person I know, besides my father, that reads a real, non-digital, newspaper. “You’ll never want anything else.”

Maybe I’m crazy, but his words dance on the edge of implication, sending a soft thrill through me. “Maybe, maybe not. I’ve been drinking coffee since I was fourteen and I’ve always liked it the same way.”

“It’s good to try new things.” His eyes flicker to mine before returning to the paper, making my chest tighten. “How are you feeling?”

He asks me that a lot lately. “I’m okay," I say, taking the eggs out of the fridge. “I guess Callum’s out?”

“He left a couple of hours ago. Had stuff to do at the club.”

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