Page 29 of The Kiss Countdown

“You don’t need to talk to her now,” Vincent says to the phone. “You’ll talk to her when you meet her... When? When we come down on the twenty-first.”

I can’t make out the words, but an excited female voice blasts from the phone as Vincent pulls it away from his ear. That answers my question about who he’s speaking to.

I move to the sleek coffee maker and stand there for a minute. It looks like one of those machines that can give you cappuccinos, lattes, and other fancy drinks my dad would scoff at. Which button will make a simple black brew?

“I’ll give you a call later, Mom. I need to help Amerie before she spills coffee all over my floor... Yes, I said we’re coming... Love you too.” He rises from the table and comes to stand next to me. “Do you want to add any syrup or creamer?”

Next to the coffee maker is a half-empty bottle of caramel syrup. As sweet as Vincent took his coffee at Moon Bean, I wouldn’t be surprised if he goes through one in a week.

I give him the side-eye for that quip about me spilling coffee and shake my head no. “All I need is cinnamon, if you have it.”

Vincent takes the cup from my hand, his fingers brushing mine, and he sets it under a silver nozzle. The machine barely makes any noise before coffee begins spouting out.

Vincent remains standing next to me as we watch the cup fill to the brim in silence. When I left for my walk, he had on flannel pajamas and a white crewneck. Now he’swearing dark jeans and a red sweater, smelling like fresh soap. I turn slightly away, aware that after my walk I probably smell like outside.

“Your mom must be pretty happy that she’ll see you on her birthday,” I say, scooting over an inch.

Vincent nods. “That, and she’s beyond excited to meet my girlfriend.”

“That explains why I heard what sounded like her speaking in tongues when you told her we were both coming.”

The side of his mouth twitches.

The coffee stops, and before I can grab the cup, Vincent opens the cabinet above, his side once again brushing against me, and he hands me a glass jar of cinnamon.

“Thank you,” I say.

I take my plate and coffee to the table and eat while Vincent goes back to his computer. When I take a sip of coffee, I almost fall out of my chair.

“Vincent!” I exclaim, and he snaps his eyes to me. “You mean to tell me you have this glorious coffee machine at home, and you still stop at Moon Bean on the regular?”

He quirks an eyebrow. “You like it?”

“Like it? I’ve decided that when this whole thing is over”—I gesture between us—“I’m actually taking your coffee machine with me and we’re getting married.”

“Who says I’ll let you leave?”

I roll my eyes at him and go back to my food. Fork in one hand and phone in the other, I navigate to the list I worked on last night and text it to Vincent.

His phone vibrates beside him, and he picks it up, then looks at me with a puzzled frown. “What’s this?”

“Important facts you need to know about me so we can make this act convincing.”

“I thought one of the points of you moving in was so wecould get to know each other better organically. Not through lists.”

Yes, that was one of the advantages to moving in. However, once I unpacked and was in the room by myself, I heard Vincent moving around upstairs in his office, and I’m not ashamed to say the thought of actually spending time with him made me... nervous.

Okay, maybe I am alittleashamed to admit it.

I’m just going to chalk it up to the fact that he likes to try to annoy me. Case in point, his joke about the clown. So yes, lists are a better way to go. But is it my imagination, or does he seem disappointed?

“I’m sure we’ll get to that point,” I say. “But this is a good start, don’t you think?”

He studies the list for a few moments, then looks at me with a glint of teasing in his eyes. “You hate clowns?”

“Obviously.”

He chuckles. “You also hate roller coasters and heights. You don’t like seafood. Ironic since you practically live on the Gulf. But peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are your comfort food?”

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