Page 9 of Mocha Kisses

Ms. Elrod giggles, a hearty sound from the older woman. “And you know Eugene is trying to cut costs. But maybe I’ll just start slipping it into the machine.”

Their banter continues as I fill my cup and bring it to my lips, grimacing at the taste. It’s essentially piss water.

“I can find you better coffee…”

I twist to see a man staring at me, his wide amber eyes studying my lost expression. He’s absolutely gorgeous with unruly chocolate strands down the middle of his head accentuating the close-shaven sides and covered in more earrings than I can count. The honey voice he used with Ms. Elrod doesn’t match what I’m staring at. One of his arms is covered in a colorful sleeve, the other one completely bare and my desire to run my fingers across his skin is more than just inappropriate. None of that compares to the warm smile on his face as if he’s the safest place in the world.

He holds out a hand in offering and I stare at it, wondering what it would be like to slip my fingers into his palm. I expected to see calluses and cracked skin. Instead, his hands look soft and cared for, loved, just like every other part of him. As much as I want to be okay shaking his hand, I just… can’t.

“Luna,” I push out, wrapping my hands around my little paper cup.

He nods, sticking his hands behind his back to ease my discomfort. “Rome.” His eyes glitter as he gives me his name, his smile widening. “I own the café a few doors down and could make you a better cup than Eugene likes to put out.”

My gaze narrows at him, wondering if I should entertain his advances. It’s harmless right? He wants nothing from me. I used to live here and everyone was nosy but very nice for the most part. “I remember that café. Mr. Caddel used to work there,” I blurt out. Rome’s face contorts for a second and then he fixes it.

“That was my father. Come on. It looks like you just got in. I just made a fresh batch of cinnamon rolls and I’ve got coffee. You can tell me your story and I’ll call it payment.”

That sounds like a terrible but tempting idea. I’m tired and hungry. I’ve only been snacking on plane food for the past several hours. Rome also seems harmless.Mostly.“Yeah, sure.” I discard my piss water and follow him, head on a swivel as I try to make sure no one has followed me. How could they though? I picked up a new phone at the airport, Max hadn’t bought the tickets until this morning, and I haven’t talked to anyone I know in the past eight hours.

I’m pulled from my thoughts as I step into the small café, transported back to my ten-year-old self that ran in here for any of the bits that fell off the pastries in the case. Rome’s father had always produced a small plate of clippings but looking back I realize now that he specially made them for me.

“Why haven’t I seen you before?”

Rome lets out a deep sigh as if the question pains him. “My mother married him five years ago when I turned 25. He was a great man and left me this cute little place after he passed away shortly after. I couldn’t turn it down.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. I got a father for five years, more than nothing. And he left behind a warm, inviting space.”

I wonder about his mother but it’s not my place and I don’t want him to turn the questions on me. He already knows I grew up here and that’s as much as I’m going to give him. “Who bakes all the pastries now?”

“I do.”

I frown, drinking in his playful demeanor which contrasts his tattoos and numerous piercings. They decorate his brow, nose, lips, and ears but instead of taking away from his attractiveness, the silver enhances it. I’m sure there’s a story behind all the ink and metal as most people in Spring Haven are kind of bland.

“I know what you’re thinking. I don’t look like a baker. I’m not. However, it’s something different than my last job. A lot less high stakes and it’s wonderful to see the smiles I put on people’s faces when they bite into one of my creations.” I must still look like I don’t believe him as he walks around the counter and pulls a plate off one of the drying racks. He reaches and grabs something by the oven, revealing a fresh cinnamon roll drizzled with an obscene amount of glaze. “Don’t trust my word. Try it. Tell me if I’m as good as my father.”

My father.

It’s words I don’t hear often and ones I wish I could say with love. The only words I have for my father are ‘get fucked’.

I stare at it for a few moments, my stomach rumbling for a taste of the gooey sweetness sitting before me. Unfortunately, I never had the money to eat at this place when I was younger and things haven’t changed much now.

“It’s on the house, Luna. Just eat it.”

It’s like he can read my mind and understand my uncertainty. I don’t like handouts but I also don’t want to pass up the opportunity to indulge a little. When I don’t move, he reaches for my plate and drags it toward him. Rome ignores my indecision as he sticks a fork in and tears off a piece before dangling it inches from my lips. Glaze begins to droop but his eyes are firmly planted on my face.

“Luna, just one bite.”

One look into his gorgeous amber irises and I can tell that I’ll break his heart if I don’t at least try it. Slowly, I part my lips, Rome’s face brightening as the fork slides into my mouth. Cinnamon and nutmeg explode in my mouth and a wanton moan tears from my throat, both of us freezing. Our eyes lock again and I’m not sure when my lids closed. When he withdraws the fork, glaze drips down my chin, Rome’s thumb brushing across my skin to clean me up.

Desire flares in the pit of my belly and for the first time in years I want something more than the quick romps of a club bathroom.

“You missed a spot,” I whisper, playfully, wondering if he’ll take the bait. There’s a little hesitation before the fork clatters to the counter and his hand slides around the back of my neck, dragging me to his lips. They’re a lot softer than I had imagined, his touch gentler than his aura suggests. For a few moments, we’re just tasting each other, cinnamon and sugar coating our tongues. Rome is so fucking gentle and I grip the edge of the counter, leaning into the kiss rather than away.

“I think I got it now,” he purrs as he runs his tongue across my bottom lip and then down over my chin, leaving a burning trail of need in its wake. Well, fuck. “Well? Was the Cinna roll better than my father’s?”

I clear my throat and sit back, shrugging. “Sure, I guess.” My thighs clamp together at the sudden heat growing between them, my heart beating a little too fast for my liking. Feelings are never part of my short encounters. How can they be? I never stay around long enough and I never give anyone a piece of me that can hurt me. The fact that I haven’t checked my surroundings in the last five minutes means that Rome is dangerous.

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