Page 86 of Between Here and There

“Bless you,” I say automatically, but then my eyes narrow. “Wait… are you sick?”

“No,” Josh replies as he stands up, his voice annoyingly unconvincing as he sniffles.

“Uh-huh,” I say, crossing my arms. “Because that sneeze and those sniffles sound an awful lot like you’re fighting off a cold.”

He shrugs, too casual. “I’m fine.”

“Sure, Mr. ‘I’m Fine,’” I say, stepping closer and squinting at him like I’m trying to diagnose him on the spot. “You look pale.”

“I always look pale,” he retorts, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but you also look tired. And your voice is scratchy.”

“I just woke up,” he counters, but his sniffles betray him again.

I grab a tissue box from the counter and shove it toward him. “Here. And sit down. You shouldn’t be standing around acting like a tough guy when you’re obviously not at a hundred percent.”

Josh arches an eyebrow, his lips twitching as though he’s fighting back a smirk. “Emily Rose. Are you… worried about me?”

“No,” I say too quickly, the heat rising to my cheeks. “I just don’t want you sneezing all over the place and getting me sick.”

“Right,” he says, clearly unconvinced. But he takes the tissues anyway and sits down at the kitchen table, his smug grin still firmly in place.

I busy myself at the counter, trying to ignore the way his presence fills the room—or how annoyingly attractive he looks, even with a sniffly nose.

“You’re a terrible liar, you know,” he says after a moment, his voice softer this time.

I spin around, clutching the spatula like it’s a weapon. “Excuse me?”

Josh leans back in his chair, his expression warm and teasing. “Admit it, Emily. You’re worried about me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say, turning back to the stove. But even as I focus on flipping the pancakes, I can’t stop the small smile tugging at my lips.

“So, there,” I say, finishing off the latte with a flourish. I set the cup down and give David a playful smirk. “It’s that easy to make latte art. But I’m not going to teach you all the best tricks, or else you’ll stop buying from us.”

David chuckles, his grin easy. “Trust me, Emily. I’ll always buy from you.”

As he studies his latte—a heart that’s slightly lopsided but still impressive for a beginner—the door chime rings, signaling someone’s arrival. I glance up, and there he is: Joshua, striding in. All eyes dart to him, women murmur, men shuffle in their seats. He has that effect, and stupidly, it works on me too.

His dark jeans, sweater, and coat somehow make him look effortlessly put-together, even though he’s supposed to be in bed recovering.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, hands on my hips, trying to sound more annoyed than I feel. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I can’t rest,” he says, his tone playful but his eyes sharp, scanning the cafe like he’s here for some grand purpose. “I need you there.”

I blink, caught off guard, but before I can spiral into overthinking, he cracks a grin. “Kidding,” he adds smoothly. “I needed to swing by the site anyway.” He gestures to the construction project beside the cafe. “But my uncle kicked me out and told me to go home.”

“This is not home,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.

“It’s where you are,” he replies with that signature wink, the one that’s probably illegal in several countries.

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my composure. I’m not some lovesick teenager who melts under the simplest of gestures. But then, I look at him again. The way he’s standing—leaning casually against the counter—and I’m hit with the reality that I’m completely out of my depth. He knows what he’s doing, and I’m not sure why he’s doing it.

David suddenly clears his throat, reminding me he’s still here. I glance at him, startled, and realize I’d momentarily forgotten his existence. Not my fault—Joshua’s presence could drown out every man in a room. Seriously, all the celebrity Chrises could walk in right now, and I wouldn’t even blink.

“You must be David,” Joshua says, turning his attention to him. His voice is light, but there’s something in his tone that’s hard to ignore. “Did you enjoy your latte art… lesson?”

“Uh, yeah,” David replies, standing a little straighter. “Emily’s a great teacher.”

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