Page 38 of Crave Thy Neighbor

Seeing how much of a difference this is making for her when she hasn’t even moved in yet…I’d be an asshole to say no.

“Hey,” I say as she comes to a stop in front of me. “Glad you could finally make it.”

Her eyes narrow to slits, only there’s nothing but humor in them. “Says the guy also running late.”

“Blame the slow-as-shit elevator, not me.”

“Uh-huh. Likely excuse,” she quips, feeding my words back to me.

I grin, then nod toward the diner. “You ready?”

“Please. I am starving this morning. I’ve been so stressed these last few weeks I’ve not been eating much. I guess it’s finally catching up with me.”

“Let’s get you fed then.”

I pull the door open and place my hand on the small of her back, guiding her in.

We place our order with Darlene, who is surprised to see us together, then we grab a booth toward the back.

“You seem friendly with Darlene. Do you come here often?” Maya asks.

She strips off her jacket, then tosses it onto the bench beside her. She’s wearing another cute-as-hell beanie and pulls it off too. She runs a hand through her long hair, brushing it out over her shoulder, then sets her chin in her hand, locking her gaze onto mine.

I wonder if I’ll ever get used to how startling her eyes are.

I try to ignore how uncomfortable her stare is making me. Not because I don’t like being the subject of her attention, but because it’s like she’s lookingatme…intome.

I nod. “Especially now that I live up the block. Before, when I lived on the outskirts of town, I tried to make the trip once a week or so. You?”

“Almost every Sunday to have breakfast with River, and I usually do a coffee run or two during the week.”

“Well, full disclosure, I’ll likely be bringing it home a couple nights a week. I’m not the best cook.”

She lifts a shoulder. “Fine by me, but I should note I know my way around the kitchen fairly well. If you’re interested in me making dinner, that is.”

I want to tell her she doesn’t have to cook me dinner, that all she needs to do is pay the rent and we’re good.

But I have a feeling she’ll argue with me.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I say instead.

“Here’s your coffee, dear.” My favorite server, Darlene, slides a cup of black coffee in front of me. “And yours, Ms. Maya.” She sets another cup in front of Maya alongside a small plate with little packets on it. “Plus your sugar and cream.”

Maya beams up at her. “Thanks, Dar. I forgot to add, can you make sure they don’t—”

“Put any powdered sugar on your French toast? I got you, babe.”

She gives us a wink, then slinks away.

Maya plucks a single thing of creamer and two packets of sugar from the plate. She dumps them into her coffee, then dunks her spoon into the steaming liquid and stirs.

She lifts the hot cup to her lips, blowing on it.

“What?” she asks when she realizes I’m staring at her.

“What kind of criminal passes on powdered sugar on their French toast? That’s half the reason you order French toast. The other half is the syrup.”

“Then I’m really about to blow your mind when I don’t use any.” She laughs when my jaw drops. “Unless it’s fruit, I’m not a big sweets person.”

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