Page 5 of Fall I Want
“Alexander,” he corrects, his voice deep and smooth just like the ristretto I prepared. He pauses, and his gaze wanders from my eyes to my lips then back up again. This man is trouble, and not intimidated by me whatsoever.
I’m frozen in place.
“Do...” He stops speaking with his head tilted. There’s a flash of recognition from him. Or am I imagining it?
He’s too familiar. He shouldn’t exist. The voice is the same one I’ve heard in my dreams a handful of times. A chill runs down my spine.
“Do I know you?” he finally asks.
“I don’t think so.” I’m breathless as I push the cup toward him. His fingers brush against mine and electricity swarms between us. My skin feels singed where we connected.
I pull away as he places his perfect lips to the rim and drinks. I expect him to smile, maybe even give a compliment. In my fantasy, he’d call me a good girl.
Instead, he scowls.
“No.” He sets the cup on the counter, breathing out. “This isn’t right.”
My brows furrow, because that’s not what he’s supposed to say. “Excuseme?”
“This is madeincorrectly. Apologies, but it tastes like total shit.”
My mouth falls open and Julie walks past me carrying two cups in her hand. “Peter. Two vanilla lattes for Peter.”
She notices my disdain.
“I’ll remake it for you,” I offer. “Please? I’d love to make sure you’re one hundred percent satisfied.”
He shakes his head and narrows his eyes. “Did you makethisone?”
“Yes. I—”
“No, I’d rather not. I’ll try anything once, even disastrous coffee. However, I cannot handle that atrocity twice.” He glances down at my name tag, and I see the ghost of that sexy as fuck smirk playing on his lips.“Autumn.”
He meets my gaze for a few more seconds then leaves, shaking his head.
Julie’s eyes are wide and her jaw is on the floor. “Who was that?”
The cup sits on the edge of the counter where he left it. I pick itup, remove the lid, then swirl it around. The crema still floats on top and the warmth of it seeps into my fingertips.
“Alexander. Mr. Ristretto Shot, and hehatedit.” I take a sip of the hot liquid. “What an asshole. I made this perfect.”
I glance at the door.
Julie just shakes her head.
“What a dickhead,” I say between gritted teeth, in case anyone is being nosy, and we move back to our espresso machines.
“By the looks of him, he ruins days for a living. Any man who wears navy slacks with brown shoes does. Don’t let him get under your skin. The day just started.” She pats me on the shoulder, knowing how proud I am of my barista skills. Right now, it’s the only thing I’m good at, other than running half marathons.
I try my best to shake it off. I’ve dealt with men like him before, the rude, attractive ones who only drink beans that come from civet poop. Kopi Luwak is the most expensive coffee in the world and something we’d never have here.
If that’s what he wants, he’s shit out of luck. Literally.
“He must have a terrible palate. Poor guy.” The delicious chocolate notes of the ristretto dance on my tongue. “Some people will always be miserable.”
“We’ll probably never see him again,” she says with a snicker. “He looks like he’s staying at the resort.”
“Good. Hope he enjoys the gross shit water they have up the mountain.”
