Page 6 of The Wedding Pact
‘Bless you,’ said a man’s voice from the counter.
‘Thank you,’ August called without turning around, too busy using her single napkin and her sleeve to try and clean the window, and wipe away her embarrassment.
August left her chair and stepped to the side of the counter to search for some more napkins, peeping in a mirror on the wall en route to mop the whipped cream from her nose. In doing so, she caught a glimpse of the man whizzing back to the counter having wiped the mess clean for her.
‘Oh! Thank you,’ she turned, and the man, tall and slim, wearing a suit and with his back to her, half turned his head as he paid for his order, and she saw a flash of a smile.
‘You’re welcome,’ he replied.
August dragged her eyes from him, from his black hair, and the way he ran his fingers through it, tousling it ever so slightly, while he awaited his own Sunday morning pick-me-up. Instead, she looked at her whipped-cream-less coffee, which looked a bit sad and naked now. Bugger it, this was a big day for her and she needed that whipped cream (though perhaps not up her nostrils this time). Picking up her cup she swung around to head back to the counter.
Her cup was still very much full of coffee. An extra large serving of coffee, in fact. So of course she was staring hard at it, to make sure it didn’t spill.
Staring so hard at the coffee that she didn’t look ahead.
In fact, she was still staring at the coffee, her eyes widening, as it tidal-waved out of her cup, into the air, and straight towards the man she’d just collided with.
Chapter 6
Flynn
The irony.
Flynn watched with wry fascination as the coffee lunged for his only clean clothing. The suit he planned to wear for his first day at work tomorrow. The suit and shirt he’d worn today because being overdressed to flat-hunt seemed a better plan than showing up in stained and smelly sweatshirts.
He watched as it splashed a milky brown wave across his front, the heat prickling his skin beneath, the scent of hazelnut catching in his nose.
He watched the woman’s face, the one who’d just sneezed her whipped cream all over the window and seemed determined to redecorate this entire coffee shop, as she gasped in surprise.
The last dregs of coffee splashed onto the floor and everyone was silent for a moment, until the barista let out a small sigh.
‘I amso sorry,’ the woman said to him, reaching forward her arm and pressing her sleeve into his chest before backing away.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ said Flynn, because even though he’d been out of Britain for four years, the impulse to apologise for everything hadn’t gone out of him. ‘I turned too fast and didn’t look where I was going.’
‘I wasn’t looking, I was too busy, well, tryingnotto spill my coffee.’
Flynn raised his eyebrows and she shrugged.
‘I should have seen you,’ she continued. ‘You’re very tall.’
Not tall enough, Flynn regarded, looking down at the front of his shirt, once pale blue, now marbled brown. He hadn’t worn a tie this morning, leaving his collar unbuttoned, as he’d seen no need to go overboard. Now he wondered if a tie would have taken the brunt of the liquid, leaving him with his final clean shirt intact.
‘I’ll pay for your dry cleaning,’ the woman continued, thrusting paper napkins into him, while the barista brought a mop out from behind the counter. ‘And for your coffee. Do you happen to have another, erm, outfit with you?’
‘No,’ Flynn answered. No, he didn’t.
‘Right … ’ She looked around, even eyeballing the barista’s own shirt for a moment. ‘Well, the shops will be closed for a few more hours so I can’t offer to take you shopping.’
Flynn held his hands up, trying to keep the grump from his voice. This wasn’t a big deal. It was only spilt milk-plus-some-other-ingredients.It’s the awful sleeps making you like this, not her, he told himself. ‘I wouldn’t take you up on it even if we could. Really, it’s fine.’
‘It’s not fine,’ she argued. ‘I just ruined your look. Now you have to wear coffee stains to … church? Oh God, you aren’t off to a funeral are you? Did I just make your day even worse?’
‘No, no funeral, I’m just … ’ Flynn didn’t think it was quite worth getting into the whole sorry tale of how packing light had been a great idea until his few changes of clothing had one by one been ruined from a series of unfortunate events, and his plan to go clothes shopping had been overtaken by the need to find a home. Instead he said, ‘I’m new in town, and I need to go shopping later today anyway.’
‘You’re new in town? From where?’
‘From Japan.’
