Page 24 of Coffee Shop Girl
I hesitated. What I asked of him, I knew he’d ask of me. Maybe I wasn’t brave enough for this conversation yet.
“Fine.” I studied the sudden challenge in his gaze. “Sugar will suffice.”
A slow smile spread across his lips. “You know I’m going to ask you the same question, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t want to answer?”
I hesitated only a moment, then said, “No.”
“Fair enough.” His smile widened. “We’ll call it even.”
We continued down the aisle in silence, then turned toward the refrigerated section. I hesitated over frozen pizzas. They wouldn’t fit in the freezer. Frowning, I kept going. He watched me, a little too studious, but said nothing. Finally, I set root beer in the cart for Ellie, my teeth worrying my lower lip. Was that even her favorite anymore?How do you feed kids healthy stuff with only a dinky little microwave?
Maverick leaned on his cart and peered out the front windows as he said, “You seem awfully nervous for a grocery store trip.”
“Maybe you set people on edge.”
He laughed, and it rolled long and deep. I hid my own smile.
“Actually”—I straightened—“I’m afraid you’re going to take your leg off and beat me with it for being such an irresponsible coffee shop owner.”
Another deep laugh, but I kept going.
No reason to let him know I liked the sound a littletoomuch.
8
Maverick
She’d walked around the grocery store like a lost puppy.
At first, she’d headed toward the produce, then turned away, brow furrowed, and wandered down an aisle or two before finally pitching some toilet paper in her cart and stopping in the middle of the cereal aisle.
Didn’t take a genius to see her bank account as I walked up. Surprised me that she had at least ninety-seven dollars with how badly her business was failing. Still, color me intrigued as she spoke against sugar, then stacked her cart with it. She had to be shopping for someone else, even though I hadn’t seen anyone else.
Not your business, Mav,I reminded myself. I steered toward the chicken breasts in the meat aisle.Stay out of it and go back to Grandpa’s place.
But I didn’t.
My cart just seemed to follow hers.
“Chicken breasts?” she asked, a smirk on those bright lips. Her thick, glossy black hair swung around her shoulders. It had been a while since I’d seen eyes that blue.
“Root beer?” I countered.
She blushed but didn’t elaborate.
“So”—I leaned on the cart—“I gave you one weakness.”
“Hardly,” she scoffed. “I asked for it, thanks.”
“Even better. So, what’s one of yours?”
She hesitated, then let out a long breath. “My dad’s motorcycle.”
“Kind?”
