Page 40 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
“Who will never leave us, no matter how we ask him to,” the man jokes.
“And why would I, when I have the world’s greatest parents?” A guy in his late twenties emerges from the back room, tying a dark-green apron around his waist. He has a deep, fully American voice, and his parents’ dark-brunette coloring. He is also tall, broad, and extremely cute.
“I mean, I get it,” I say, unable to wipe the grin off my face. “I’m Mallory, by the way.”
“Jeanette,” the woman says. “And my husband, Antoine, and our son, Leo.”
“Nice to meet you! I’m so glad I found this place. I really needed this latte. I have some work to do, I hope it’s okay if I…” I point to an empty table by the window.
“Of course,” Jeanette says with a sweep of her hand. “Please, feel free.”
With a grateful wave, I settle in at the table. Within ten seconds, I’m connected and checking in on the messages I’ve missed. I apologize to the people who were in the meeting I dropped, and then notice that I have a new email in my personal inbox.
It’s from Daniel.
Excellent! I’ll discuss logistics with Alan and CC you on everything. Let me know when you’ve made a decision about paint and floors.
Great. I feel a rush of relief that I handled the main hurdle, combined with a tinge of guilt about keeping Daniel waiting about the other stuff. But, I mean, he works for me, right? I shouldn’t feel guilty.
Unexpectedly, another new email flashes up on my screen. It’s from Daniel again, with a new subject:Hope you had a good trip.
The body reads:How’s Seattle?
What? Umm, this is weird. But also possibly flattering? Starting up a new email thread just to ask about my trip? I feel heat in my cheeks as I type a reply.
It’s—I look out the window at the impossibly blue sky—gray and drizzly, as usual. Flight was good, thanks!
And send. I don’t want to misinterpret the vibe and send anything too flirty. And it’s a little awkward to be straight-up lying about my whereabouts like this. But things were so awkward with him the other day, and I told him he wouldn’t have to worry about seeing me in person again.
I give my head a little shake to clear it, and then switch over to my work inbox.
But Daniel writes back immediately.
Drizzly, huh? I could’ve sworn the weather forecast said something about… Paradise.
What the heck? My heart jumps into my throat as I re-read the email twice, my face scrunched in confusion. Paradise? Like Paradise Coffee? Or is it a reference to something I don’t understand?
Before I can start typing back—not that I know what I would even say—he emails again.
Enjoy any oat milk lattes recently?
Okay, what is going on? I crane my neck around to scan the other coffee shop patrons. Sure enough, a redheaded man is sitting in the opposite corner, waving at me over his laptop.
I let out a long, deep, humiliated breath, and then raise one hand in a weak wave.
He strides over to me, beaming in clear amusement.
“Hi,” he says, taking the chair opposite me.
“Have you been here this whole time?”
“Mais oui.Imagine my surprise when you waltzed in. I thought I must be mistaken, until, well.” He makes a vague up-and-down gesture with his hand, and then his face instantly flames red.
“Until what?” I’m weirdly certain that he was going to say something about recognizing me from behind. My butt? My legs? I mean, they do look amazing in these shorts.
“Until I heard you jonesing for your oat milk latte. I recognized your Seattle voice.”
“MySeattlevoice?”
