Page 6 of Dare to Hold
He tilts his head, eyes playful. “Really? Because you’ve already rearranged the sugar packets like…three times.”
I look down. Yep. I’ve made a perfect little lineup of raw sugar, Stevia, and Splenda.
I nudge them aside with a groan. “Okay, maybe a little nervous.”
“Don’t be,” he says, and his tone softens. “This isn’t a job interview. There are no wrong answers…unless you order decaf.”
That makes me laugh, and just like that, the knot in my chest loosens a little more.
He glances toward the counter. “What’s your coffee order?”
“Vanilla oat milk latte,” I answer without hesitation.
“Got it.” He nods like he’s committing it to memory.
As he heads toward the register, I pull out my phone. A quick text to Harper and Olivia.
Ivy
Still alive. Still holding hands. Now there’s coffee involved
I set my phone back in my bag, unable to resist watching him instead.
He stands there with that unhurried ease, one hand in his pocket, the other gesturing as he talks to the barista. His thumb brushes his jaw, then his chin, like he’s working something out in his head. He sways slightly while he waits, shoulders relaxed, head tilted so the light catches in his dark hair.
Then, as if he can feel my gaze on him, he glances over his shoulder. Our eyes meet. A pause. A smirk. And then—a slow, deliberate wink that knocks the breath right out of my lungs.
I quickly look away, pretending I’m not grinning like I’ve lost all self-control.
A moment later, he’s back, setting my latte in front of me before sliding into the seat across from mine, his coffee in hand.
I tilt my head, curious. “What’d you get?”
“Black coffee,” he says without hesitation. “It’s the only way to go.”
I make a face, wrapping my hands around my latte. “Only way for who? Cavemen?”
His mouth quirks into a grin. “Nah. For people with taste.”
I lift my cup in mock offense. “This is taste.”
He chuckles, the tension easing as our cups clink lightly against each other.
There’s something about him. Sure, he’s handsome in a sharp, unfair kind of way, but it’s more than that. He has this calmness, like nothing rattles him. Like he trusts the moment, even if he doesn’t know where it’s going. It makes me want to lean in and ask questions.
“So,” I say, placing my hands in my lap in an attempt to stop fidgeting, “you from around here?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. I’m just visiting.”
I wait for more, but he doesn’t offer it, just stares at me like he’s got all the time in the world.
“Are you always this mysterious?”
“Only on Fridays,” he says without missing a beat.
I snort. “Lucky me.”
He leans in slightly, elbow on the table, like we’re already old friends. “Okay, your turn. Why New Orleans?”
