Page 17 of Until the Storm Breaks
“There’s no time for Seattle. And why not just ask? You literally live together. This is what neighbors do, help each other out in emergencies.”
“We share a kitchen,” I call out. “That’s not living together. It’s more like... aggressive proximity. And we’ve barely spoken since he got here.”
“Fine, you ‘share a kitchen’ with a man who apparently knows everything about coffee and can fix things with his shirt off. Which, by the way, you described in way too much detail for someone who claims not to be interested. Use your resources.”
I emerge from under the counter to find her holding my phone. My stomach drops.
“How did you—when did you even—give that back.” I reach for it.
“Nope. You left it on the bar like always.” She dances away, thumbs already moving across the screen. “Let’s see... ‘Hey Calvin...’”
“Lark, I swear to God, we’re not twelve. Give me my phone or you’re closing by yourself tonight.” I lunge for it again but she spins away, laughing.
“‘Our espresso machine died and we have a wedding party tonight requesting espresso martinis. Any chance you could take a look? I can pay your going rate.’ See? Professional. Neighborly. Not at all thirsty.”
“Donotsend that. I mean it, Lark.”
She holds the phone just out of reach, backing toward the wall. “Okay, listen, let me appeal to your practical side since you’re being ridiculous. We need it fixed, right? And he’s literally five minutes away. Coffee expert. Handy. Probably bored out of his mind in that cabin. You’d actually be doinghima favor, giving him something to do.”
“We don’t know if he’s available,” I say. “He could be out. Or busy. Or literally doing anything that isn’t fixing our machine.”
“Only one way to find out.” Her thumb hovers over send. “Come on, Maren. Worst case, he says no. Or he’s not home.”
“Worst case, he thinks I’m using equipment failure as an excuse to see him. Like I somehow sabotaged our own machine just to get him over here.”
“Did you?” she asks, eyebrow raised.
“No way! The machine is actually broken. You saw me trying to fix it for the last hour! I’ve been under that counter so long my knees have permanent mat imprints.” I lift up my knee dramatically as if showing off a war wound.
“Oh perfect day to wear that cute little black skirt,” Lark says approvingly. “Your legs look incredible and it makes your ass look amazing. Calvin’s going to forget how to speak when he walks in.”
“I wore this because it’s laundry day,” I protest, self-consciously tugging the too-short hem down.
“The universe planned it for you,” she says with a grin. “Laundry day, broken machine, hot neighbor who fixes things. It’s fate.”
“It’s a coincidence.”
“Right. Well, when he gets here and sees you in that skirt, try not to bend over too much or the poor man might hurt himself.”
“Lark!” I protest.
“What? I’m just looking out for his safety. And yours. The sexual tension might actually break something else in here.”
She waves my phone at me, the unsent message still on the screen. “So? Should I send this or are you going to keep pretending you don’t want him to come over?”
“I don’t want him to come over. I want a functioning espresso machine,” I say firmly. “There’s a difference.”
“Sure there is.” She keeps holding the phone hostage. “So if it’s just about the machine, I should send it, right?”
“Okay, fine,” I say, defeated. My shoulders slump. “Send it. But only because I am genuinely out of options and we need those espresso martinis tonight. Because anything else with him is a bad idea. He’s leaving soon anyway. And if this gets weird or he acts all put out about it…”
“It’s already weird. You’ve been sharing a kitchen and pretending you don’t notice each other for days.” She hits send with a flourish. “There. Done. You’re welcome.”
My phone buzzes moments later. My heart does something stupid.
Calvin:Be there in 30. What model?
I tell him, trying to keep my typing casual, and he responds with:
