Page 41 of The Wild Card
He chuckles. “Can’t say that it will. But it may help if you’re nursing any sort of headache.”
“It’s not so bad, thanks to you, but I’ll take coffee. Thank you.”
I don’t sit up, instead listening as Collin moves around the kitchen. I have a vague memory suddenly of him telling me that this is his dad’s place. That would make the barren room I’m staying in make more sense. The room I’m in is probably just where he stays while he’s in town.
Now that I’m thinking about it, the layout is nearly identical to the loft Harper and Chase are staying in, the differences mostly in the finishes and decor. Out here, there are more signs of life than the room I slept in: photos on the fridge of the Grahams and a lot of Jo, colorful dish towels hanging from the oven, and a few plants in pots, which, if I had to guess, I’d say Jo made because they’re all sort of lopsided and painted in colors that clash.
From what Chase has told me, after buying the town, Tank renovated all the lofts above storefronts along the little Main Street of Sheet Cake, keeping a few for himself and his family. I wonder if he has one I could rent and if I could afford it.
CanI afford it?
I need to find out more about my new job. I’m pretty sure the assistant who called last night for Kelvin and Vespa didn’t give me any details. Or, if she did, they’re lost in the cinnamon-flavored void.
I could always make more content and say yes to some brand deals or sponsorships to tide me over. But every day that goes by without me being chained to social media, the less I want to go back to it. I like getting ready without filming my skincare routine. I’ve enjoyed really living this week without thinking about how the light would be for filming or what trending song would pair with a particular moment.
How long would it take the internet to forget me if I stopped showing up?
I have a feeling I don’t want to know the answer to that.
“Cream or sugar?” Collin asks.
“Black is fine.”
I sit up as I hear him set a mug down near me. Collin swivels on his stool to face me, leaning on the countertop with one arm while drinking his coffee with the other.
Collin is a lot to take in so early in the morning. He’s just … too appealing.
It’s funny—when I came down for Chase’s wedding and met the Grahams, it wasn’t Collin who made a big impression. James was the only brother who approached me. I couldn’t decide if he was flirting or simply trying to be friendly—probably because he wasn’t really good at either one, though he did try.
In all honesty, I didn’t leave withanyreal impression of Collin. Even after coming back for Thanksgiving, which in Sheet Cake is called Feastivus, I might have confused him with Pat—similar build, same dark brown hair—if not for Collin’s vivid blue eyes. We made small talk I’m sure, but I don’t remember.
Now, after spending almost a single day with Collin, it’s hard to imagine how this is possible. Everything about him is vivid, like he’s a full-color drawing on a page of pencil sketches.
“Hm. You’re one of those, huh?” he asks.
“One of thosewhat?” I ask.
“The way people take their coffee says something about who they are,” he says, which isn’t an answer.
“Well, then just so we’re clear—sometimes I like cream.”
“But not all the time?”
“Nope. Depends on my mood.”
“Does that make today’s mood black?” he asks with a grin.
“My mood right now is … no more Fireball. Ever. How do you take your coffee?”
“With a healthy dose of sweetened creamer,” Collin says, licking his lips.
Despite myself, I can’t help but watch his mouth. Then I snap my gaze back to my mug and take too big of a sip. It burns all the way down.
“What flavor of creamer?” I ask, trying to restore my equilibrium, which is decidedly unbalanced.
“Changes based on my mood. Right now, I’m on a salted caramel kick. Want to try it?”
He holds out his mug, and I find myself setting mine down to take a sip. His isn’t as hot as mine, and it’s almost as much cream as coffee.
