Page 57 of Broken Pieces
“Lead the way. What do you want to do first?” He asks.
“Are you hungry? I was thinking we can go to this tiny, cutesy coffee shop that’s near here. They have the best caramel iced latte, and they use nugget ice, which is the best type,” I say excitedly.
“Darling, it’s like thirty degrees outside,” he says, baffled. “Also, nugget ice? Ice is ice. It all tastes the same.”
That nickname makes my knees buckle. It’s the way he says it with his deep hearty voice. The way he says it like he actually means it.
“So? I will not pass up the opportunity for their iced caramel latte. I rarely visit New York. Now, come on.” I urge with my hand. “Also, no. It doesn’t taste the same. Nugget ice is the best. You’re just gonna have to trust me on that.”
He shakes his head and laughs. “Okay, come on. Let’s go.”
We take the elevator and walk outside, where the driver from last night welcomes us.
I shake my head. “We’re not taking the car.”
He frowns. “What?”
“We’re walking. Everything’s near, plus, if we’re going far, we can take the subway.”
We look at each other for what seems the longest minute of my life, then he throws his head back, exposing his neck as he lets out his velvety, deep, sexy—okay,enough—laugh.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, confused.
He stops laughing abruptly. “Wait, you’re serious?” he says, squinting his eyes in suspicion.
“Yes, come on!” I complain.
“Okay, let’s compromise. We can walk, but if the places we’re going are far, we'll take the car. I amnotgetting in the subway.”
“Okay, princess,” I murmur.
He raisesan eyebrow. “Did you just call meprincess?”
“Yes,” I say with a challenge in my eyes. “You’re acting like we’re going to die if we walk. Nothing’s going to happen.”
“It’s New York. Something's always happening, Aria,” he answers with a dry, bored tone.
I start walking toward the coffee shop. “Up to you if you want to follow me. I’ll keep going,” I yell without looking back.
He lets out a defeated sigh and quickly catches up to me. He is so stupidly tall, it shouldn’t be allowed, and that fucking body that was definitely tailored by God himself.
Can you just maybe stop thinking about the way he looks, or how handsome he is for one fucking minute?
Ah, only if that were possible.
I’m surprised he’s not dating anyone. I don’t think I’ve ever seen or heard anything about his love life. Then, I remember my first day at work, when he told me that his one and only love is art, and it always will be.
My heart is doing this thing where it tugs deep in my chest. Because my stupid, idiotic heart is ten steps ahead of the rest of my body and jumps to conclusions, creating false hopes. The thing is, it’s not like I can pinpoint when this started. He has just been more present, and he’s been sneaking into my heart slowly, but surely. The lines between professionalism and something more are blurringfrom my end. Is it a bad thing I hope the lines are blurring for him too?
We arrive at the coffee shop, and it’s surprisingly empty. We quickly order our coffees and pastries, and Damian pays for everything before I even have the chance to get my wallet out. Once we receive our order, we decide to sit at a table by a window that overlooks Central Park.
He’s looking out the window as he opens a straw and places it in my cup, then opens another one for himself. It’s the little things that he does that fill my stomach with a colony of butterflies.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into ordering an iced caramel latte,” He shakes his head in disbelief.
I let out a triumphant laugh. “You’ll thank me in a second.”
He rolls his eyes as he takes a sip of the latte, not making one single expression, so I have no idea whether he likes it or not. He drank about halfway, so I’m assuming he does. Setting the cup down, he takes his bagel and eats it like he has all the time in the world. As I watch him, all I can think of is how he can make something as simple as eating a bagel hot. Like, seriously? He needs to tone it down. I don’t understand how he doesn’t have women jumping up on him like cats.
