Page 47 of Don't Puck His Best Friend
“Black coffee,” she observes, wrapping her hands around her mug. “Very straightforward. Very you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that it matches your personality. No complicated additions, no unnecessary flourishes. Just coffee that tastes like coffee.”
I take a sip, considering this. “And your sugar-and-foam concoction says what about you?”
“That I don’t trust coffee to taste good on its own and I have a sweet tooth I’m not ashamed of.”
“Fair point. Although I think it says you like things that are worth the extra effort.”
She tilts her head, studying me over her mug. “That’s a much nicer interpretation than ‘high maintenance.’”
“You don’t strike me as high maintenance.”
“Good, because I’m really not. I just happen to think life’s better with a little sweetness added.”
Something about the way she says it makes me want to know what other kinds of sweetness she adds to her life, but before I can ask, she’s thanking me for convincing her to get the extra chocolate.
“Do you want to try some?” she asks, reaching for it right as I do.
Her fingers brush mine. Neither of us moves away, and for a moment the air slows, the background noise of the café fading into something distant and unimportant.
“Your hands are massive,” she says suddenly, then blushes like she can’t believe she said it out loud.
I look down at where her fingers are still touching mine.
“Sorry, that was random, but I mean…” She grabs my hand and really looks at it. She touches the freckle I have on my thumb. “These must be good for hockey.”
I chuckle when she turns my palm up and rips a piece of the croissant and places it in my hand. I plop it in my mouth and nod.
“That’s good,” I say, holding my hand out to ask for more.
She makes a face at me. “Get your own.”
I reach over the table playfully, trying to grab it. She pulls it away and widens her eyes. I pretend to reach for it again, but instead, I kiss her.
She kisses me back, and I cup her face. When I finally pull back, she feeds me the croissant. I take a big bite and she watches closely.
“So good, right?” she whispers.
I nod, sitting back down. I swallow the food and say, “Want to get out of here?”
“Where?”
“A walk.”
She takes my hand and follows me out into the crisp October air. Leaves skitter across the sidewalk in the breeze, and there’s that sharp quality to the light that means winter’s coming whether we’re ready or not.
“So,” she drawls.
I look over at her and notice she’s cold. I shrug off my jacket and put it around her.
She chuckles to herself and then says, “Thanks, but I want to ask you something.”
“Ask away.”
She takes a moment to think as we walk and then she says, “So… this giving me your jacket, being sweet… is this how you are with every girl?”
