Page 11 of King of Lies
“I’m glad,” Rhys says as he pulls the door open for me. “What’s good here?”
I look him up and down. He’s wearing jeans that look brand new and a silver button down shirt with a gray sport coat over it. All of it looks like it was made just for him.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” He laughs. “You just said this was your favorite place.”
“It is but I can’t get a read on you,” I admit. “Are you a latte guy or a black coffee guy?”
“What do you think?” he asks, holding his arms out at his sides so I can get a better look.
“I think you’re a coffee with cream …maybe a sugar,” I say.
“Then you would be correct,” he says, and I begin to gloat. “In the morning. “But in the evening … tea.”
“I didn’t want to stereotype,” I admit. “You know, the accent and all …”
“What accent?” he asks with a straight face.
For a minute, I think he’s serious and then he laughs and I swat his stomach with the back of my hand. And Mary Mother, his abs are like steel. That dress shirt looks good, but it hides the fact that Rhys is ripped.I’m in way over my head.
“You tease.”
“With you, always,” he says, and his face turns a bit serious as he traces the very tip of a finger down my cheek that tingles with the flush of my blushing. “This is very pretty.”
“Thank you.”
“Any time.”
“Then I suggest tea,” I tell him.
We get to the front of the line and he orders a tea and I order a mocha and a cookie because I have a sweet tooth that can’t be denied. Rhys rolls some bills out of his pocket and pays for both without question and leads me over to a quiet table in the back.
A teenage girl from behind the counter wearing jeans and an oversized sweatshirt from the university brings over our drinks, my cookie on a small white plate, and sets them in front of us.
Rhys pops the plastic lid off the top of his paper cup and pours in a little cream. He stirs it around with a small wooden stick and I can’t help but watch his strong hands do such a small task and make it look beautiful. My mind is getting away from me so I look away and take a sip of my coffee.
“So,” he says, breaking the silence between us. “Tell me about yourself.”
“There’s really not much to tell,” I reply as I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” he says. “Have you always lived here, in Orange Falls?”
“No. I moved here to live with my uncles when my parents died.”
“I’m so sorry,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean—”
“No, no, it’s okay. It was a long time ago. I promise.”
“How old were you?” he asks, and I know what he means but he clarifies anyway. “When did they died?”
“I was eight.”
“I’m so sorry. My mum passed on when I was nearly twenty and that was hard enough. I was glad I had my brother, or it would have been unbearable. Do you have any siblings?”
“None,” I answer with a smile and a wink. “I’m one of a kind.”
“That you are, Hen. That you are.”
