Page 39 of Café Diablo

He narrows his eyes at me.

“That’s not a trick question,” I reply. “You actually knew the answer to this question when we were in the restaurant a second ago and you said—” I do my best gruff caveman voice to mock him. “‘You have a car?’”

He scowls at me again, and man, those looks of death are my Achilles heel if I ever had one. They make me want to drop all my supplies on the sidewalk and freaking kiss him.

“A scooter,” he finally says.

“Bingo! We have a winner,” I exclaim. “Which means … all these supplies are going where?”

His eyes darken. “Are you serious?Mycar?”

“Hey, none of this fits on my scooter and I don’t know where you parked your car,” I say honestly. “Hence the original question of left or right.”

“How did you even get all of this crap here in the first place?”

“Magic,” I say indignantly.

“Lord of the Ringsmagic orGame of Thronesmagic?” he throws back at me and I laugh out loud.

“Dang, Edwin. That’s an excellent question!” I praise. “All this time you’ve been touted to be this fancy-pants lawyer, but it wasn’t until right now that you’ve stepped up to the plate to show me just how brilliant you are.”

“Right,” Edwin grumbles. “But I’m only doing this because my arms are about to fall off from holding all your junk while you wax poetic about Minas Tirith and Arkenstones.”

“Oh my God, Edwin,” I taunt. “Did you just make obscureLord of the Ringsreferences? I think I just got super wet!”

“I was a thirteen-year-old boy once,” he shoots back, heading down the street toward his vehicle. “I have read Tolkien.”

“Oh my, my,” I fake swoon, following him. “Talk dirty to me some more! Wait, have you memorized the elven language? Can you whisper things to me in elvish like a gorgeous pointy-eared, long haired elven king? Because if you can, I might just start taking my clothes off right now.” He shoots me an angry look, because once again I’ve taken things five steps too far. “Hey,” I offer. “Put on a blond wig and whisper lawyer terms to me in Latin, I probably won’t know the difference.”

Edwin stops next to a BMW and dumps all my supplies onto the ground ungracefully—which I deserve—as he retrieves his keys. “Do you ever stop talking?” he snaps, and I shrug, leaning up against his extra sleek James Bond car that oozes money.

“I do stop talking sometimes,” I say, catching his eye. “You know, when my mouth is otherwise occupied.”

Oh man, he is trying real hard not to react to that one, especially when I bite my lip and let my eyes fall down to his belt.

He pops the trunk and grumbles something at me before he starts loading easels and paint into the back compartment. When he’s done picking up the supplies from the sidewalk, he takes the ones from my arms, until it’s just him and me standing on the side of the street.

“So…?” He folds his arms over his chest and stares at me, his tawny hair looking blue in the glow of the overhead streetlamps. The night is warm and the pink and orange splotches on his cuffs look like the beginning of the perfect mess, especially considering he’s still wearing the apron I put on him earlier.

“So,” I say softly, stepping forward and closing the space between us, reaching carefully around his waist to untie the smock at his back. His arms are still crossed as he looks down at me, and my chest brushes up against his thick arms. “I’m going to go run around back and get my scooter,” I explain. “I’ll meet you out front here and you can follow me to my place.”

He’s wearing that poker face, especially as I pull the straps of the apron over his head and have to stretch my body up across him in the process.

“Thanks for helping me bring my supplies back to my house,” I say softly, and his pupils darken. It’s almost imperceptible, but I’m learning with Edwin I have to pay attention to the smallest change—subtle breathing patterns, small eye dilations, the inching flush of his neck. Those dark eyes flick from my mouth to my throat and suddenly my body’s on fire. “Mmmmm,” I hum softly, agreeing with the need I see in his eyes. “Now you’re catching on.”

He nods softly, acknowledging my entire ruse—getting him to take all my supplies means he has to drive to my tiny house and … come home with me.

I lean up on my tippy toes and give him a tiny peck on the cheek; he grunts softly and turns his head a gentle inch in my direction. Our mouths are right next to each other—his breath against my breath. Only, I know he won’t kiss me, because this is too public, and I can feel the defiance in his posture and bones. He’s waiting for me to fall into him and get lost in the stoic charm, to become sweet and angelic and submit to him. God, it’s extra hot that he’s trying, but it’s not going to work.

“Let me get my moped,” I say softly, stepping back, my face hot and my mouth sad. I tug on the string of the apron that’s still caught behind his folded arms. “Put this in the trunk and I’ll be around in just a minute.”

I turn around and head for the back of the building, my temperature heating, because yup, I absolutely just invited Edwin back to my house.

16

Olivia

Ipark my moped on the grass next to the stone path that leads up to the porch of my tiny home. A line of solar lanterns are mounted on stakes to the right of the pathway making it feel like a whimsical fairy garden. They’re also the only light, save for Edwin’s headlights pulling in behind me.

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