Page 29 of Lost Track

Which annoyed her.

Not because his music was annoying, but because she couldn’t seem to decide one way or another what to believe.

And since she had been fooled by people in the past, she was a little more guarded when she walked into XY Records on Monday afternoon.

He was already in the lounge when she arrived. He was hunkered over the espresso machine and didn’t hear her come in. He was in jeans again and a different hoodie. This one was emerald green.

She tossed her bag on the table and quietly approached him.

“Hm.” He righted himself and cupped his chin in one hand as he studied what looked like a variety of coffee grounds in small glass bowls. “Maybe it’s the water.”

“What’s the water?” she asked at his shoulder.

He jumped, startled, and spun around.

“Holy moly,” he exclaimed.

Okay, sothatwas adorable.

She tried to fight the smile on her face, but she couldn’t say why.

“Did I scare ya?” she asked, pumping her eyebrows once.

“Only in the literal sense.” He smiled and scanned her up and down. Not in a creepy way, more like he was just observing her whole person. “How are you today? No attacking sweaters, I see.”

Maybe it was because she’d been listening to his albums nonstop since last night, but now even when he spoke, it sounded like it was in rhythm. As if his words were perfectly cadenced for a specific purpose.

“Today has been uneventful. Just the way I like it.” She took a step back before turning around. “What are you doing with that poor espresso machine?” she asked, unloading her binder and laptop.

“Making sweet, sweet love to it.”

She looked over her shoulder at him with raised eyebrows. “Oh really?”

He chuckled at his own joke but otherwise didn’t elaborate.

She sat down and went through her notes while he ran the espresso machine repeatedly. Sometimes she’d stop to watch him but all it looked like to her was that he was making numerous shots of espresso.

He never looked up at her, just kept working on whatever had his interest.

It was super cute.

“Do you drink espresso?” he asked, and she realized he was now standing very nearby.

“I have.” She set aside her binder and turned slightly in her chair. “I’m not an aficionado or anything.”

He rubbed his hands along the sides of his jeans. “Would you know if an espresso was bad or good?”

“Perhaps.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

He seemed to be having an internal conversation. He nodded. “Right. Will you try this and tell me if it’s good?”

He scooped up one of the cups and took two long strides in her direction.

She accepted the tiny cup of espresso, eyeing him warily.

“I didn’t drink out of that one,” he said, not taking his eyes off the cup until he was sure she had a hold of it.

She brought the cup to her lips and took a small sip.

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