Page 14 of Saffron and Secrets

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“You're kind, warm, and easy to talk to. I feel like it’s a fitting job for you.”

I smile at his words, but the blush rising on my cheeks has me averting my gaze for a moment to get myself in check. I’ve never been affected by a guy before, so this is all new. To have him genuinely talking about me in a positive, sweet way is unusual, but very nice. He makes all my previous boyfriends look pathetic. They thought my job was ridiculous and encouraged me to study something else. So having him compliment it warms my heart.

I lock gazes with him. “Thank you. I work Monday to Thursday and Saturday.”

“Is there any particular reason for that?”

The waitress interrupts us by dropping our coffees off.

I take a sip before going back to our conversation. “Well, I'm close with my parents and my grandma, but my grandma's elderly now. So, I spend every Friday baking.” I laugh and continue, “It’s why I buy the saffron.”

“What do you make with the saffron?” he asks as he sips his coffee.

“Pies.” I chew the inside of my cheek. The way he’s staring is making my heart pound. There is so much warmth in his eyes.

“Well, that's cool,” he says, lowering his drink.

“I think so. And it's not like a savory pie, it's a sweet pie.”

There's this flicker of a funny expression on his face that makes me see where his mind's gone.

Boys.

I giggle and take a sip of my coffee, thinking how easy it is, sitting here with him, chatting.

I know I do it for a living, but that’s work. This is just…he's easy. Easy to be around. Easy to fall for and obviously easy on the eyes.

Men are normally way more complicated than this. He just makes it comfortable right away. What’s the catch?

He sips his coffee, and I assess him over my cup with curiosity.

When I recall his order, I ask him, “How do you drink that with no cream? It's…awful.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, it’s not great at the start, but I quickly got used to the taste.”

I tip my head back, confused. “So why don't you add some cream or sugar, then?”

“Lower calories,” he answers with a shrug.

I'm shocked at that answer, not expecting him to worry about calories, but I remember the feel of his strong tricep underneath my hand, so him watching his calories makes sense. I can’t even imagine what’s underneath his clothes.

I clear my throat, feeling a little flustered from my thoughts. “Well, I like calories. A lot. I don't care what I look like.”

He’s staring at me intensely, and I sink in the chair a little under his heated gaze.

He leans forward, running his eyes over my body. “You don’t need to. You look damn perfect.”

“Oh.” It comes out as a squeak. I bring the coffee to my lips, needing to wet my parched throat.

I'm still startled when I lower the cup back down to the plate. I don't know what to do. I'm staring at him back…lost. What do you say to a hot guy who’s complimenting you about your body and how good you look? It's not something I'm used to.

It's always expected for a woman to count calories and exercise. I’ve done that in the past and it’s exhausting. I just couldn’t do it anymore. Losing weight and toning up used to be on my New Year’s resolutions every year until I got sick of getting into the second month and feeling like a failure. So, I stopped worrying and I feel better than ever.

I look down at my drink to avoid his gaze because it’s causing a heat to form between my thighs.

“So…the flowers are for?” I blurt, finally thinking of something that won’t encourage my body to combust.

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