Page 44 of A Lesson In Beginning

“It’s good to see you, too.”

“Did you not want coffee?” He looked down at the table, his brow furrowed in confusion. For a moment, I didn’t know what he was talking about, as his hands were still resting on my arms. The lingering contact, his proximity, even the way he smelled, seemed to addle my brain.

“What?”

“Did you not want coffee? Or did you already finish yours?”

“Oh, right. No, I didn’t order any.” I cringed inwardly at the utter awkwardness of my disjointed words. “It’s a little… hectic in here.”

“Well, let me fix that for you. What would you like?” It was a simple question, yet as I had listened in on order after order being barked across the counter in such an aggressive manner, I had realized quickly that I truly did not know just how one ordered coffee in a place like this. To me, coffee had always been brewed in a pot on the kitchen counter, or at most in a French press, if one was being fancy. Lattes, Cappuccinos, Americanos, Espresso… it was all like Latin to me. I didn’t even know where to begin.

“I’m not actually sure.” I fiddled with the cuticle on my thumb embarrassedly, attempting to push down the insecurity that was surely written on my face like a book to be read.

“Not a coffee shop person, are you?” The sly wink he threw my way had that cursed blush rising over my cheeks again. I was not some simpering schoolgirl, crushing on a potential suitor. I needed to get my wits about me if I was reacting this heatedly before we even actually spoke about the more intimate details that were on today’s agenda.

“I’ve never been in a coffee shop, actually.” To say my admission surprised him would have been an understatement. His jaw dropped, eyebrows raising high on his forehead for a moment before a look of comprehension crossed his face.

“Well, I suppose that makes sense. How do you fix your coffee in the mornings?” Still, his hands remained on my arms, his thumbs absentmindedly brushing to and fro, pushing the fabric of my sleeves up and down slightly.

“Cream and just a touch of sugar. The creamer Ruth uses has been particularly delightful as of late. French vanilla, I believe it said.”

“Do you trust me?” His look of surprised shock melted into one of excited mischief as he waited for my response.

“I guess…” I trailed off cautiously.

“Perfect!” He nearly bounced his way up to the counter, his cheerful demeanor almost enough to pull me out of my normal acerbic disposition. Almost.

What felt like mere seconds later, Joel’s name was being barked out by the barista, and he returned to the table I had secured for us.

“What is it?” I asked as he sat the tall drink in front of me. The weather was just starting to cool in the early days of autumn, and warmth filtered in through my fingertips as I wrapped my hands around the piping hot beverage. It felt absolutely delightful.

“Take a sip and tell me what you think.” His eyes glowed with excitement as he awaited my verdict, completely ignoring his own drink. He sat across from me, leaning over the table close enough that if I were to just reach out, just a little, my hands would be in his.

“Or you could tell me what it is.” With one brow arched, I shot him a look that made him smile even wider.

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that? Go on, just take a sip.” Nearly dancing in his seat, he sat in obvious impatient excitement for my reaction. I rolled my eyes with a sigh and lifted the cup to my lips to take a slow sip

The flavors hit my tongue like an explosion: cinnamon, cardamom, nutmeg, and a smooth, sweet cream that rounded the flavor out with utter perfection. Even the fact that the liquid was almost hot enough to burn my tongue could not detract from the heavenly delight I was experiencing. I groaned so loudly I was certain the passersby had heard my nearly sexual sound of satisfaction.

“So?” He was actually bouncing in his seat now.

“It’s… absolutely divine.” I took another sip, my eyes closing in bliss at the taste of what had to be the single best cup of coffee I had ever tasted. “So, are you going to tell me what it is now, or am I going to have to go ask the barista?”

“Such sass for such a little thing.” He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in a wholly scolding fashion. Not that I minded. Not one bit. It did strange things to those butterflies in my stomach that appeared every time he was around. “It’s called a pumpkin spice latte, and it is a complete phenomenon. People go crazy for it.”

“I can see why! What are you having?” I was acutely aware of just how much attention he paid me, and wanted to flip the script, if only for a moment’s reprieve.

“I often go for a pumpkin spice myself, but today I went with my tried-and-true lavender creme latte. Would you like to try it?” He had yet to take a sip of it himself, but when he nudged his cup closer to me, I could not deny myself the desire to try something new again.

“I suppose trying new things is exactly what’s on the agenda today, isn’t it?” He chuckled as I took a slow sip of his drink. With a sigh of complete comfort, I let the sweet herbal flavor wash over my tongue. “It’s delightful, Joel. Though I’m surprised that it’s your choice.”

“Why’s that?”

“I suppose I’m used to men wanting their coffee black and unsweetened.”

“Not a chance. Life is bitter enough. Why add bitter coffee to it when you can have all these yummy, sweet concoctions?” He took a long sip, making a show of his own delight with eye rolls and sighs galore. In truth, he made more of a commotion than even I had. Stifling a giggle with the back of my hand, I felt my nerves calm just a tiny bit more.

“That’s one way to look at it, I suppose.”

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