One Wish

CHAPTERTWO

“Atriple venti holy shit. That’s a new one,” the now not-so-mysterious man says back to me, a huge smirk lighting up his ruggedly handsome face. My God, he’s even better in the flesh. With his deep-set green eyes, five o’clock shadow, square jaw, and lusciously kissable lips I could quite happily suck on for hours, this man screams perfection personified. And don’t get me started on his hair. Luscious dark brown curls, I could just as happily run my fingers through while kissing on those lusciously kissable lips.

Luscious definitely seems to be my word of the day today, but oh, my!

“Is it that good that I’ll be shouting ‘Holy shit!’ once I’ve tried it?”

Is he actually talking to me?

Leaning forward on the counter, he fixes his lips into an amused smile. “Cat got your tongue?”

Yes… yes, he is talking to me. Say something, dammit, before you look like an idiot!

“I… I…” Oh sheesh, I’m behaving like a total nincompoop. To make matters worse he raises his perfectly sculptured eyebrow at me. “It’s the best in town!” I practically sing, a huge breath releasing afterwards. Fidgeting is not my thing, but I find myself wringing my hands together, my palms clammy as my heart thumps heavily against my ribcage. I can’t believe what I’m seeing in front of me. Never would I ever dream that Eli Prescott would walk into my café, yet here he is, standing behind my counter, a big smile on his face as he lifts the coffee cup.

“I guess I will have to have a taste and see.”

“Be careful,” I swiftly respond, before he takes a sip. “It’ll be hot.”

He lifts that eyebrow at me again before putting the cup to his mouth. I watch as he rests his bottom lip on the cup and starts blowing into it. I think my heart’s stopped beating all together. It’s like watching a naughty movie in slow motion. I know he’s doing nothing sexual, but everything he does screams sexy. Even him blowing into a cup of hot coffee does things it shouldn’t.

Once he’s satisfied that he might have blown enough cool air in, he takes a cautious sip. I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he lets the taste of it play around his mouth.

“Holy shit, that is good,” he finally responds, looking my way with a smirk.

A giggle erupts from my chest and my heart explodes. Not only is he handsome, he’s funny too. “I’m glad you think so.”

“May I ask your name?”

May he ask what now? Did Eli Prescott seriously ask for my name?

“It’s… it’s Audrey. Audrey Stone.”

“And this place,” he says, scanning the coffee shop with his eyes, “do you run it?”

I nod. “Yes, and I own it too.”

His eyes travel up and down the length of me with a frown. “But you look so young.”

I smirk as I tend to get that a lot. “I inherited it from my dad when he died, and because my mom didn’t want to run it anymore, she gave most of her shares to me. So here I am, fulfilling my dad’s dream.”

I see a little glint in his eyes that make my knees go weak. “That’s very noble of you, Audrey. I’m sorry you lost him. Did he name the place?”

I smile remembering the day my dad told me what we were going to call the café. “He did. When I was little, he used to say to me all the time, ‘Audrey, slow down! You’re always full of beans.’ Every time, it would get a chuckle out of me.”

Eli lets out an amused laugh. “I bet it did.”

I’m still reminiscing when I say, “He would always aim for me to dream big. If you dream, dream big. Now, every time I end a letter or an email to someone, I always end it with ‘Dream big.’ It’s been that way ever since I was a teenager.” I flit my eyes to him listening intently. “Sorry. I’m waffling.”

He frowns for a moment before answering. “No, not at all. You miss your father. It’s only natural.” His face is full of sincerity as he flits his eyes downward a second, frowning when he notices my jar of buttons. “What’s the story behind that?” he asks, pointing at said jar.

“Oh, that’s just my button collection.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize just how nerdy it sounds.

“You collect buttons?”

I let out a nervous laugh, my hand reaching towards a strand of my brown hair to fiddle with it. When I get nervous, I twiddle my hair. “It’s stupid really…”

“Enlighten me,” he says, interrupting anything else I might say.