The One I Want

Waffling his head, he says, “There was a reason.”

I’d been trying to keep my eyes off him, not to seem like the stalker he called me, but this brings me back to him. “Which was?”

“It was nine seventeen.”

“I suppose that makes sense . . . to a crazy person.”

He finally releases the tension that fills his shoulders along with a chuckle. “Touché.”

Barry, the barista, leans over the counter and shouts, “Andrew?”

Tall, dark, and too handsome for his own good standing next to me steps up to the counter, thanks Barry, and then turns back to me. I see the debate in his eyes when he glances toward the door. Does he need a reason to leave, or is he looking for a quick escape? I can’t worry about what comes next because I’m stuck on his name. “Andrew?”

“Yes?” Then it dawns on him, awareness awakening his expression. “Guess we haven’t gotten that far.”

“No, we haven’t.” I stare at him, still intrigued by the secrets he appears to hold in his dark brown eyes while trying to imagine him living life as an Andrew. “I wouldn’t have guessed Andrew.”

“Oh, really? What do I look like to you?”

“Mocha latte!” Barry calls out as if someone just offended him. My guess is the guy to my right based on how Barry’s glaring at him. I also note an impatient tap of the fingers before I glance back at Andrew. “That’s me.”

When I step up to the counter, Barry whispers, “I added a bonus half-shot of espresso and just a hint of peppermint syrup. Just how you like it when you have a rough day.”

“Thank you. You’re the best.”

His voice is still low, only for my ears when he asks, “You coming around tomorrow?” I swear he glares at Andrew.

“Depends on a job I might have.”

As if I just made his day, he replies, “I hope I see you tomorrow, June.”

Does that mean he’s rooting against me getting the placement? Sure sounded that way. Andrew is now the one staring at me when I walk away from the counter. “June?” he asks with the slightest tilt of his head.

“No. That’s not what I like to be called. He got it wrong the first time, and I felt bad correcting him.” I take a sip of coffee.

“Why would you feel bad?”

Shrugging, I say, “Because then he’ll feel bad every time he sees me. June is no big deal.”

“But that’s not your name. What is your—?”

“Aren’t you late for work?” I look at him, remembering he was in such a hurry this morning. “Or wherever you’re going?”

“Figured it didn’t matter now, and I need a hit of caffeine.”

The midmorning rush for caffeine crowds the coffee shop, and I’m bumped from the side. “I’m going to get out of the way.” It’s not exactly an invitation, but I can’t help but think I wouldn’t mind him leaving with me. I start for the exit.

Andrew is swift enough to reach the door and open it. “After you.”

“Thanks.” On the sidewalk, I’m not sure what to do. Do I keep walking, never to look back, or do I stop and chitchat with Andrew? Andrew . . . I can see it fitting now that we’re back in the sunshine—the suit, the chivalry, the comfort he exudes in his own body. I decide to take a chance and toss an opener into the mix. “Well . . .”

“Yeah.” He glances around, making it really hard to read him, though I don’t think I was doing a stellar job of that previously anyway. When his eyes settle back on mine, he adds, “I’m sorry for accusing you of stalking. I don’t know why I said that.”

I don’t know why I like how he runs his hand over his hair, dipping his chin down and peeking at me, but I do. “Maybe you find women a foot shorter and a lot smaller than you intimidating, or maybe Rascal made you nervous. He can get pretty vicious if you try to take his food away.”

“Why would anyone take his food away?”

I laugh lightly, but he doesn’t. This guy is so serious. Intense. “Don’t worry. No one’s taking his food from him.” This time, I look around before catching him check his watch. “We don’t have to stand here awkwardly if you have someplace to be.”

“I do, but it’s not so awkward standing here with you.” He tucks his hand in his pocket and jiggles what sounds like keys.

The silver metal of his watch catches the light just above the gray fabric, and I say, “I see your watch works again.”

“It does.” Pulling his arm up in front of him, he studies it. “I’m not sure what caused it to stop. The—”

“Universe?”

His smile reminds me of how he looked this morning before he got grumpy. “I was going to say that.”