He glances at the woman near the counter. “How are you?”
“Can I grab you a cup?” She practically yells. “If I remember correctly, it’s one sugar and no cream.”
“I’m good.” He sends that message in her direction with a smile and a wave of his hand as if he’s swatting away her good intentions.
“All right!” She barks that back at him. “I’ll call you this week. We should talk, right?”
He nods but doesn’t offer her anything else as we find our place at the back of the line.
“She seems…” I pause to lock eyes with him. “Nice.”
“Persistent is the word you’re looking for,” he corrects me. “She wrote a thriller, but her true calling is accounting.”
Relief barrels through me. “Oh, I thought…”
“You thought wrong.” He tightens his grip on the handle of my guitar case. “She’s convinced her book is phenomenal. It’s not.”
I watch as the woman exits the café with a large coffee in hand. Her gaze lingers on Berk’s back before she disappears into the foot traffic on the sidewalk.
We step closer to the counter as another person’s coffee order is taken and prepared.
“Do you get that a lot?” I question.
“Do I get inundated with bad manuscripts a lot?” He perks one dark brow. “Yes.”
“No.” I chuckle. “I don’t think she’s calling you to talk about her manuscript.”
I accentuate the last two words with air quotes.
The corners of his lips quirk up. “Did you just toss air quotes around her manuscript?”
I nod.
“Because you think she was referring to what, Astrid?” He leans closer to lower his voice. “Are you saying she has an ulterior motive for calling me?”
I step back and huff out a nervous laugh. “I’m saying she’s calling because you look like that.”
He glances at the counter as the line inches forward. “I look like what?”
Shaking my head, I drop my gaze to the floor. “You know what you look like.”
His finger finds my chin to inch my head back up until our eyes are locked. “I know that you think I’m a hot dad.”
“Okay, I admit it, you are,” I whisper.
“As long as you see me that way…” His voice trails as he points a finger at me. “That’s all that matters to me. Other women can take their manuscripts to someone else.”
I chuckle at the way he enunciates every syllable of the word ‘manuscripts’.
“I have your coffee ready, sir.” The barista who was fixing her hair earlier calls to Berk as the person in front of us steps aside to wait for their order. “It’s on the house. It’s just the way you like it. One sugar and no cream.”
He reaches for my hand and steps toward the counter. “I take my coffee black. I’ve always taken it black.”
Her cheeks blush pink. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I heard your friend say you like it with one sugar and no cream.”
“She’s not my friend,” he says before he draws my hand up to his lips to kiss it softly. “This is my friend, and she’d like her coffee…”
“Black as well.” I nod. “Just like his.”
Chapter Thirty
Berk
Since we’ve sat down in this crowded coffee shop, I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of Astrid.
Our playful banter as we waited in line was enough to stir my cock.
I’ve flirted with my fair share of women, but this was different.
It was grounded in something more than an innocent moment in time.
This felt more like a promise.
I place my coffee cup down. “How is your schedule looking for the week?”
“I have an order coming in this afternoon,” she says quietly. “It’s a collection of records from an estate sale. I wasn’t going to bid on it since I’ve been loading up on inventory lately, but it was too good to pass up.”
I sip from my coffee as I listen.
She scratches the base of her neck. “I’ll need to take tonight and tomorrow night to sort through all of it. I’ll work on it during the day too, but when a customer comes into the store, I have to give them all my attention.”
I might feel a pinch of frustration over the fact that she’s choosing to focus on work instead of squeezing in time to see me, but I respect her.
From what I’ve been able to piece together, she’s running a business on her own. I have firsthand knowledge of how much commitment that takes.
“My daughter has a piano lesson on Wednesday.” I tap a fingertip on the top of the table. “My brother is her teacher. He’ll be happy to hang out with her for the evening and tuck her in. Does Wednesday night work for you?”
Her gaze wanders over my face. “Your brother is a piano teacher?”
I chuckle. “Only for my daughter. He owns a sports management firm with his wife.”
“That sounds interesting.”
“He’ll tell you that it is.” I glance at the line of people waiting to order their morning beverages. “He’s good at it. I’m proud of him.”