Green Tea Latte To Go

by Ellis, Aven

“What?” Brooks asks as he eases his SUV into a parking space.

  I click on the YouTube link, which is entitled “Blonde Can’t Move Pig,” and cringe as I see me and Mr. Not Bacon in the picture.

  “Oh, no!” I cry, feeling my cheeks burn. “Someone recorded me with Mr. Not Bacon and posted it to YouTube!”

  Embarrassment engulfs me. The whole world will see me pleading and struggling, and Mr. Not Bacon screaming at me when I deny him Cheerios.

  “What? Seriously?” Brooks asks.

  I glance at him, and I see those brown eyes are dancing at me.

  I cringe. “Um . . . apparently so.”

  “Brilliant. Let’s watch it.”

  “No!”

  “Why not?”

  “Why not? Because I look like an idiot!” I sputter. “Do you know Derna had to come out and help me?”

  “So what? You aren’t a pig parent, you had no idea how smart and stubborn he was going to be,” he says easily. “Come on, let me see how you did.”

  “Er . . .”

  Buzz!

  I check my phone, and this time it’s Whitney.

  Oh my God you were on TV! You’re tagged on Facebook!

  Buzz!

  “Apparently, word has gotten out you are an internet sensation,” Brooks teases.

  “Oy,” I groan, feeling my neck burning now.

  “I can use my own phone to view it, you know. So come on, show it to me.”

  “Okay,” I concede.

  “Don’t worry, I can give you tips on how to improve your handling technique,” he says.

  I can’t help but laugh. “Stop.”

  Brooks leans in closer to me, his strong arm brushing against mine, and my pulse leaps in response. Now I can smell the wonderful citrus scent lingering on his skin, and oh, it’s divine.

  “Go on,” Brooks says, interrupting my thoughts.

  I clear my throat. “Okay.”

  I anxiously click the icon to play the video and sure enough, it’s me begging Mr. Not Bacon to move down the ramp. Me pushing his butt. Me tugging his leash. Oh no, now I’m about to retrieve the Tupperware—

  “Gah!” I cry, cringing again. “He’s about to scream.”

  “I’d scream at you too if you denied me Cheerios.”

  “Shut up,” I say, which makes Brooks laugh.

  I watch myself open the lid and snap it back shut, and Mr. Not Bacon screams in pure fury.

  I jump back in the video, an expression of horror on my face, and Mr. Not Bacon is screaming, people in the video are laughing, and Brooks loses it. He begins laughing. Like doubled over, this-is-hysterical kind of laughing.

  “It’s not that funny,” I protest.

  “Oh, but it is,” Brooks manages to say. “This is the funniest thing I’ve seen in a long time.”

  I can’t help it. My embarrassment fades, and I begin laughing as I see my expression that is captured in the video.

  “I guess it is,” I admit.

  Then we both crack up.

  “I didn’t know I was making the full English for an internet sensation tonight,” Brooks says, sitting up straight.

  I immediately miss his closeness, the feeling of his arm against mine, which takes me by surprise.

  I quickly shake the thought from my head and refocus.

  “While I might be an internet sensation, I do need to correct you on one part.”

  Brooks opens his door to get out, and I follow.

  “Oh?” he asks, studying me.

  “Yes,” I say, shutting the passenger door and going around to his side. “I will not be having the full English, as I’m not that kind of girl, Dr. Martin.”

  An embarrassed look quickly passes over his gorgeous face, and his hand goes to the back of his neck again, rubbing it.

  “You aren’t going to let me live this down, are you?”

  Oh, he’s so cute when he gets embarrassed.

  “Nope. And for the record, I won’t be having beans. And definitely no bacon or sausage. I want smoked salmon with my eggs or this American is out.”

  Brooks grins at me.

  “You are quite clever, Ms. James,” he says, his eyes shining.

  “Indeed.”

  “Come on, let’s get a trolley. I’m starving,” Brooks says.

  “Trolley. You Brits are so cute.”

  Oh, crap! I called him cute. I have a feeling this is all kinds of wrong as far as a first date goes.

  Of course, showing your date a viral video of you struggling with a pig on a leash is probably not exactly in the perfect behavior category, either.

  “Cute?” Brooks asks as we enter the store.

  “Trolley. It’s a cart,” I say, trying to deflect him.

  “I see,” Brooks says. “So the word trolley is cute? Anything else you see that might be cute?”

  Now I’m the one squirming.

  And Brooks looks absolutely delighted that I am.

  I nervously fiddle with the braid in my hair.

  “Um, no.”

  Brooks stops as we enter the supermarket, right in front of the carts. Trolleys. Whatever you want to call them.

  “No?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow.

  Now my heart is racing. Which is crazy, considering I’m standing in a supermarket entrance talking about carts.

  But as the piped in soft pop music fills the air, I realize this isn’t going to be the ideal first date I’ve read about. We’re not lingering over coffee and tea, having an intimate discussion in a coffeehouse.

  Instead we’re in a supermarket. About to go grocery shopping together. And I’m going over to his house to eat breakfast and meet his menagerie of animals.

  And I shouldn’t tell him he’s cute. I shouldn’t. A perfectly poised woman would be much cooler than I have been tonight.

  “You’re cute,” I say softly, following my heart instead of perfect advice.

  Suddenly I can’t breathe. Brooks stares down at me, his gorgeous eyes locking on mine. I wonder if I should have been coy. Played harder to get. Did I ruin everything by being too forward? Too truthful?

  I swallow hard, trying to read his expression.

  “Good,” Brooks says softly, his deep voice a murmur. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Now my heart is racing happily instead of fearfully.

  “Now, shall we get a trolley and shop?” Brooks asks.

  “Only if I get to push it.”

  “Oh, why am I not surprised you’d insist on the fun bit?”

  I laugh and Brooks hands me a cart. And as we begin to grocery shop, I can’t help but think this is the beginning of the most unconventional date I’ve ever been on.

  No. Correct that. So far this has been the best date I’ve ever been on.

  And I can’t wait to see what happens next.

  CHAPTER 9

  *Mental Note* Today’s plan to improve myself item (cont.): On a first date, don’t be afraid to show flexibility. This is a good trait to have and is attractive to a future partner.

  Result: Seriously when I wrote this, I didn’t think that would apply to having to eat BEANS with eggs.

  ***

  “So here we are,” Brooks says, pulling up to an adorable Craftsman-style home in the Capital Hill neighborhood of Seattle. “Home.”

  I gaze up to the tiny, gray-painted wood home, as it’s set on a hill with a trail of steps leading up to it, with gorgeous pink peonies and lavender bushes lining the path. There’s a great porch, painted white, and there are two chairs, ones perfect for taking in the view in the morning with a mug of tea.

  “It’s so cute,” I say excitedly.

  “I’m renting it,” Brooks explains, turning off the engine. “It belongs to an older woman, Sylvia. Her husband passed away a few years prior, and her daughter was desperate for her to sell it. But Sylvia wasn’t sure, as this home has been in her family since it was built in 1916.”

  “Wow, the same family? That’s amazing,” I say.

  “I know. But
Sylvia’s daughter lives in Los Angeles and has no interest in living in this house, let alone in Seattle.”

  “So how did you find this place?” I ask.

  “Sylvia’s a client of mine. We share a love of rabbits.”

  Brooks smiles at me, and I find myself smiling back.

  “Anyway, she was lamenting having to move to a condo and said she wished she knew a nice young man like me that she could rent it to,” he continues. “And I said, ‘Well, I could be that young man but I bet you wouldn’t allow me to have a mini pig.’ But she loved the idea and said I could rent it only if I brought my pig to visit her once a month, which I do. I enjoy visiting her, to be honest. Usually I see her twice a month. Once at her place, and then I bring her over here for Sunday lunch. I enjoy her company. She’s very witty and is so passionate about her animals, which makes her easy to talk to.”

  “She sounds like you,” I say.

  Brooks studies me through his fringe of eyelashes for a moment, and I feel my breath catch in my throat. Then he clears his throat before continuing.

  “Sylvia said she wanted the next person to live in her home to fill it with animals and love,” he says softly.

  Oh, I am crushing so hard on him right now.

  “And I do love my animals, so Sylvia lets me slide on that other particular condition a bit.”

  My heart responds to this story. I love the idea of Brooks befriending Sylvia and bringing Angus to see her. That she trusted him with her home, and that she hopes he finds love to fill it.

  And as I think of that, as I’m sitting here with him in front of his home, I wonder if I could possibly be that person.

  Whoa. Whoa. What am I even thinking? I shouldn’t be contemplating this. This shouldn’t be on my radar! Or in my orbit, it’s that ridiculous.

  Brooks opens my car door, jarring me from my stupid thoughts. I hop out and as he goes around to the back to retrieve the grocery bag, I take a moment to study him, from his tall, muscular frame to his thick, dark brown hair.

  He’s beautiful, I think as I gaze at him. Both inside and out.

  Brooks shuts the car door and faces me with a grocery bag in his arm.

  “Come on, let me give you a tour of my incredibly spacious home,” he teases as he comes around toward me. “I’m sure you’ll find it comparable to Kate and William’s place in Kensington Palace.”

  I laugh. “Oh, yes. I’m sure the square footage is identical.”

  “Yes. My entire house is probably the size of Kate’s wardrobe.”

  “Don’t be silly,” I say. “Kate recycles a lot of her clothing. She wouldn’t possibly need a closet this size.”

  “Right. Maybe three-quarters of the size.”

  I laugh and follow him up the steps. Brooks pauses at the door before putting the key in the lock.

  “Angus will greet us,” Brooks explains. “He’s very social.”

  “Ambassador pig,” I remember.

  Brooks grins, which lights up his whole face. “Yes.”

  “I’m ready,” I say.

  Brooks puts the key into the lock and turns it. He opens the door for me, and sure enough, there is a big ginger-colored pig with black spots coming straight toward me.

  “Oh!” I say, delighted at his cuteness. “He’s adorable.”

  “You’re saying that because he’s a ginger like Prince Harry.”

  I giggle. “No, I’m not.”

  Angus comes straight toward me, tail swishing and happily grunting at me in greeting. I’m about to ask Brooks if I can pet him when he flops right over and lands right on my feet, as if he’s passed out.

  “Oh, my God!” I cry, my hands flying up to my mouth. “Angus! What’s wrong with him?” I turn to Brooks, horrified. “Did he pass out? Is he having a seizure?” Brooks looks gravely at Angus.

  “Perhaps.”

  Shit, Brooks is in shock! This is why he isn’t leaping into action to help poor Angus!

  “Brooks, snap out of it,” I yell. “Help him!”

  “Oh, right,” Brooks says, quickly setting the bag of groceries on a table next to the door.

  He drops to the floor and immediately begins rubbing Angus’ belly.

  “What are you doing?” I ask. “Are you checking his organs?”

  Brooks glances up at me. “Oh, I don’t need to. He wants a belly rub.”

  “What?”

  Now Brooks is grinning. “Angus wanted you to rub his belly. He loves that. Don’t you, Angus?”

  I watch in surprise as Brooks affectionately rubs his cute belly, and Angus seems happy as can be.

  “So . . . he’s not sick.”

  “Not in the least.”

  “And you let me think he was ill.”

  “No, you ran away with that conclusion all on your own.”

  “You’re absolutely terrible.”

  “Oh, I consider us even now for the full English commentary before,” Brooks teases.

  “Valid point,” I say, smiling. “Can I rub his belly, too?”

  “Your white jeans won’t like it,” Brooks says, inclining his head toward my outfit.

  “It’s fine,” I say, and cross my fingers he won’t dirty up Courtney’s shirt. But something tells me Courtney wouldn’t care if he did.

  I slide my feet out from under Angus and crouch down next to Brooks. Angus snorts happily the second I put my hand on his belly. I begin rubbing him and he seems utterly blissful.

  “This is so cool,” I say aloud. “I had no idea pigs could be like this.”

  “They’re incredible animals,” Brooks declares. “He challenges me. I love that about him.”

  I recall him saying that to me earlier. That he likes to be challenged. It must be a part of his personality, I muse.

  “How is he challenging?”

  “Angus has his own mind,” he says, taking a seat next to Angus on the hardwood floor. “He’s inquisitive. Stubborn. Loves to learn. Yet he’s a social butterfly. Loves people. And he loves me, which is remarkable in itself.”

  I jerk my head up in surprise. And before I can stop myself, I say what I’m thinking.

  “Why would you say that?”

  Brooks blinks. “What?”

  “That it’s remarkable that he loves you.”

  “I, um,” Brooks reaches for the back of his neck, and I know he’s uncomfortable by what he let slip. “I . . .”

  “You don’t have to answer, but I don’t think for one moment that comment is true,” I say firmly.

  “You don’t know me,” he says softly. “I have reasons for saying what I did, Payton.”

  “I think your reasons, whatever they are, must be wrong.”

  “No,” Brooks says slowly. “I have reasons for saying that. I’m far from perfect.”

  I don’t think so, I think. You seem really perfect right now.

  No. Not perfect.

  But perfect for me.

  Brooks clears his throat, and I know he’s done with the topic. “We can debate the merits of perfection later, right now I’m starving.”

  He stands up and extends his hand to me.

  Butterflies swirl in anticipation of his hand touching mine. I place my hand in his, and delicious sparks fly the second we make contact. Brooks pulls me up to standing, and now I’m inches from him. His hand is still wrapped around mine, and I can feel the masculine roughness of his skin, which gives me goosebumps.

  The scent of his cologne drifts toward me again, and my heart is beating out of my chest in response to the familiar scent.

  “Thank you,” I say softly, losing myself in his eyes.

  “You’re welcome,” he murmurs.

  Brooks doesn’t let go of my hand.

  And I don’t want him to.

  Suddenly Angus rubs his snout against my leg, and his strength almost sends me backwards. Brooks quickly pulls me closer, and I end up falling forward, losing my balance and fly right into his chest, his crisp dress shirt grazing against my cheek.

  I hold
still for a moment, pressed into his hard chest, his hand still wrapped around mine.

  Oh, I love this.

  Wait, I’m on his chest. I can’t stay here!

  But I like it here.

  I quickly push myself back, my brain taking over, wondering how I can feel excited and embarrassed at the same time.

  “Sorry,” I say, feeling my face grow warm.

  “No, I’m sorry,” Brooks says, shaking his head. “Angus is strong. I should have warned you he’d want to rub up against you.”

  “It’s okay, I’m fine.”

  I glance down and Brooks is still holding my hand.

  As soon as I look at our hands entwined, Brooks quickly takes his away.

  “Sorry.”

  Don’t be, I think.

  “It’s okay,” I admit.

  The words escape my lips in surprise. Why am I saying these things to Brooks? I’m not acting like this is a first date, I’m not maintaining my air of mystery and calm. I’m supposed to be fun tonight. Easy. Not tipping all my cards. I could very well be ruining everything with this imperfect behavior tonight.

  I try to think of a way to take it back, to reset, but before I can, Brooks reaches for my hand again, his fingers carefully entwining with mine and making every nerve I have jump with excitement.

  “Still okay?” he murmurs sexily.

  Ohhhhhh!

  It’s like we’re both so on the same page. Flipping between sexy and vulnerable and acting on how we are feeling rather than what convention would expect us to do tonight.

  “Yes,” I say.

  Brooks then leads me to the table, scoops up the paper bag with one hand, and squeezes my hand in his.

  “All right, the tour,” Brooks says, smiling. “This detail is obvious, but you’re in the living room.”

  I take in the room, noticing the large, flat-screen TV hung over the fireplace, a mocha-colored velvet chaise sectional draped with a camel and gray plaid throw blanket. There is a huge, low-set dark mahogany coffee table between the sofa and two chairs. One is the perfect reading chair, a large camel-colored chair built for two and has a nickel floor lamp right over it for incredible light. The other chair is modern, a deep brown leather chair that is curved and has nickel legs with a matching ottoman. A row of windows overlooks the front porch and the hill, too, so I know this room has a lot of natural light in the daytime.