by Lisa N. Paul
“Hey”—his voice deepened as he took her palm—“look at me. You need to know the reason I took a step back was because I knew I couldn’t go in less than one hundred percent with you. Last night, we decided to see where this could go, so you need to know, the words I say to you are yours and yours alone. I’m not some punk who’s going to quote himself to get laid. I’m also not out to gain recognition or fame. If I was, the path I chose would look very different from the one I’m on.” His eyes softened, as did his tone. “How about we table this conversation until we each have some coffee and a comfortable place to sit?”
“Sounds good.” His lap looked kind of comfortable. Eyes up, Wren. Keep ‘em up.
“So tell me something.”
Wren giggled. “The grass is green.”
Logan shot her a quick glance. As he returned his eyes to the road, he squeezed her knee, making Wren squeal with laughter. “Now that was informative.”
“What?” Wren asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
“You’re ticklish. Which is extremely good to know.”
“You can’t just ask someone to tell you something. It’s a ridiculously broad question.” Even as Wren spoke the words, she already disagreed with her statement. The man had broken the ice perfectly. “But since you started it, you tell me something.”
“Hmm, there are so many somethings I want to share, but the one I’m most proud of is my music schools.”
“Music schools?”
“Yeah, have you heard of Shades of Music?”
Wren nodded. “I may have heard about it a couple of times, but I can’t remember exactly.” There was no good reason for the sliver of guilt she felt, but it seemed to be there anyway.
“It’s okay if you don’t know about them.” Logan squeezed her knee again and smiled when she squeaked. “It’s a place where school-aged students come to not only learn how to play instruments but learn how to play together as a team.” Logan’s face became animated as he spoke about something that he clearly loved. There was no mistaking the passion in his voice. “We may have officially formed our band when we were sixteen, but most of us were jamming together when we were a lot younger. I’ve known Marcus and Smith since we were five. The rest of the gang entered the fold by the end of middle school. We practiced in garages and basements—which was great, very retro—but looking back, I wish we’d had a place where we could have gotten instructive guidance and the opportunity to be with our peers. That’s what Shades of Music offers—guidance, support, and kids having a great fucking time.”
“It sounds like you love what you do.” Wren averted her gaze, picking at a piece of lint on her coat.
“I really do. When it was clear that the first school was not only successful but unable to handle the demand, I opened a second location. And just this past year, a third one. So basically, I’ve been living, breathing, and eating work. It’s challenging as hell, but I love it.”
“That must be really nice.” What must it feel like to love what you do? The thought crossed Wren’s mind at the same time as she saw a familiar street sign. “Wait, we’ve been in the car for nearly fifteen minutes, and we’re only a few blocks from my house. Are you lost?”
“Lost?” Laugh lines framed his brown eyes as his lips ticked up in a grin, making her pulse race. “I know exactly where I am going, Wren. I just liked having you to myself for a bit. Guess I wanted to see how long it would take before you noticed we were just circling around.”
She probably looked like an idiot. She was so into him that she probably would have gone hours without noticing had they not broached a topic that made her uncomfortable. Then again, her list of uncomfortable topics was long, so maybe fifteen minutes was their limit no matter what.
After whipping into a spot in front of Stella’s Coffee Café, Logan put the car in park and turned to face Wren. “Look at me.”
Shoving all thoughts of work and unfulfilled dreams back into the box she stored them in, Wren gave her attention to Logan. It amazed her that so much gentleness could exude from such raw masculinity.
“I’m profoundly lucky to wake up every day and do something that makes me happy. Judging by the look on your face, you don’t share the same fate. Now, you’re smoking hot, Wren. Stunning really, but I’m not just interested in your face. So how about you open up and tell me what is it you do that makes your gorgeous smile disappear.”
Does he expect actual words to come out of my mouth after a speech like that? “I… uh… I work at a small garment factory in Fort Washington—”
“Oh, where we were Thursday night. What factory?”
God, she hated answering that question. Not that it wasn’t a perfectly honest job, but it sure as hell wasn’t where she thought she’d be at twenty-four. Dropping her gaze, she mumbled, “Under Your Wears… it’s an underwear company.”
The car was quiet. Wren hadn’t looked at Logan when she dropped the business’s name, but with the eerie silence, she had no choice but to turn her head. Maybe he didn’t hear what I said. Or maybe he’s such a nice guy that he won’t laugh. As that thought drifted through her brain, her thigh began to shake. To be more accurate, the hand on her thigh shook. In fact, the whole arm attached to the hand shook while the entire body vibrated. Logan must have felt Wren’s glare, because less than a second after her gaze landed on his face, the quiet vibrating turned into a burst of laughter.
“You’re laughing at me!”
“Yes.”
“That’s so rude.” Yet even as the words left her mouth, Wren found herself smiling as well.
“Wren, people have walked the green mile showing more enthusiasm than you did just now.”
He wasn’t wrong. There had been days when the thought of execution did seem a better option than returning to work. Arching a brow, Wren asked, “You know a few people on death row, huh? Should I be concerned?”
As Logan threw his head back against the headrest, Wren became addicted to the deep, rich sound of his laugh.
“I promise, you’re safe with me,” he said between breaths.
“Well, you won’t be safe with me if I don’t get some caffeine. I only had two cups this morning because I knew we were having a coffee date.” She pointed at the shop. “I’m lucky, this is my favorite place.”
“Hmm, that is lucky. I drive past it all the time but never stopped in before. I’m more of a Dunkin Donuts coffee guy.”
“Then what made you choose Stella’s today?”
Logan looked out the windshield and shrugged. “Like I said, never been inside, but something about the outside reminds me of you.”
For as little time as they’d known each other, he seemed to know her quite well. Warmth grew in her belly as his words sank in. Once again, he wasn’t wrong. Stella’s cornered the market on the kitschy coffee shop atmosphere. From the pastel exterior to the old-fashioned sign, nothing about Stella’s screamed franchise and everything whispered welcome.
“The staff is great. Really… patient.” She felt the heat in her cheeks but refused to acknowledge it. Instead, she unlatched her seat belt, grabbed her purse from the floor, and moved to open her door. Before her hand got to the handle, Logan was at her door and assisting her from the car. “Thank you, Logan.”
“My pleasure, Lucky.”
*
If the delicious smells inside the cafe didn’t validate Wren’s claim that Stella’s was the place to be, the line of patrons certainly did. The first floor of the two-story shop was fitted with retro dinette sets, each occupied by customers enjoying the atmosphere as much as the products they consumed. The bakery case, while similar to most other coffee houses, held baked goods and sandwiches that, unlike franchises, were clearly baked from scratch on the premises.
“What do you recommend?” Logan asked as he perused the menu board.
“You can’t go wrong here.” Wren reached into her bag and pulled out the familiar black ball. “My go-to drink is the caramel macchiato, but when the ball suggests I try th
e special I get that instead.” After one quick question, it was decided that she would order the coffee special of the day.
Her toy determines her caffeine fix, Logan thought with an inner smile. Wren Jamison was quite the anomaly.
“The coffee of the week is usually on the board by the counter and changes each Sunday. When we get closer, we can see what the ball thinks I should order.”
The line moved at an efficient pace, and within minutes, the two of them were close enough to see the board.
“Oh no. Shit.” The color drained from Wren’s cheeks just as quickly as tension cloaked her shoulders.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” Logan followed Wren’s line of vision to the Coffee of the Week board, and written in multicolored chalk were the specials.
“There are three choices,” she whispered just loudly enough for him to hear. “Not once in the year since they’ve been open have they had three fancy coffee specials.” Her voice got even lower as if she was speaking only to herself. “As if it isn’t hard enough to choose between the muffins and the croissants, but now the coffee? Double shit.”
Logan would have laughed had she not looked truly unsettled by the situation. Their conversation from the night before entered his mind. She’d admitted to having difficulty making decisions. She couldn’t possibly mean something as little as picking out which coffee to drink. Right?
With one customer ahead of them in line, he had plenty of time to help her choose a coffee. “Let me help…”
But Wren already had her Fortune Eight Ball gripped in her fingers. “Should I order the salted caramel supreme?”
–Ask Again Later–
She read the response out loud then said, “Oookay.”
The crinkles on the bridge of her nose were kissable, but with the guy in front of them paying for his beverage and the line behind them long, Logan decided to hold off on the kiss until their order was complete.
“Should I order the peppermint latte?”
–Very Doubtful–
Wren bit her lip and looked apologetically at the barista, who smiled graciously. “Should I order the toffee mocha?
–Reply Hazy Try Again–
Mumbling had begun behind them when Wren didn’t place her order and got steadily more obnoxious as the seconds ticked by.
“What in the hell?” a man snapped from behind them in line.
“Sir,” the barista chided, her tone firm but her face friendly, “we’ll open another line if you give us a minute.”
While Logan completely understood the frustration of the patrons who wanted nothing more than their morning java, he could only imagine Wren’s embarrassment. How she managed to focus on what she needed to do in order to get her needs met evoked Logan’s protective desires in ways he had never experienced.
“Jesus Christ, lady, what the hell is the matter with you? It’s coffee, not religion. Pick a drink, and move the fuck on.”
Maybe Wren could ignore the asshole harassing her, but Logan had reached his limit. “You speak to her that way again, and there won’t be enough religion to protect you from me. You’re waiting for coffee, not brain surgery, so back the hell off.”
The barista glared at the agitated man behind Logan. “Sir, I will ask you to leave if you make another rude comment.” The guy crossed his arms, and the barista narrowed her eyes and said, “Don’t test me.”
The man, along with the rest of the crowd, quieted but continued to huff and puff while moving into the second line. Wren seemed to ignore them as she hemmed and hawed.
“I’m really sorry about this,” she said to no one in particular. “Give me just a couple more seconds.” Wren’s cheeks flushed pink as she spoke to her ball again. “Salted caramel supreme?”
–Without A Doubt–
Closing her eyes, Wren exhaled loudly. “May I please have a large salted caramel supreme, a bottle of water, and a croissant?”
“Sure, Wrenny, and for you, sir?”
“Large coffee, black, one sugar, and a muffin, please.”
Wren looked up at him for the first time since the ordering began. Her smile was apologetic and pure.
“What kind of muffin do you recommend, Lucky?”
“Give him the blueberry, Stella. They’re one of my favorites.”
Stella… the patient woman behind the counter wasn’t just a barista but the owner of the establishment. Interesting.
“You got it, hon. Coming right up.”
With coffee and pastries in hand, Logan followed Wren up to the second floor of Stella’s. To his surprise, while the old-fashioned feel traveled up to the next level, the seating plan was entirely different. Gone were the small tables and wooden chairs, and in their place were low, old-school tables and loveseats covered in mismatched chintz fabrics. If Stella’s goal was classic and comfortable, the woman had hit the nail on the head.
“Eew.” Wren scrunched up her face as she swallowed her coffee and wiped her lips. She immediately tore off a piece of croissant, chewed it, and swallowed that as well. “That drink tastes horrible. I’m not a huge salty-sweet fan, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but yuck.”
He was baffled. “Wait, if you knew you weren’t going to like it, then why did you order it?”
Wren shrugged. “That’s what the ball chose.”
Logan rubbed the back of his neck, trying his best to understand what he had just witnessed. “The ball was wrong, so you ordered coffee you knew you weren’t going to enjoy. I don’t understand that.”
“What if I had tried that drink and loved it?” Wren’s tone firmed. “The ball leads me in the right direction, so I follow it.”
Her unwavering faith in the children’s toy was mystifying. However, he didn’t want to think about the ball when her warm smile was grabbing his attention. “Look at this place. I never would have expected this.”
“I know. It’s great up here, right?”
Some of the tables were already occupied, but before Logan could claim an empty table, Wren beelined to the far corner of the room. Her determined expression told him that that spot was more than just an open area. When she set her things down and lifted her face, the satisfaction he saw, even from across the room, shouted that that tiny area was her little slice of heaven. And damn if he didn’t want to join her there. Logan shed his coat, draped it on the club chair facing the loveseat, and held out his hand in a silent request for Wren’s coat.
She shook her head. “I’m still a bit chilly, so I’ll wear it a little longer.”
“Guess it’s safe to assume this is your favorite spot up here?” Logan asked as he settled onto the cozy two-seater and reached for his coffee after handing the bottle of water to Wren.
“It is now.” She wagged her brows and sipped her drink. The smile on her face was too big to be hidden by the water bottle. He must have given her a questioning glance because she took a deep breath, exhaled, then explained. “Look, I can’t begin to imagine what you must think about me. I mean, I’m a twenty-four-year-old woman who follows the advice given to me by a Fortune Eight Ball. What you saw downstairs…” She chewed on her bottom lip as if she was deciding whether or not to continue. “Logan, that wasn’t abnormal for me. One of the reasons I come here to Stella’s is because she and her staff are so kind. They seem to really like me.”
“How do you know?” He had no doubt the staff adored her, but he was interested to hear her response.
“Are you kidding? I know because they haven’t killed me yet. Stella is a saint, but as you saw, she doesn’t take shit from anyone, paying customer or not. Anyway, for nearly a year, I’ve been coming here. Most of the time it isn’t as bad as it was today because there’s usually—”
“Only one fancy coffee choice,” Logan finished, enjoying the smile she rewarded him with.
“Correct.”
He set his coffee on the low table and turned his body so that it completely faced hers. Only a handful of inches separated them, and her sweet vanilla sce
nt stirred his body and loosened his tongue. “Let me let you in on a little something. I have never before met anyone like you.”
Wren’s brows lifted. “I’m not surprised to hear that…”
He stared at her. He needed her to stop speaking and listen. After all, he knew, in his sane mind, they had practically just met, but something in his gut screamed that he shouldn’t let her slip away. He wasn’t sure what his expression said, but it was enough to silence Wren so he could continue to speak. “You said you couldn’t imagine what I thought about you. Thing is, you don’t have to imagine because I’m gonna tell you.”
She inhaled and her chest froze, the air trapped inside as if she was bracing for ugliness but trying hard to hide it. The ache in his chest only confirmed that what he was about to say was nothing more than the honest truth.
“Breathe.” He eased the cup from her grip and set it next to his before sliding his thumb under her chin and lifting it so their eyes met. “I like you a lot.”
“Okay…”
“Oh, Wren, that was a complete thought. No buts, no caveats. Just stating a fact. The first night we met, I was attracted to you. The way you danced, how your body moved, your smile. All of it was hypnotic. But as strong as the physical attraction, being around you, laughing with you, enjoying you for those hours really hooked me.” Logan wasn’t sure if Wren noticed that she was nodding to everything he was saying, but it pleased him nonetheless. “I was pretty let down when you pulled the Houdini act that night. What am I saying? I was fucking frustrated. I could have sworn I saw the same interest reflecting back from you. For three weeks, I questioned whether or not you were even real. Of course Smith had no problem reminding me that you were flesh and blood, just not into me.” He tried to hide the grimace those words caused but could see the sympathy on her face.
“When you showed up on Thursday night, when I saw the desire and attraction was mutual and then you admitted to what happened, Christ, I didn’t know what to make of that,” he continued. “I wanted you, yet I wasn’t sure I could trust you to stick around. I guess that was another reason I didn’t call on Friday or Saturday.”