“He’s not PQ,” I hissed at Leo.
The man raised an eyebrow at me in question.
“Sorry. I’m sure you want some coffee, and here I am with the mess and the staring and the obscure acronyms—”
Leo glared at me, which was his silent way of trying to get me to shut up. I had a real problem with not shutting up when I got nervous. It was probably my worst flaw, and I had a long list of those, so that was really saying something.
I jumped up and hurried behind the counter to stand at the cash register. “What can I get for you?”
He looked up at the menu above my head. Leo was the artist behind the chalk lettering of our menu. Back when my mom ran the shop, she used these snap-on letters that made the place look like a divey hamburger joint from the ’50s. Over the past year, Leo had suggested a lot of aesthetic changes, and I let him do his thing.
It had been a good choice. With a few small tweaks, we had turned the dated coffee shop into a kitsch hipster haven.
“How many shots are in your sixteen-ounce Americano?” Mr. Wide Shoulders asked in a deep and even voice. I glanced at his hand for a wedding ring. He wasn’t wearing one, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. He was likely some kind of business executive on vacation with a wife and kids back at the hotel.
“Two. But if you want more or less, I can do whatever. There are no shot rules, you know?”
Oh my god. Shot rules? What was wrong with me?
Mr. Wide Shoulders’s lips quirked up on one side, but not in a mean way. More of a sexy way. Or maybe everything about him was sexy, so I was misinterpreting him. “Well, let’s be thankful for that.”
He was teasing me.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Leo on the floor, mouthing I told you so. He still thought Mr. Wide Shoulders was PQ.
“I’ll have a sixteen-ounce Americano with three shots of espresso. And a croissant.”
I winced. We got our croissants from the only decent bakery in town, and they were always gone by noon. “We’re out of croissants, but I have a brownie or a blueberry bagel or a sugar cookie in the shape of a cat. I also have these little biscotti things, which are pretty good. Especially the chocolate ones. They have this hard chocolate shell that gets all melty in your coffee. It’s sort of like heaven in your mouth.”
His lips quirked up again. Apparently, I amused him.
“Well, since you recommend the biscotti so enthusiastically, I’ll have one of those. And I’m curious about the sugar cookie in the shape of a cat. I’ll have one of those too.”
Leo’s shoulders silently shook with laughter. Fucking bastard.
“Sure thing. Anything else?” I asked.
“I think that’s more than enough excitement for one afternoon. Thank you.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned the sugar cookie, but you never knew when someone was going to be into that. People loved cats. Also, people had kids, and kids loved both cookies and cats.
I needed to stop getting distracted and make this guy his coffee.
Luckily, I could make a triple-shot Americano in my sleep. I went through the motions of scooping up the espresso and hooking it up to the machine. Leo returned behind the counter with the tray and broken dishes.
“Shit, you’re supposed to be on your way to class already,” Leo said after pulling out his phone.
“What are you talking about? I don’t need to leave until three.”
He held out his phone to me. The screen read three fifteen.
“Fuck!” I said before realizing how loudly I’d just sworn in front of Mr. Wide Shoulders and the rest of the coffee shop.
His smile inched a little wider.
I stirred his Americano, then put a lid on it and handed it over. “Here. Sorry. It’s just that it takes me forty minutes to drive to school, and I have this professor who hates it when I’m late. Which is probably fair, but he’s really ornery, and his face gets all red when he’s mad at me—”
Leo glared at me, so I stopped talking.
“I won’t keep you. But if I could get the biscotti…”
Oh, right! And the cat cookie. I grabbed a biscotti from a glass jar by the espresso machine and reached into the tray of baked goods for the cookie, handing both to him in a paper bag.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Oh, yeah. Sure. Enjoy.”
He looked over at Leo. “Perhaps your friend can ring me up?"
I’d forgotten to charge him, just like I’d forgotten to charge the lady for her decaf. The day just kept getting more and more embarrassing.
Leo sidestepped to the cash register and typed in the order.
“Thanks, Leo. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
Mr. Wide Shoulders turned to me as I ran toward the front door. “I, uh, didn’t get your name.”
My name? Why did he want my name? To avoid getting coffee while I’m working? Or for a different reason?
“I, uh, Sanders. Well, technically, it’s Emmett, but I look nothing like an Emmett. Emmetts are all athletic and have big biceps and stuff. I’m not like that. I mean, obviously.” I gestured to my spaghetti-noodle body for emphasis.
“So Sanders is your last name?” Mr. Wide Shoulders asked.
“Um, also no. Sanders is the last name of the kid I sat next to in kindergarten. The teacher kept getting us mixed up, and she couldn’t remember his first name either, so she ended up calling us both Sanders. Then he moved away in the middle of the year, but the name sort of stuck.”
He let out a chuckle. “Fair enough. I’m Briggs.”
I almost asked him if Briggs was his first name or his last name, but I didn’t have time. I needed to get to class.
“Nice to meet you, Briggs. I should go,” I said.
“Right, the red-faced professor.”
“Yeah. Like beet red. I worry about the guy’s blood pressure—”
Right on cue, Leo glared at me.
“Bye!”
On my way out, I slipped on the coffee I’d spilled. Leo hadn’t gotten all of it cleaned up. I narrowly saved myself from falling on my ass by running into Mrs. Avery. She let out a concerning oof when I made contact.
“Sorry!”
She waved me off. “It’s quite all right. See you tomorrow, Sanders.”
“Yeah, later!”
On my way out the door, I noticed Briggs was watching me with an amused smile still on his face. It was a really good smile. I told my stomach not to get all fluttery over it, but my stomach didn’t listen.
What if Briggs was into guys? Surely he wouldn’t be into me…
I almost ran into the fire hydrant in front of the shop and reminded myself to focus. I had class to attend and a business to run. Daydreaming about handsome older men whispering, “I think that’s more than enough excitement for one afternoon” in my ear after mind-blowing sex was a waste of time and energy.
Just like the letter to Santa. If I was being honest with myself, I couldn’t afford distractions like that either. Even if it had been almost three years since I’d gotten laid.
That meant it had been almost three years since Mom had gotten sick too.
It seemed a lot longer than that.
I rushed to my old green Corolla and opened the driver’s door. All the doors had stopped locking properly a long time ago. The car smelled like Leo’s wiener dog, Sausage, and a hint of the peppermint air freshener I’d bought because of him. I grabbed the tree-shaped air freshener and waved it back and forth hopefully, but it didn’t make much of a difference.