I’m sure Andrew hasn’t given me a second thought since I saw him earlier in the week, but I’ve found myself unable to stop thinking about him. He’s like a pesky open tab in my brain that my hard drive refuses to shut down.
I arrived ten minutes early to ensure I wouldn’t be late, and I raise my hand and wave to get his attention when I see him walk in the door. He wears a pair of dark jeans and a collared shirt with what I guess is a cashmere dark grey V-neck sweater over it, sans jacket. It’s unseasonably warm today, so I opted for a sweater instead of a coat too.
Andrew makes his way over, and it doesn’t escape my notice how a few nearby women turn their heads to watch. One blatantly stares at his ass. When I catch her eye, I raise an eyebrow. She looks chagrined and instantly turns around. Mission accomplished, though I don’t know why I found the need to be overprotective.
“Have you been waiting long?” he asks as he slides into his seat.
I always forget about his accent when we’re apart, so upon first hearing it again today, it feels like warm honey being poured over my body.
“No, I was a little early.” I push back my chair and stand. “What do you want to drink?”
“I’ll get it.” He starts to slide his own chair back to get up, but I raise my hand.
“I’m capable of getting us a couple of drinks. It’s not like this is a date. What do you want?” I’m pretty sure I said the date thing more as a reminder to myself than for his benefit.
“Americano, please.”
“Huh.”
A line forms between his eyebrows. “You don’t know what an Americano is?”
“I do. It just doesn’t seem very British of you. Figured you’d order a tea.”
“Well, I won’t tell the monarchy if you don’t,” he deadpans, but there’s a flicker of light in those stormy eyes that says he’s well aware of how funny he’s being.
I bring my hand to my chest in mock surprise. “Did you just make a joke? I didn’t think you were capable.”
He rolls his eyes, and without another word, I turn and walk over to the counter to order his Americano and my caramel macchiato.
A few minutes later, I return with our drinks and slide his across the table.
“Thank you.” He nods.
“Don’t mention it.” I give him a small smile then lean to the side to grab my notebook from my bag. “Thanks for meeting me today.”
“I’ve been waiting for my marching orders.”
“Are you excited to find out what help I need from you?” I rub my hands together like some evil villain hatching a master plan.
“Not in the slightest.”
I chuckle and raise my cup to my lips, taking a small sip so I don’t burn my mouth. Even with the sip, I realize they gave me the wrong drink. When I look up, Andrew is staring at me. “What?”
“Why’d you make that face?”
My forehead wrinkles. “What face?”
“The one that looks like you just sipped water from the East River.”
“It’s nothing. They just gave me a café latte instead of a caramel macchiato.” I shrug.
“What’s the difference between the two?” he asks.
“Pretty much just the caramel.”
“Why don’t you go up there and ask her to fix it?”
I wave him off. “It’s not a big deal. She’s busy. I’ll just drink it. I probably don’t need the extra sugar anyway.” I smile wide to show him it’s okay, even though I miss the sweetness and flavor of the caramel.