Grounds for Romance (The Coffee Loft Series: Fall Collection)

9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Zara

I toss my phone onto the couch to stop looking at it. He’s late. Did he stand me up?

My reflection in the hallway mirror reminds me of how I spent my afternoon. Trying on a dozen different outfits, watching three different YouTube tutorials on makeup, and guilting Aurora at the beauty shop for an emergency afro touch up.

Maybe it’s not a good idea to pursue a romantic relationship with a man who I need as a stand-in for my pitch. If things go sideways, I could lose my last best chance for my pitch.

Calm down.

I think back to the text Devon sent.

Devon - clocking out, on my way.

That was fifteen minutes ago. It’s only a five-minute walk.

The buzz from my phone causes me to leap over the back of my couch. I knock two of the perfectly placed throw pillows to the floor.

Devon - two minutes out.

I exhale. He’s not ghosting me . He’s Devon. He probably got lost, or his foot got stuck in a sewer grate or something.

I place my phone on the small coffee table and retrieve the pillows from the floor. I only adjust them six times this time before taking a step back. They’re perfect, arranged the way I originally saw them in the Homes and Architecture spread a year ago.

The buzz of the bell has me racing to the door. My apartment is small but cozy. I’ve spent a lot of time decorating it and love every nook and cranny.

My hand rests on the doorknob, and I close my eyes. He’s here to help me with the pitch. The pitch. I remind myself to focus. As much as every fiber in my body wants to smother Devon in kisses, I can’t risk having this escalate faster than we’re prepared for. Tonight is about business and getting to know each other.

Then and only then will I allow myself to enjoy a good night kiss.

“Yikes,” I squeak when he knocks on the door. Really smooth, Zara. I swing it open and immediately break into a laugh.

Devon is standing there with a bouquet of flowers between his teeth, a plastic bag hooked on one wrist, and a bottle of what looks to be wine. He’s holding two pizza boxes, with three other bags resting on top of the boxes. His balancing act explains why he’s late. I doubt he can see two feet in front of his face.

“What’s all this?” I grab the bouquet from between his teeth. He follows me into the apartment, and I point to the kitchen counter for him to place the food.

He lays the bags along the counter, and the apartment fills with the scents of garlic, soy, and roasted onions. “Spicy is such a broad category. I realized what if I picked the one dish you don’t eat. I can’t have you starve because of my mix-up—you know me; that’s kind of my brand.”

With his hands finally empty, he steps next to me; a side hug and kiss on my cheek is gone too soon. He strides back toward the food, and I stand there, mesmerized by the moment. He’s here. In my apartment. And I don’t carry a smidgen of nerves.

It’s like he’s been here a hundred times before. Like this is a typical Tuesday night of him grabbing takeout on his way home from work. Something I don’t recognize tugs at my heart as he stops next to the pizza box and looks up. Our gazes lock, he flashes a half-broken smile, and I wonder if he’s experiencing the same wave of emotions that threatens to drown me.

“Everyone loves pizza, so I started there. But I had no clue which toppings. I had them prepare two pies, one with caramelized onions, the other with jalape?os—you know, the whole spicy theme.”

He gives me the most adorable smile and waves at the boxes. “About an hour before clocking out, I got into my head again. I remembered you eating the turkey sandwich in the café. So, I ordered a turkey club and a turkey on rye, both with hot peppers and spicy mayo. When I went to pick them up, I saw the Chinese takeout next door and grabbed a chicken and broccoli and a veggie stir-fry.”

“Devon… this is…”

“I know. I overthink things…”

I step to him, taking his hands into mine. “I was going to say… this is so sweet.” I tip up from my bare feet and don’t hesitate to break the one rule I’ve set for tonight. I kiss him.

It’s a ghost kiss of appreciation on his lips, but the flicker of desire in his eyes lets me know I’ve just shifted the entire trajectory of this evening. I brace for his response.

“Your place looks amazing. But it’s nothing compared to how beautiful you look tonight.”

Well played, mister barista. Gone from Devon is the nervous energy that seems to always sit on his shoulder in the café. I have a choice. I can pivot us back to what we should be focusing on, or I can do this. “Why don’t you open the wine to let it breathe, and I’ll find a vase for your beautiful flowers.” I don’t step away. I don’t make a move to find a vase. Not with him in front of me, looking at me the way he is right now.

Not when it’s been six months since I’ve last had a man in my apartment. “Can I ask you something?”

His gaze lowers from my eyes to my lips, his intent easily read. “Anything you desire.”

I’m shameless. My attraction to him is too overpowering to be stopped by logic. “Do you mind changing into those shorty shorts from last night and let me ogle you while we eat?”

His happy smile extends all the way to his eyes. Bullseye. He takes a step back, his gaze taking me in. After nearly an hour of trying on outfits, I settled on a red and white striped top and a simple black skirt that falls just below my knees.

“I missed you in the café this afternoon.” His sincere words melt my heart. “I’m at least five hundred glances behind my daily count. I’ll wear the shorts if you allow me to stare right back.”

“You sure all you want to do is look?” I’m recklessly playing with fire.

He licks his lower lip, a confident move that destroys the image of a bumbling barista in my head. “I think we both know the answer to that question, but I promised myself on the walk over tonight that I’d be on my best behavior.” I’m not sure how he does it, but he delivers the line with the experience of a man comfortable around women. It’s delivered with the care of a man who has my best interest at heart. All it does is make me want him more. “Let me get you through your pitch. After you win, we can revisit this conversation.”

I don’t possess his restraint or skill. “You sure you can last that long?” I hear the disappointment in my voice and pray he doesn’t.

“Just eight thousand glances away.” His eyes sparkle as he takes another perusal of me from head to toe and back again. “Seven thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine.”

I feel the heat in my cheek, another blush forming. My gaze takes in his Coffee Loft T-shirt. “You changed your shirt?”

He nods. “You hated the one I wore earlier.” He closes the distance between us. “When you look at me, I always want to see joy on your beautiful face. I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen even if it means tossing my favorite T-shirt in the garbage.”

“You threw it away.”

He runs a finger up the length of my arm. From fingertip to shoulder. His touch is gentle, skilled, and it sends shivers through me. “For you. Yes.”

I close my eyes to prevent my confused mind from overreacting. He says he wants to take things slow this week, yet his touch tells me something else. I feel his finger underneath my chin and know he’s in front of me, just a kiss away.

I don’t open my eyes. I can’t. I don’t have his restraint. I don’t have his experience. He flipped the script on me again. Being with Devon is like being on the greatest rollercoaster ride in the world. One minute, I’m squeezing the safety bar with all my might, praying he doesn’t trip and spill boiling hot coffee on me. A second later, he takes his time, building sexual tension with words, with an accidental brush of his finger against my heated skin. My pulse climbs to an impossible pace. At the top of the climb. The highest point in the entire park. I can see forever. I can feel forever. Everything I could imagine in front of me for the taking. All I have to do is open my eyes. All I have to do is remain brave. All I have to do is believe.

I want to kiss him.

I want to pull him into a hug and forget all about the pitch for one night. I want him to abandon his I’ll wait a week persona.

But I don’t do that.

I can’t.

My sister’s voice invades my head. Every warning and lesson I’ve drilled into her now ringing in my own head.

If it seems too good to be true…

I open my eyes and sure enough, his nose is less than an inch from mine. His look of desire clouds when he takes in my gaze.

The words are out my lips before future me can warn me of the consequence. “Devon? Who are you?”

****