Page 13 of I Saw Her First
The doorbell rings again and I press my eyes shut. Oh well, here goes.
I pad to the front door and swing it open with a smile. “Hi, Daisy.”
“Hi.” She’s standing on the stoop under the torrential rain, and I quickly usher her inside.
“Shit, you’re soaked.” I dash into the laundry to grab a towel and spy my Yankees hoodie waiting to be folded after I washed it this morning. I snatch that up too and head back to the entry hall. “Here. Dry yourself off and put on something dry.”
“Thanks.” She won’t meet my eye as she takes the towel and hoodie from me. “Are you sure Jesse won’t mind me wearing his sweatshirt?”
Hissweatshirt? True, he’s stolen it from me a handful of times, but that hoodie is mine and always has been. I’ve worn that thing over the years until the cotton became softer than silk. On more than one occasion Lydia tried to give it away to Goodwill, but I always caught her before she could get it out the door. The memory makes me smile.
“Sure,” I say, side-stepping the question of sweatshirt ownership. I shouldn’t be offering Daisy my clothing to wear, but it’s too late. “Bathroom is down there.” I motion along the hall, and she scuttles off to change as I step back into the kitchen.
I place my hands on the cool marble countertop and take a slow, deep breath. Jesse shouldn’t be too long. I need to act normal until then. I’ve spoken to her hundreds of times—this doesn’t need to be any different. It’s not like I ever made any of my feelings toward her obvious, because I was downplaying them until I was ready to make a move. Thank God for that. In fact, she most likely has no idea. I’m just the guy who comes in to get coffee every morning.
Daisy enters the kitchen quietly, her dark hair swept over one shoulder, my hoodie falling to mid-thigh of her damp jeans. I wrench my gaze away.
“Jesse’s running late,” I say, my voice suddenly rough. I clear my throat. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Yes, please. Whatever you’ve got is fine.”
I glance back to find her fiddling anxiously with her cuff. She still won’t look at me, and I realize it’s up to me to break the tension here. I need to confront this head-on, or tonight will get us nowhere.
“So… this is a little awkward,” I begin, leaning against the kitchen island and folding my arms. “When Jess told me he had a girlfriend, it never crossed my mind it could be you.”
She emits an uncomfortable laugh. “Yeah, well, it didn’t click for me either. What are the odds, anyway?”
“Pretty low, I’d expect.” I shift my weight. “But, you know, I’m glad. I couldn’t imagine anyone better for him.”
“Thanks.” A rosy color dusts her cheekbones, but she doesn’t look up, and I sense she’s waiting for me to say something more.
“And things between us don’t need to change,” I add. “You’re still my go-to barista.”
She nibbles on her bottom lip. “Then why…” Her words trail off and she gives a shake of her head. I know what she’s asking, and there’s a tiny tug in my chest at the way she seems hurt by it.
“I had an early meeting today,” I lie, “so that I could be free tonight. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“I thought maybe… I don’t know. You felt too weird about it, or something.”
“Not at all,” I lie again. The lies are starting to pile up, but I need to do this. For Jesse.
Finally, she lifts her gaze to mine. Her eyes search my face as if looking for the answer to something, then she nods, letting her mouth tilt into a smile.
“Okay, well, I’m glad.”
The tension in my stomach eases a little, and I return her smile. “Now, what can I get you to drink? And don’t say ‘whatever I have,’ because you make me the perfect coffee every single day. It’s my turn to make you something you’d like.”
“Okay.” Her eyes shimmer. “I’ll have a Cuban Breeze.”
Oh, shit. Do I have everything I need for that? What does a Cuban Breeze even contain? Rum, maybe? I glance at my drinks cabinet, and she laughs.
“I’m kidding. If you’ve got red wine, that would be nice.”
I exhale a laugh. “ThatI can do.” I reach for a bottle of merlot from the wine rack and fish the corkscrew out of the drawer. The cork makes a pleasing pop as it releases, and I pour the wine into my decanter. “I should let that breathe for a few minutes, if that’s okay? That way you’ll get the best flavor.”
She lifts her eyebrows, possibly impressed, but I can’t be certain. “Sure.”
I grab a can of seltzer and pour it over ice for her to drink while she waits.
