“Just so!” Lil lunged at him, her arms opening wide. Then she jolted back and dropped her arms to her side, like sticky mud had stopped her cold, and smiled a shy grin.
He leaned in to kiss her, inhaling her sugar scent as it grew stronger with his approach.
“Lord Devon!” A strong hand slapped him on the back, almost knocking him into her.
She steadied him and looked over his shoulder, around the circumference of the bar, and finally behind it.
Freddy, a cloth slung over his shoulder, grinned wildly at them. “Who have you brought me this night?”
“Miss Clarke,” Devon said, “may I introduce Mr. Frederick, the owner of this establishment. Freddy”—he turned whip-quick from the coffeehouse owner to Lillian—“and you must call him Freddy.” He addressed his friend. “This is Miss Lillian Clarke.” He raised her hand to his lips and gazed at her over her knuckles before leaving a light kiss there. “My fiancée.”
“Blow me down!” Freddy exclaimed, his meaty hands fisting on his hips and tossing his elbows akimbo. “A fiancée! You never hinted such a lady existed.” He cupped a hand around his mouth and looked out over the shop. “Mrs. Freddy! Come quick! Lord Dev’s got himselfa girl.”
“What’s new?” Mrs. Freddy called from across the shop. “Lord Dev’s always got all the girls. Ain’t that right, chaps?”
The entire coffeehouse cheered out. “Huzzah!”
Lillian laughed so hard she covered her mouth with both hands.
Devon crossed his arms over his chest and pretended to sulk. But if Lillian was not bothered by assertions of his prowess, he wouldn’t be bothered by it either.
“Well, how do you like it?” Freddy asked Lillian.
“Being engaged to Lord Devon?” she said.
“Mercy, no. That must be awful. I pity you. I’m talking about my coffeehouse.” Freddy puffed his chest out and surveyed the scene with pride.
“It is quite the most delightful place I’ve ever been,” Lillian said. “I’m rather put out with Lord Devon for only just now bringing me here.”
“Well,” Devon said, bracing a forearm on the bar, “I only just discovered I like taking you places. Speaking of which, I would like to take you to that private, shadowy booth in the corner.” He pointed across the room to the booth nearest the front window. “Will you bring us two Turkish coffees, Freddy?”
“Course I will,” Freddy said. “Be off with the both of you.” He leaned over the bar, though, and grabbed Devon's arm. “How’s it coming? Got the blunt yet?”
Devon licked his lips. “Not yet, but I will.”
Freddy straightened up and grinned at Lillian. “When your fellow buys this place, the missus and I are off for retirement. Tired of waiting, though. These legs are not getting any younger, but they sure are getting achy.”
“I’ll have it,” Devon grumbled. He threaded his arm through Lillian’s and tugged her across the room to the booth. He almost settled her across the way from him but then slid in next to her on the bench. She seemed to be grappling with something, and he knew what.
“You plan to buy this place?” she finally asked.
“I do.”
She sat up taller. Her eyes grew to the size of the moon, and she nearly vibrated with energy as her fingers clutched at his forearm. She pulled closer and peered into his face. “It all makes sense now. Your invention. Your unusual dedication to a beverage. You don't just like to drink the stuff. You want to peddle it!”
“It’s not just about peddling the coffee. Look around you.”
She did as he asked and enthusiastically, too. “Tell me what I’m looking at. I want to see it through your eyes.”
“So,” he said, “a coffee shop is not a pub, yes?”
She rolled her eyes. “That I can gather on my own. You do not have to explain this on a child’s level. Skip ahead a few years of understanding.”
He chuckled. “I merely ask the question to prompt comparison, nothing more.” He pulled at her earlobe for her. “I know just how bright you are. May I continue?”
She nodded.
“A coffeehouse is a place of conversation, as pubs are wont to be as well. Unlike a pub, however, there iscoherentconversation.”
