I can’t do much more than blink. His fingers tighten around mine and I choke out a couple words. “You do?”
“I do, and, uh, I’m sorry.” A couple of women come through the door, their laughter loud in the quiet room. “Hey, lesbians,” Ezra says. “Shush. You can plan your home remodel later.”
They get in line, reading the room, their laughter fading.
“You don’t have to apologize,” I say quietly.
“I absolutely do. I should have told you more, and sooner, and I shouldn’t have disappeared without saying goodbye.”
I have to blink fast. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. You deserve someone reliable, and I’ve been anything but.”
“No, really, it’s—”
“Just shut your mouth, Big D. To start with, I want to buy you breakfast.” Ezra’s more confident now, which is good because my mind has gone pretty much blank.
I haven’t let go of his hand and I tug him closer, for the simple reason that I want him closer. “You don’t need to buy me anything.”
He comes, taking hold of my other hand. “And then we can talk.”
The emphasis he puts on talk heats something deep in the pit of my belly. “I’ll have to go back to work here in a few.”
“Then we’ll make a date for later.”
My grin is so broad it’s stretching my lips tight.
“Y’all are my witnesses, okay?” he says, raising his voice. “I’m going to make every effort to be the kind of guy Damon Clemens wants to be with, for as long as he’ll have me.”
He looks at me from under his lashes. “Is that okay?” he asks softly.
“Yeah.” My voice is husky and I pull him close enough to get my arms around him.
“Kiss already,” somebody in the crowd calls out, to a general round of laughter.
I lift his chin with one finger and bend down, stopping just shy of his lips. “I think we can work something out, baby.”
He rises on his toes that little bit extra and then we’re kissing in the middle of the Brew at like ten thirty in the morning on a Friday, and it’s the best I’ve felt in a while.
Scattered applause makes it clear that others approve of our actions. Ezra tastes sugary sweet, like the last thing in his mouth was a cherry lollipop, and he smells more like lavender and lesslike cigarettes than usual. His lips part, our tongues brushing, but I don’t want to go too far at this time and place. He must have the same thought, because he breaks the kiss and leans against me, rubbing his cheek against my shoulder.
“Cat,” I murmur.
“Purr.”
The shriek of the steamer acts like a cue, interrupting our little moment, and the other customers return to their own worlds. I shoot the dude at the ER desk a text, letting him know I’ll take my long break now, and to message me if he needs me back sooner. As soon as I put my phone away, I take hold of Ezra’s hand again.
He doesn’t seem to mind.
We stand side-by-side in the line for Jett’s coffee. “You never texted me,” he says, and I give him a look.
“You mean after you blocked me?”
“I didn’t really block you.”
“How was I supposed to know? You didn’t respond when I texted you the other day.”
“Well, I mean, you waited like a week.”
