Standing in the hall, fist poised to knock, was Brendon. Cradled in the nook of his right elbow was a white, nondescript box.
“Brendon. Hey.” She stepped aside, waving him in. “What brings you by?”
“Believe it or not, I was in the neighborhood.” He hefted the box a little higher. “On Saturday mornings, Margot—Elle’s roommate, I’m sure you’ve heard of her—and I go rock climbing at a gym near the Seattle Center. Then we swing by this bakery on Roy Street and pick up pastries before heading over here for breakfast with Elle and Darce. It’s turned into a tradition. Like game night, which I’m sure Darcy will tell you all about.” He flipped the box around, opening the lid. Oh, sweet Jesus. Inside were at least a dozen flaky-looking pastries, all golden brown, the heavenly aroma of butter and fruit preserves wafting up to her nose, making her stomach grumble. His lips twitched. “I know Darcy’s out of town, but it’s hard to break a habit. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
Mind?She had to swallow so she wouldn’t drool. “Yeah, I’m so offended right now. How dare you bring me something that looks this delicious.Rude.”
He laughed and stepped past her into the kitchen, setting the box on the counter. “The marzipan roll’s my favorite, but I have it on good authority the white chocolate cherry Danish is damn good, too.”
She plucked the cherry Danish out of the box, eager to digin. She moaned around her first bite, flushing when Brendon grinned. “’S good.”
So good it almost rivaled the pastries she’d gorged herself on the last time she was in France.
“Told you.” He snagged a marzipan roll and leaned his hip against the counter beside the evil espresso maker.
He was wearing a simple T-shirt with a giraffe on the front. The words above it proclaimedGiraffes have ginormous heartsand a speech bubble above the giraffe’s mouth added,I care a lot. The cotton hugged his biceps, drawing her eyes to his arms. His pale skin was sprinkled with light brown hair and a smattering of freckles that crept up the side of his hand. His long fingers wrapped around his pastry, the tendon in his wrist flexing beneath the cross of dark blue veins.
She finished chewing and swallowed, tearing her eyes from his muscled forearms. “So. Rock climbing, huh?”
He dusted his hands off over the sink. “Margot got me into it.”
Her eyes darted to the door. “Is Margot coming?”
He’d said this was their tradition, after all.
“Nah, she had other plans,” he said, leaving it at that. He jerked his chin in the direction of Darcy’s foyer. “Were you headed out?”
She nodded, eyeing the box of pastries, the almond croissant calling her name. Maybe he’d split it with her. “I was about to scout out the closest Starbucks.”
Brendon made a choked sound and stood up straighter, shaking his head. “You’re in Seattle. You can do better than the swill they call coffee.”
Swill?She coughed. “Snob.”
“They over-roast their beans!” His hand moved in front of his body as he gesticulated zealously. Powdered sugar dusted the room.
“Don’t hurt yourself.” She nodded at the espresso machine behind him. “I’m guessing I have you to thank for buying Darcy that infernal contraption?”
She certainly hadn’t owned it when she’d roomed with Annie. Not to mention, Darcy didn’t strike her as the type to own something so frivolous. As far as Annie knew, Darcy had been Team French Press. Maybe moving to Seattle had changed her, but Annie thought it was more likely someone else was responsible for the coffeemaker. Someone like Brendon.
He pressed his lips together, chin quivering. “Infernal contraption?”
She narrowed her eyes. “That is, by far, the nicest thing I’ve called it this morning. I spent ten minutes mopping espresso off the floor after it overflowed my mug. The buttons are incomprehensible. You shouldn’t need a manual to make a cup of coffee.”
“You push the button with the coffee cup on it and then set the dial to six, eight, or twelve ounces,” he said, lips twitching.
Her face warmed. When he put it like that, it sounded straightforward.
“Or I could pay someone four dollars to do it for me. Plus, they have cinnamon dolce syrup. Darcy does not.”
His face scrunched in obvious distaste. “Over-roastedandoverpriced. You’re killing me. You’re going to pay four bucks for burned bean water?”
She smirked. “Burned bean water with milk and sugar.”
Brendon shivered in mock horror. “No way. Absolutely not.”
“Excuse me?” She wasgoingto get her coffee come hell or high water.
“You heard me. I can’t in good conscience let you settle for Starbucks while you’re in Seattle. I’ll show you good coffee.”
