Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
“I’m meeting Leighton in a few minutes,” I say, trying not to give away my amped-up feeling.
Birdie’s eyebrows shoot sky-high. “Are you seeing her again?” she whispers, eyes gleaming.
“Relax, no.”
She pouts. “Then why are you meeting her?”
I shrug, keeping it casual. “She wants to discuss something. I don’t know what,” I add before she can ask.
Birdie gives me a long, scrutinizing look. “But you think it’s a date.”
“No, I don’t,” I scoff. “Why would you say that?”
She grins smugly. “You’re dressed for a date, you keep checking the door, and you’ve got that ‘I’m trying hard to look good for the woman I can’t get over’ vibe.”
I scowl, annoyed she’s hit the nail on the head. “Don’t pretend you can see into my soul.”
“It’s not hard. You’re transparent,” she says, seeming completely unfazed.
“And you’re trouble,” I mutter. “Besides, nothing’s happening. Same deal as before. I’m focused on earning the chance to be co-captain.”
She pats my hand. “And you will.” Then she gives a subtle nod toward Kendra, smirking. “Want me to set you up with her then?”
I roll my eyes. “Is that your way of getting back into The Underground Grandma Matchmaking Society?”
She laughs. “Please. I was reinstated the moment I matched a couple of my regulars. This shop is basically my own dating app.”
I shake my head at her antics. “Just don’t meddle with this, okay?”
With a knowing smile, she nods toward the door. “Darling, here comes your favorite match.”
I turn to see Leighton walk in, looking effortlessly put together, and my heart jumps. That’s seriously inconvenient. I remind myself she’s not mine. She can’t be mine.
She makes her way over, flashing a small grin at me before turning a brighter smile on Birdie. “Hey, Birdie! How did the Earl Grey lattes work out on social? I hope everyone flocked here after those pics.”
“With the showgirl latte art in them, no one could resist.” Birdie waggles her plucked eyebrows. “Want one?”
Leighton chuckles. “You know I’m a green tea girlie.”
“Live a little. I promise—if you love tea, you’ll love my Earl Grey lattes.”
Leighton’s eyes catch mine with a hint of amusement. “Does she always get her way?”
“Every single time,” I say.
Birdie grins. “Perfect. One espresso and one Earl Grey latte.”
As she sets to work making our drinks, I turn to Leighton. “Let’s snag a table. I’ll grab the drinks when they’re ready.” I pause for effect. “Even the vile one.”
She laughs lightly. “Thank you for keeping its vile-ness from me.”
“Of course, Leighton. I’ll always protect you from coffee drinks.”
“Like I once said, you’re gallant.”
Her references to the day we met go right to my head. They’re not romantic inside jokes, I remind myself and gesture to the back of the café. “After you.”
Leighton walks ahead, and yeah, I’m not going to lie—the view’s nice. But Leighton’s like a Christmas tree in the middle of a department store—she looks good from any angle.
She picks a table tucked into the back corner, away from the chatter closer to the sparkly counter. Retro photos of showgirls decorate the exposed brick walls, adding to the vibe. The scent of coffee mingles with vanilla and cinnamon. Whenever I come here, I hardly ever want to leave.
Leighton sits, and I join her and notice her fingers tapping lightly on the edge of the table. She’s focused but seems a little distracted.
“How’s your day going so far?” I ask. Manners come before curiosity, after all.
“Not too bad. Yours?”
“Can’t complain. Training camp starts tomorrow.”
Her posture straightens, and she flashes a cheery smile, but there’s something professional about it that pings my radar.
“That’s what I want to talk to you about,” she says.
Scratch that. The radar is screaming. Before I can ask, Birdie calls out, “Hot chef!”
Leighton laughs, her eyes brightening with a warmth that makes my chest ache. “She’s so very Birdie.”
Dragging a hand down my face, I mutter, “She is.”
I head up to the counter, grab our drinks, and shoot my grandmother a look. “Did you really need to use that nickname?”
“It amuses me.” With a sly smile, she sets a plate with a caramel toffee bar onto the tray. “And here’s a little something special on the house. For the two of you.”
“Birdie,” I chide, low, a warning.
“What?” she asks, feigning innocence.
“You’re playing matchmaker again.”
She waves a hand dismissively. “Oh look, I see other customers. Bye, bye.” And with that, she hustles over to the register.
I shake my head, bringing the drinks and pastry back to the table and setting the tray down. “A little surprise from Birdie.”
“For the hot chef,” Leighton teases with a hint of softness.
“For us,” I correct her, sliding the plate to the center of the table.
We share a look that lingers longer than it should, and I feel that familiar pull between us, something warm and charged we’re both trying to deny. Leighton picks up her Earl Grey latte, admiring the swirl of foam shaped into a woman high-kicking. “Almost a sin to drink it.”