He shot her a grateful look down the table, and she winked at him in reply as if to say, Don’t worry. I’ve got this.
Bryan picked up his own card. It was short and anonymous with questions to be rated on a scale of 1–5, strongly disagree to strongly agree: I thoroughly enjoyed my coffee. I thought it was too strong. I thought it was too weak. This is the style of coffee I like to drink for pleasure. (On that one, he wondered what other option there was . . . what you drank for pure caffeination?) I would buy this coffee for use at home. I would order this coffee at a local shop or restaurant. At the bottom, a final question: What is your favorite coffee drink?
Melody and Rachel brought out dessert then: flourless chocolate cake with a dusting of confectioner’s sugar and fresh raspberries. He suspected that Ana had coordinated the offering with them to complement the drinks. There was no denying that chocolate and coffee were a magic marriage of flavors.
When the guests had gotten mostly through their desserts, he and Ana went back to the bar and started pulling two shots at a time for the cortados: a drink served in a double shot glass with equal parts milk and espresso. It was a nice way to show off the flavor of the beans while still appealing to those who couldn’t handle the bitterness of an undiluted shot. Ana worked the Bezzera espresso machine like a pro, the years away obviously not dampening her memory or her touch for it. He took these out two at a time while she made them, so they’d be piping hot when they hit the table, then thought to collect the cards and pass out another round for the espresso.
He dipped his head to whisper as he passed, “You make coffee look sexy.”
She flushed, but she didn’t miss a beat in tamping the grounds and placing the portafilter into the group head. “Back atcha.”
He couldn’t help himself; he reached out and squeezed her waist, his thumb tracing a trail across her lower back . . . just as Rachel walked back through the door. Her eyes lit on their position and widened, followed by a sneaky grin.
“Uh-oh,” he whispered. “I think the jig is up.”
Ana twisted around, almost spilling the finished espresso shot, but Rachel had already moved on. “Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure.”
Ana sighed. “Was it too much to ask for twenty-four hours to ourselves?”
“In this group, probably.”
“Fine.” Her voice took on a resigned tone that stung a bit, and she added the steamed milk to the last two cortados. “We’ll deal with that later.”
Bryan’s euphoria of a moment ago dissipated as he walked back to the table and placed the last two shots in front of Rachel and Melody. He shouldn’t let it bother him. Ana simply didn’t want other people getting into their business. But maybe that wasn’t the entire truth. She’d resisted him for the longest time because she thought he was a player . . . and honestly, he couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t given her any reason to think otherwise, with the long parade of pretty and sometimes vapid dates. He’d just thought she understood that he’d changed, that he wasn’t that man anymore, that he didn’t want to remember that man.
Or maybe it was far simpler than that. She dated men like Adrian—polished, rich, intelligent—not former climbers who lived at home with their parents while they tried to make a dubious business venture work.
She was fine with stolen kisses in the roasting room, but didn’t necessarily want to be on his arm in public. And while he wished that were enough for him, watching her take her place with her friends at the opposite end of the table, for the first time he knew for certain . . . he wanted more.
Chapter Twenty-Three
THE SUPPER CLUB GUESTS cleared out, but Ana stayed behind the counter, cleaning the machine and returning the bar to the state in which she’d found it. In truth, she was avoiding the discussion that she knew was going to follow as soon as her friends got her alone.
But Rachel and Melody went back to the kitchen to clean up and wash dishes and get the bakery ready to open the next morning, so Ana came out to the table where Bryan was sorting the comment cards into six different piles.
“How are they?” Ana asked. “Judging from everyone’s reactions, I’m guessing overall positive?”
“For the most part.” Bryan looked up and smiled at her, and a little part of her annoyance melted. She slid into the seat across from him and pulled a stack of cards toward her. These were obviously the high-scoring ones of the drip batch, because almost all the circled numbers were fives.
“Six out of twelve said it was excellent. That has to make you feel good.”
“Yeah, but six out of twelve didn’t.” He pushed the other two piles toward her.
She picked up the first card. This person’s impression was lukewarm, but the last response clinched it: their favorite drink was an iced blended mocha. She flipped through the rest and saw a similar trend: Frappuccino, white chocolate mocha, dirty chai.
“This is totally fine,” she said. “That’s why I added the control question. The people who were iffy about it are the people who really don’t drink coffee so much as they drink sweet caffeinated drinks. If you serve them a cup of black coffee instead of a mocha, they’re not going to love it. Their taste buds are calibrated for the sugar.”
“I noticed that too,” Bryan said. “Similar trend with the cortado. It’s not a drink that non–coffee drinkers are going to be familiar with.”
“All this tells us is that you know your target market.” She reached across the table and squeezed his wrist. “This is encouraging, Bryan. We’re on the right track.”
His mouth tipped up at the corner. “Thanks to your foresight.”
Ana shrugged. “It’s my job. Trust me, I threw this together at the last minute. I hate to miss an opportunity to gather data.”
A clatter in the kitchen made them jerk their heads toward the swinging door, startled. Bryan folded his hands in front of him. “So, what do you want to do?”
“About what?”
“About them. Alex already knows. He saw me watching you and figured it out. He’s a mind reader.”
Ana sighed. “I know. I didn’t really think we’d be able to keep it quiet, but I was hoping . . . Anyway, I’ll tell them tonight. They’re not going to let me out of here without an interrogation.”
Bryan nodded thoughtfully. “Well, since we aren’t sneaking around anymore, how about having dinner with me next weekend?”
Ana blinked. “I can’t.”
He chewed his lip for a second, obviously turning something over in his mind. “Are you embarrassed to be seen with me, Ana?”
Ana’s jaw slackened. “No! Why would you ask me that?”
“You don’t want our friends to know and now you won’t go out on a date in public . . .”
“That’s not the reason!” The words spilled out of her in a rush. “I literally can’t. I’m going to California for my dad’s birthday next weekend. I’m leaving on Friday and I won’t be back until Sunday night.”
He laughed, relief threaded through the sound. “Oh. I thought . . .”
“No! Not it at all. I’d love to go to dinner. Wednesday maybe?”
“Good. Wednesday it is. I’ll close down early.” He rose from the table and gathered his cards. “I’m going to let you get to it and look over these at home. See you back at the roastery sometime this week?”
She nodded and got to her feet too. He gathered her to him and kissed her softly, tenderly. And despite the fact they were in public, that her friends could walk in at any moment, she wrapped her arms around his middle and kissed him back.
“See you soon, Ana.”
“See you.” She stood there, watching him walk out of the café, her heart feeling unexpectedly fluttery. Yes, they’d spent a few sweet hours kissing in secret, like forbidden first love, but this was the first time he’d kissed her in public. The first time he’d acted like her boyfriend.
“So . . .”
Ana spun and saw Rachel and Melody standing in the doorway, grins plastered
on their faces. “Guys—”
“Is there something you’d like to tell us, Ana?”
Her face flamed with heat and she plopped back in her chair. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
Melody got there first, sliding into the seat across from her. “It is a huge deal. You and Bryan! Seriously, this has been so long in coming—”
“Mel,” Rachel said quietly, and Melody probably realized that she wasn’t helping matters. She shut her mouth and leaned back in her seat, but she was still grinning widely at Ana.
Rachel joined them, a tiny smile playing on her own lips. “When did all this happen?”
“Yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” Melody burst out. “I can’t believe . . .”
Rachel silenced her with another look. “Is it serious?”
Ana shook her head. “No. I mean, not yet. I don’t know.”
Rachel thought for a long moment. “I know Bryan seems to be pretty tough and flippant, but he’s actually kind of a sensitive guy.”
“Are you really telling me not to break his heart right now?” Ana asked. “The guy who has had a string of women and barely avoids getting slugged in bars by ex-girlfriends’ brothers?”
“Oh, I haven’t heard this story,” Melody said. “Do tell.”
Rachel ignored her. “He doesn’t look at them like he looks at you. Like he always has. I’d venture to say he’s been waiting for you to turn his way since he met you, but you haven’t shown any interest. Just . . . be careful.”
“I’m always careful,” Ana said automatically.
“With him.” Now Rachel let herself smile. “I care about both of you. He’s like a brother to Alex, and you are practically my sister. I want both of you to be happy.”
Ana shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Why did the weight of this relationship—if you could even call it that—fall on her shoulders? “I expected you guys to have my back.”
“We do,” Melody said. “Always. It’s just different when we’re all friends.”
“And that’s exactly why I didn’t want anyone to know.” Ana shoved back her chair and began to collect her things. “We like each other. He kissed me. That’s all this is, guys. Don’t make it into something it’s not.” She hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. “I’ve got to go.”
“Ana, we’re sorry,” Rachel called after her. “We didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Who’s upset?” Ana threw back. “Just . . . let us figure this out on our own, okay? If there is a relationship, it’s between me and him, not me and him and the rest of you.”
She didn’t wait to hear their response, just let herself out the café’s front door and crossed the street to where her SUV was parked. The cool air hit her face, dissipating some of the angry heat gathered there. She hauled herself into the car and slammed the door, then just sat there in the dark, breathing in and out. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to yell or cry, and she couldn’t figure out why either of those were options in the first place. She knew her friends meant well, so she had no reason to be angry . . . and the crying part was so out of character for her that she’d almost forgotten what it felt like.
And then she knew why the tears felt like an option. The look on Bryan’s face when he’d thought she was turning him down for dinner, coupled with Rachel’s warning, made her feel like a terrible person. She hadn’t meant to be abrupt, and she really didn’t want him to feel bad. She just wasn’t sure how to handle the situation.
She hadn’t had a real, legitimate relationship since she was eighteen, and that had ended in a total disaster that she was still living down.
Ana pulled out her phone, then composed and deleted messages to Bryan until she settled on I don’t really feel like being alone tonight. Want to watch a movie or something?
The bubbles started dancing, indicating his reply. Sure. Did you have something in mind?
She pulled up the movie app on her phone and flipped through the late-night options, but everything was either too violent or too steamy. You want to come to my place? Just for Netflix. No chill.
Almost immediately, his response: Understood. With you I have no chill anyway.
She laughed out loud at the reply. He was clever; she’d give him that. See you in 30 then? He might not know it, but she was making a statement—not to him, not to her friends, but to herself.
* * *
Ana’s stomach jumbled with nerves while she waited for Bryan to show up at her place. Which was silly, because women had guys over to their place all the time without anything happening. But those women weren’t her. As far as she knew, she’d never actually had a man in her apartment . . . well, ever.
Wow. That was kind of sad.
It was also understandable. She worked so much that she was rarely home, and when she dated a new guy, most of them never made it past the first date, much less the one-month, definitely-not-a-murderer threshold. But this was Bryan. She’d known him for two years. They were a part of each other’s solar system, not planets but satellites that circled around other bodies and managed to intersect once in a while. Which was maybe the nerdiest reference she could have possibly come up with.
She had herself thoroughly worked up by the time the knock came at her door, and she opened it with a nervous jitter in her middle.
“Hey.” He bent down to lightly kiss her hello, but that was it. He moved past her when she held the door open and lifted a paper bag. “I didn’t know what you had in mind, but in my opinion, you can’t do movie night without popcorn and candy.”
The nervousness vanished. It was so sweet and normal and silly that she couldn’t remember what seemed so daring about this invitation. “Of course you can’t. Microwave?”
He pretended to look shocked. “Never microwave.” He dug in the bag and pulled out a glass jar of popcorn. “This is fair trade, organic, grown on a fifth-generation family farm. And, I suspect, picked kernel by kernel by angels, considering what they charge for it. We can only make this the old-fashioned way.”
“I’ve got pots in the kitchen.” She gestured toward the space just to the left of the entryway. “You might be the first person besides me to ever use it.”
Bryan sobered as he looked around. “Wow. This is amazing, Ana. I had no idea.”
“Yeah, you really can’t tell from the outside. But it has a great view too.” She swept a hand toward the windows, to where downtown was spread out before them in a sparkling carpet of lights.
“Why didn’t you host when Rachel needed a place for the supper club? This is every bit as nice as Alex’s place.”
A niggling bubble of guilt surfaced. She’d considered it, of course, but the idea of having a lot of people in her private space, strangers traipsing through her sanctuary, had been enough to give her a panic attack. “With my job, I don’t like anyone knowing where I live. I’m repairing the reputations of people who sometimes don’t deserve to have them repaired. And there are those who are pretty unhappy about it.”
Bryan looked at her closely, real concern etching his face. “Have you ever been threatened?”
“Not with anything more than nasty letters and phone calls to my office, fortunately. Occupational hazard.”
She went to one of the cabinets and pulled down a large stainless-steel pot, set it on the commercial-style range, then searched in another cabinet for a big jar of coconut oil. “I’m assuming we need butter too?”
“You assumed right. Got a measuring cup and spoon?”
She found one for him, and Bryan scooped coconut oil into the heating pan, then dropped a couple of kernels into it and shut the lid. “Test kernels. When they pop, we know the oil is hot enough.”
“Interesting.” She cocked a hip against the counter. “Do you know how to cook anything else?”
“Nope. Pretty much popcorn and coffee are the extent of my culinary skills. Though I do make a fantastic turkey sandwich, if that counts.”
“Kind of.” She smiled as she watched him measure the ke
rnels. What was it that drew her to him? He was the exact opposite of anyone she’d thought she might want. He was good-looking, yes, in a boy-next-door-meets-surfer sort of way. He had a body carved from rock—she could have figured that much from having her arms around him, even without having surreptitiously checked out his magazine spreads and videos online. That would probably be enough for some women, but good-looking, well-built guys were a dime a dozen, whether in Los Angeles or Denver.
The first kernels popped and he lifted the lid to dump in the rest, then shook the pan, she assumed to coat them with oil. He looked completely at home in her expensive kitchen in his T-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops, his attention focused on what was going on inside the pot.
No artifice. No trying to impress. Just being exactly who he was and hoping that it was enough for her. He hadn’t even tried to gloss over his past behavior to make himself look better, just explained how he was different now, how he wanted to leave that past behind. She worked in a business where everyone tried to be something that they weren’t, paid hundreds of thousands of dollars to craft an image. By contrast, the public and the private Bryan were exactly the same.
She might be able to trust a man like that. She might even be able to love him.
“Do you have a big bowl?” Bryan asked, oblivious to the thoughts skittering around in her head.
“Yeah, right here.” She absently opened yet another cabinet to reveal a big ceramic bowl. He took it down and set it aside while he tossed the hot popcorn with a few pats of soft butter, then poured it all into the bowl. “Here we are. Did you have any idea what you wanted to watch?”
He was taking her completely at her word, that he was there for movie-watching only. It was so sweet that she had a hard time repressing her smile.
He cocked his head at her. “What?”
Heat warmed her cheeks. “I really like you. You’re a good guy.”
Slowly, a smile spread across his lips, transforming his features. “I’m getting pretty fond of you myself.” He took her hand and pulled her closer, then bent to kiss her. The only parts of them touching were hands and lips, but she felt the warmth through her entire body. Happiness.
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