Green Tea Latte To Go

by Ellis, Aven

  I kiss him back, my hands moving across his crisp blue dress shirt, and finding the back of his neck as his mouth continues his sexy exploration of mine. My heart is pounding. I feel hot. My mouth takes more from him, as a need to kiss him like I’ve never known takes over me.

  Finally, Brooks breaks the kiss and lifts his head. I draw a breath of air and gaze up into his eyes, and I see nothing but desire burning in them.

  He slowly lifts his hand to my hair, his fingers lightly tracing over the side braid, sending shivers of delight down my spine.

  “I like kissing you,” he murmurs, leaning down and pressing his lips against mine again. And even though it’s a sweet, brief kiss, heat courses through me from that simple touch.

  “Mmm,” I say after he kisses me, “I like that, too.”

  Brooks links his hand through mine and leads me over to his chair. He sits down and pulls me into this lap. I laugh, and he reaches over and grabs the blanket off my chair, wrapping it around me.

  “And I’m already in your lap,” I tease, linking my arms around his neck.

  “Well, you could go sit in your chair, but it will be a lot harder for me to kiss you that way,” Brooks says, cocking an eyebrow at me.

  Oh, the feels.

  “Is that what you intend to do? Kiss me?”

  “Repeatedly,” Brooks says sexily, cupping a hand on the back of my head and drawing my face toward his.

  And as our lips meet again, my heart knows there is no other place I’d rather be right now.

  ***

  Tonight has been perfect.

  Completely, wonderfully, magically perfect.

  I lead Brooks back to my apartment, his hand firmly locked around mine. It’s a stupid wee hour in the morning, and we both have to work tomorrow, but neither one of us cares.

  Because all we want is to be together.

  We spent hours on his patio, cuddling, talking, drinking wine and kissing.

  Oh, the kissing.

  I shiver happily, remembering each time his lips found mine. The chemistry, the excitement, the desire—all there. My lips are physically numb from kissing him so much.

  And I easily could have stayed on his lap all night if he would have let me.

  “I’ll walk you up to your door,” Brooks insists.

  He’s such a gentleman.

  I really need an app to keep track of how many times Brooks is making me have all the feels.

  And to think this whole night started because I wanted to talk to him about pets.

  Pets.

  Questions.

  Blog post . . .

  Shit!

  “Oh!” I gasp as we enter the building. “I forgot to ask you about pets for urban dwellers!”

  I feel my face burn, as I did say that was the purpose of our meeting tonight.

  Brooks laughs as I lead him up the stairs. “Come on, Payton. I know that was only a ruse to make out with me this evening.”

  “It was not!”

  “Have you ever written a pet piece before?”

  Dammit.

  I turn and face him as we reach the top of the stairs. “No, but I’ve never had access to an exotic vet before.”

  I watch as his brown eyes dance in amusement.

  “Oh, match point, Payton James,” Brooks teases, tugging me into his chest.

  “Shall I serve for the win?”

  “If winning means you kiss me, by all means. Please serve.”

  I grin as I wind my arms around his neck and he lowers his head so I can kiss him.

  “I think I prefer this kind of tennis,” Brooks whispers against my lips.

  I break the kiss and smile at him. “Me, too.”

  I take Brooks to my apartment and stop outside the door. “This is it. 421D.”

  “I can’t believe I’m at the residence of the world-famous blogger of Payton’s Take on Kate.”

  I blush. “Stop it.”

  “You have a global following, and that’s impressive.”

  “I’m not famous.”

  “I don’t know, you were going viral with Mr. Not Bacon at the beginning of our date.”

  “I don’t even want to look at my phone!”

  Brooks laughs and drops a kiss on my forehead. “It was cute. You’re cute.”

  Sigh.

  “I don’t want you to go home,” I admit.

  “I thought you said you didn’t do the full English on the first date.”

  “What? No! Not that,” I declare, feeling my face burn hot.

  Brooks laughs softly. “Did I say you’re cute?”

  “Yes. But you can say it again.”

  “You’re so cute,” Brooks whispers, smiling as he drops a sweet kiss on my lips.

  Mmmmmm.

  “All right. I have to go home. I need to get some sleep. I have a full schedule of patients tomorrow.”

  “Will you text me when you get home?”

  Brooks reaches up and strokes my hair. “Yes. And since I was a terrible interviewee, we should reschedule.”

  Oh, yes.

  “Yes, we should.”

  “As soon as possible. I know you have a deadline to meet with your post.”

  I can’t help but grin. “Timing is critical.”

  “Dinner tomorrow night?”

  I nod happily. “Sounds perfect.”

  A smile lights up his handsome face. “Good. We’ll make a plan tomorrow. But for now I’m going to say goodnight.”

  Brooks kisses me again, and I relish every second his lips are on mine.

  Finally he breaks it. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” I say, turning the key in the lock.

  I’m about to step in when he stops me.

  “And Payton?”

  I turn around. “Yes?”

  “Sweet dreams,” Brooks says, his eyes holding steady on me.

  Then he turns and goes down the stairs.

  I feel a ridiculous smile pass over my face.

  Sweet dreams indeed, I think happily.

  CHAPTER 12

  Today’s plan to improve myself item (cont.): Striving for eight hours of sleep each night is essential for optimal health and well-being.

  Result: Four hours of sleep is not optimal for writing a cohesive blog post on my adaption of Kate’s inspired, casual wardrobe pieces for summer. Especially at seven o’clock in the morning before I start my day with Courtney.

  Of course, I won’t be able to write about fashion until I answer what seems like more than a hundred messages about me and Mr. Not Bacon becoming an internet sensation.

  Yet how could I get more than four hours of sleep when I stayed up late texting with Brooks, and then not be able to sleep because I was thinking about Brooks?

  But was it worth it?

  YES.

  ***

  “Are you ready?” Whitney asks, holding her phone up to me to take a picture.

  I grimace. “It depends. Are you sure my dark circles are camouflaged well enough?”

  Whitney laughs. “Trust me, your readers won’t see it. They will be fixated on your Take On Kate outfit today.”

  I smile. I’m sitting outside Coffee By Jules, and I’m posing for pictures for both my Instagram account and blog. Whitney—and her amazing artistic eye—is working as my photographer at this early hour of the morning. She is also my makeup consultant, as Whitney is obsessed with makeup products. So today she blended some MAC Studio Finish concealer under my eyes and swore it did the trick.

  Luckily, she allows me to pay her in cherry mocha lattes for both her services.

  And Lord knows I needed the dark circle coverage. Lack of sleep always shows up on my face.

  But if lack of sleep means staying up texting with Brooks, I’m all for it.

  I can’t help but smile. He texted me when he got home, and we texted for another hour. Finally we said goodnight for a second time, and then I couldn’t sleep, as all I could think about was Brooks. How we talked. Laughed. Connected. Kissed.

/>   Oh, how we kissed.

  Nothing felt as right as sitting in his lap, his arms around me, stroking my face and touching my hair and kissing me as if he treasured me. Pure magic. And as I think of it, a tingle shoots down my spine in response.

  “Turn your head a little bit, as if you are gazing off at a shop across the street,” Whitney says. “And put your hand on the latte mug.”

  I do as she says, my mind still thinking about Brooks. When I woke up I received a text from him, one wishing me a good morning and that included a pic of Angus and Mycat Holmes waiting for him to serve breakfast with the caption “Only you get beans and eggs at this house” and emojis that included a pig, a cat, and eggs.

  And my heart pretty much melted before I even managed to throw back the covers this morning.

  “Now think of sexy Dr. Brooks on the count of three,” Whitney says, interrupting my thoughts. “Oh, wait, you’re already doing that if the gooey smile on your face is an indication, never mind.”

  I burst out laughing, and she takes a pic.

  “You did that on purpose,” I say, smiling.

  “Yes, but now you appear exuberant to be having a latte outside in your navy-and-white striped top.”

  “Maybe I’m exuberant because it’s sunny today and not drizzling.”

  “No. I think it definitely has to do with a hot vet in scrubs.”

  I feel myself blushing. “I haven’t seen him in scrubs yet.”

  “I bet he’s super hot in scrubs,” Whitney declares, taking another picture. “Okay. Why don’t you open your planner and write something? Like, ‘I heart Brooks.’”

  “Would you stop?”

  Whitney laughs, and I flip open my planner.

  “Besides, it was one date,” I force myself to say. “I think it’s going to take a lot for Brooks to want more than casual dating.”

  I think of what happened with Isla and how badly he was hurt. I know Brooks will move slowly because of that. And it’s going to take someone perfect for him to want to be in a relationship again.

  Of course, this is a crazy notion to entertain at this point—we’ve had one date and we’re having number two tonight—but I’m already starting to have feelings for him.

  But I think of how my family thinks I’m silly, how I’m not like Sophie, and I wonder if I could be enough for Brooks as I am. Or would he not take me seriously someday like my family? Wish for someone with broader interests? An intellectual?

  “Hey, don’t start skipping down the yellow brick road of self-improving thoughts,” Whitney says, jarring my thoughts.

  I blink. “What?”

  Whitney puts down the phone and takes the seat across from me at the sidewalk table. “I know you. And I see the wheels turning in that head of yours. Brooks likes you. You don’t need to be anything but what you are.”

  I shake my head. “Why do you think self-improvement is a bad thing?”

  “I don’t, but I’ve never seen anyone put the kind of pressure on themselves like you do, Payton,” Whitney says gently. “You’re amazing as you are, no massive improvement plan needed.”

  I smile at her. “You know I disagree with you.”

  “I do,” Whitney says. Then she flashes me a huge smile as she takes a sip of her cherry mocha. “And someday we’ll have a self-help book burning bonfire when you come over to my side.”

  We both laugh at that.

  Buzz!

  “Oh, is it your sexy vet? Ask him if he’s in scrubs,” Whitney declares.

  “Shut up,” I say, flipping over my phone. “Nope, a text from Courtney.”

  I read it:

  A local TV channel wants to interview you about taking care of Mr. Not Bacon! They found the vet clinic in the background and the clinic passed the message on to me. I think you should so you can promote your blogs. We can talk about it on our walk this morning. After we talk about your date last night.☺

  “You won’t believe this,” I say, looking up at Whitney. “A TV station wants to interview me about Mr. Not Bacon!”

  Whitney furrows her brow. “But you’re not a pig expert.”

  “No, but maybe they want to go with the concierge angle and what odd things I do. Like taking a pig to the vet. I can mention my blog when I talk to them,” I say, my brain once again turning. “This would be fantastic exposure.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” Whitney agrees. “You can tie it all together. Like this is one of your jobs, but you are a blogger, and if you can get them to put up your info, score!”

  “Ahhh, I’m so excited,” I say as I text Courtney back. Then I put my phone down.

  “You know what? I think your life is about to change. All for the better,” Whitney declares.

  “I think it already has,” I say, smiling.

  ***

  “Payton, I still don’t understand why you are running around town with livestock,” my mom says.

  “Mom, Mr. Not Bacon isn’t livestock. He’s a mini pig,” I explain, talking into my hands-free device as I head toward Courtney’s house.

  “A mini pig? He’s the size of a Labrador!”

  I’m not going to bother to explain that a teacup pig is a myth, because Mom probably won’t believe me, but it’s true. Brooks explained this to me during Mr. Not Bacon’s vet appointment. Piglets grow up. Sometimes to be the size of big dogs. However, I don’t think this is the point of Mom’s call this morning.

  “Mom, he’s not livestock. My client isn’t going to eat him. He’s a pet. And he’s wonderful. Pigs are amazing creatures. I had no idea how amazing until I got to be around some.”

  There’s silence on the other end of the line. Then a heavy sigh. I begin the mental countdown to a Google reference. Five, four, three—

  “Payton, when your father and I sent you to college for an education, we really aspired for your life to be more than writing about throw pillows and pig handling. Are you sure you don’t want me to contact Vanessa? Her husband knows a lot of people, and I’m sure he can get you some kind of an interview at Google.”

  Wow. First time we made it to three. Usually I get to two. The whole livestock pig wrangler angle must really have her concerned.

  “Why? Do they need a pig walker at the Google corporate campus?”

  “Please be serious.”

  I stop at a red light. “Mom, I am serious. I’m going to prove to you that being a blogger is important. I make people happy with my words, why can’t you understand that? And I’ve explained this over and over, I make money from advertising. It’s no different than running a magazine in that way.”

  “Sweetheart, I’m saying this because I love you. This is delusional speak. Do you honestly think at twenty-one you know what it takes to run a business? No, you don’t. And you can’t build a life on this! This isn’t realistic. College has been over since December. You need to think of your future. You’re playing around now, but pretty soon you will be losing valuable time that could be spent building a real career.”

  Anger flickers through me. That’s what this is all about. I’m just silly Payton with the absurd pretend job who needs to grow up.

  “I am thinking of my future,” I say firmly.

  “You’re walking pigs.”

  “So?”

  The light turns green, but my emotions remain red as I move forward with traffic.

  “Do you seriously want to be walking pigs for the rest of your life?”

  “No. I’m going to shift to dog walking. There’re more of them in Seattle, it’s a more profitable profession. The pig walking is kind of limiting career-wise.”

  I can hear my turn signal click-click-click as my mom is silent.

  “Someday I hope you and I can have a rational discussion about this. But since you refuse, I’ll let this drop.”

  I don’t say a word. I’ll prove to her my job is important. I’m running it as a business. It makes me happy. It makes other people happy, as Brooks pointed out. I’ve connected people around the globe and friendshi
ps have been formed because of me.

  My career matters.

  And I’ll make my family see that.

  ***

  “I’m so happy we’re doing this,” Courtney says excitedly as we head out of the garage and onto the driveway.

  I can’t help but think of how insane this must look to people who don’t know Courtney. She has Jacob and Madison in a dual stroller. She has Mr. Not Bacon on one leash in her other hand. I have been assigned the task of walking Bailey and Bella. She’s wearing leggings, has her long brown locks up in a messy knot, and has on a long-sleeved T-shirt that says “Messy knot, Starbucks, Target #Momlife.”

  And now we’re going to take a stroll through the neighborhood as if this is the most natural thing to do in the world. Walk two children, two dogs, and one mini pig. It would only be more awesome if I had a cat or ferret to walk, but I won’t give Courtney any ideas.

  But even without a cat or ferret, I’ll have another viral video up by lunch, I muse.

  “Are we ready?” Courtney says happily.

  “Walk!” Jacob commands, popping a fist full of Goldfish crackers into his mouth.

  I laugh. “The man means business,” I say.

  Courtney grins as we take off down the driveway. “This fills me with so much joy. My own little zoo going for a walk, just like I dreamed about.”

  I love the happiness in Courtney’s voice. It’s so obvious she loves her family very much.

  We head down the street and a car comes by to pass us. Except the car slams on the brakes and stares right at Courtney, as if she’s a mirage.

  “Is that a pig?” the woman yells out, an expression of shock on her face.

  “Not bacon!” Jacob cries gleefully.

  “Yes, he’s a pig,” Courtney says cheerfully. “And no, he won’t be bacon. He’s one of my babies.”

  “This is the craziest thing I’ve ever seen! Can I take a picture?” the woman asks.

  “Sure,” Courtney says, stopping to pose.

  She snaps a picture, asks Courtney a few more questions, and then drives away.