Tempting(47)

Nathan: You didn’t reply to my email. I was hoping for some clarification from you.





I was too Goddamned tired to trifle with forming any kind of intelligent response, so I ignored it for the moment and got ready for work.

Two hours into my shift at the coffee shop, I was beginning to lag. After writing down the wrong orders twice and getting questioning looks from my coworkers, I was on the verge of telling them I had the plague just so I could go home.

“Large soy mocha, half-sweet.” I pushed the empty cup into my coworker’s hands after handing back the customer’s change.

The next girl in line hemmed and hawed over what to get, asking me what was in our cinnamon spice chai and when I dully replied, “Tea and cinnamon,” she seemed to have an epiphany, ordering the chai with extra cinnamon.

I wrote her order on the cup and passed it to the next available employee, blowing the hair out of my eyes after she left the register. I angled my head toward my left shoulder and then my right, feeling a very dull satisfaction from the aches. I’d washed my body clean of his scent, but the memory of his touch lingered, especially in the marks he’d left on my skin. The bite on my neck especially screamed his name. I’d attempted covering it with makeup before giving up, praying the collar of my work shirt would hide the bulk of it.

During my break, I splashed freezing cold water on my face in the bathroom and redid my hair. The bags under my eyes were more pronounced than they’d been when I’d woken up. There would be no helping them, but I squeezed eye drops into my eyes to hide some of the redness. My listlessness was echoed in the way I moved; slowly like I was in need of a hip replacement.

After exiting the bathroom and returning to my shift, I almost didn’t notice. I was so focused on staying awake for the walk to the register that I nearly disregarded the way my surroundings had changed since I’d entered the bathroom. I raised my head, my eyes connecting with the pair of eyes I’d been thinking about all fucking morning.

Nathan. The word formed on my lips upon meeting his gaze. I was rooted to the spot right behind the patisserie case, holding his eyes like I was physically incapable of doing anything else.

He looked good—damn him—if maybe a little tired. The circles under his eyes weren’t as pronounced with his tanned skin, but in his eyes I saw it all: fatigue, remorse, expectation, desire. His body radiated a calmness that I envied.

He blinked, long black lashes sweeping over the tops of his cheekbones like he couldn’t believe I was here.

“Adele.”

The voice wasn’t his. I whipped my head toward the cash register, coming out of that shared moment with Nathan to where my head should be: at work.

“Are you just going to stand there?” a coworker asked.

I swallowed and shook my head, swiftly making my way to the register and my eyes focused down.

I smelled him before I saw him: that warm and spicy scent that was tied so closely to the memories of him I liked the most. My traitorous eyes lifted, meeting his. It was alarming, having him within touching distance when the one thing I couldn’t do was actually touch him.

“Wh-what can I get you?” I squeezed my eyes shut briefly, feeling out of my element for the first time. Why was he here? What did he want?

“Ah.” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans and gave me a moment’s respite as he scanned the board. “Just a medium coffee. Light cream.”

I wrote the order on the cup and hesitated on writing his name. Initially, I’d written “Nathan.” But my pen had hovered over that last ‘n’ a moment too long and I crossed through it roughly before shoving it in the trash and grabbing a new cup. Deftly, I wrote, “Prof. Easton” on the cup and passed it off to one of the baristas.

When I rang up his total and he handed me a five dollar bill, I felt my hands shake as I plucked it from him, careful not to make contact. When I reached my hand over to give him his change, his fingers curled around mine as I deposited the coin into his hand. My eyes snapped to his before darting away. He let go and I backed away. “Have a nice day,” I said dismissively.

Nathan looked to the barista making his coffee before he leaned forward. With a low voice, he said, “You didn’t reply.”

It took my brain a minute to catch up. His email and text.

“I was busy.”

He nodded slowly, licking his lower lip as he contemplated my answer.

“Do you…” his voice dropped off as he glanced at the only barista behind the counter with me, who was currently focused on pouring cream into his cup. We were running out of time to reasonably maintain a discussion and I was happy to prolong the moment. Tired Adele was more vulnerable than I’d expected.