Marcy’s smile fell slightly, “Um, we don’t have almond milk. I can get you—”
“Coffee is good,” I said with a smile, cursing myself for making Marcy feel less than adequate.
“Same for me,” Jason said, setting a twenty on the counter when Marcy turned to fill two coffee mugs with a dark brew.
She slid the mugs toward us on the counter and tried to give Jason his change. He held up his hand in protest and then turned to find a seat before she could push the issue.
“Guess you take your coffee like you take everything else,” Jason said. “Complicated as hell.”
Was I supposed to feel bad for wanting almond milk? “Yeah, and you take yours black like the color of your soul,” I said, genuinely annoyed that he thought so little of me. “Are you always this judgmental?”
Jason sat back in his chair, his jaw clenched tighter than usual. After another moment of contemplation, his eyes hit mine and he exhaled. “I’m sorry. That was rude of me. You can have whatever damn coffee you want,” he said, looking down at his mug as soon as the words were out. Then he smirked, just slightly so that the left side of his mouth lifted in a sexy, private manner. “Besides, I like my coffee with cream and sugar.”
I grunted and rolled my eyes, tossing a sweetener packet his way.
He didn’t like being wrong and it didn’t look like apologies were his favorite either. I already knew Jason was a proud man, but maybe he had a soft side, too.
“So, do you want to get started?”
We were the only people in the coffee shop, but we were sitting far enough from the counter that Marcy couldn’t hear us over the soft music playing overhead. The table Jason had picked was old and wobbly. Kids had scratched their names on it over the years so that there were hundreds of phrases like: “Kaley loves Alex” and “Ava + Nick 4ever”.
“My name is on one of these somewhere,” Jason admitted, leaning forward to inspect the graffiti.
“Seriously?”
He nodded. “I’ve lived here my whole life. That’s why I kept the ranch even though I stay primarily in LA now.”
I’d assumed as much since Derek had said he’d met Jason in high school, but it was an interesting piece of information nonetheless.
“What does your graffiti say?” I asked, tracing a pink heart that was scribbled next to my coffee cup.
The edge of his mouth curled up. “I think it said something like ‘Jason Monroe is a douche’.”
If I’d had coffee in my mouth, I would have spit it out everywhere. Instead I just started cracking up.
“What? Really?”
He smiled wider. “I was an ass in high school. I thought I was too cool for this place and all the girls who lived here.”
“Shocker,” I said, reaching down for my coffee.
He chuckled and shook his head of the memories.
Feeling a shift in the conversation, I reached into my purse and pulled out a blank pad of paper and a pen.
“So, do you want to start brainstorming about the type of song we want to write?”
He contemplated the question for a moment, staring at the pad of paper.
“I guess so. It seems weird to think of it like that. I usually just write what’s on my mind.”
I nodded, “Same here. But since we’re two heads and not one, we’re going to have to communicate on things we normally wouldn’t.”
He nodded. “Okay, so we never decided the actual topic.”
“I don’t normally do that. I think of most songs like a fictional story, especially since there’s hardly ever real song-worthy drama going on in my life,” I said, staring out the window to watch a black sedan pull up in front of the coffee shop. Like a clown car, paparazzo after paparazzo hopped out with their giant lenses attached to cameras around their necks. I bristled at the sight of them. They were expected in LA, but the few days I’d been in Montana had apparently reset my bullshit meter because I was not happy to see them.
“Marcy?” Jason called with a sharp tone, glancing over to where she was standing behind the counter, eyeing the paparazzi.
“I didn’t call them,” she swore, her gaze sliding to me with a plea. Poor Marcy. I wouldn’t blame her for their presence. They probably had drones or something by now.
The paparazzi weren’t allowed to come into the establishment, but they could stand outside and pound the glass in an attempt to get Jason and me to look over at them.
“Fucking ridiculous,” Jason said, downing the rest of his coffee in one swallow.
His anger surprised me, and my need to keep the peace surfaced immediately.
“It’s okay. Let’s try to get some ideas on paper and then we can head back to the ranch.”