Except, of course, when it gets the better of me and I just give in.
CHAPTER FIVE - Samantha
Chris and I wait to place our coffee order.
“Why did I agree to this?”
“Because every other morning we go where you want to go. And because I have to get some work done today. And because you love me. And because I love this place. Is that enough? Or do you want me to keep going?”
Chris rolls her eyes and sighs like I’ve just asked her for a kidney. “You’re lucky all of those things are true or we’d be outta here.” She leans to the side and looks around at the guy in front of us. “What’s taking so long?”
“Shhh,” I say, looking around to make sure no one is listening to her gripe. It appears no one is. Everyone is either messing with their phone or their iPod or flipping through the paper as they wait. “I happen to like this place and would rather not be forever shunned because I brought a whiner in with me. In-line harassment is not on the menu.”
“I think they’d be doing you a favor if they shunned you,” she whispers loudly.
Ignoring her, I glance ahead at the familiar face behind the counter. His name is Sean and he’s a barista.
Or baristo. Or whatever the masculine version of a barista is. If there is one. Let’s just say he’s the guy who makes and serves me coffee on a fairly regular basis.
This shop is one of my favorite places to come when I need to get some work done and don’t want to sit at the house.
When we finally make it to the counter, Sean greets me enthusiastically. “Hey, chica! What’s it going to be today?”
“Hi, Sean. Um, I hate to admit it, but I’m going to be predictable today. This is like comfort food to me.”
“Predictable? So you want the usual? A grande nonfat cinnamon dulce with extra whip?”
I smile. “You got it!” I look to Chris. “What do you want?”
“Umm, I think I’ll have the same,” she says, suddenly agreeable as she turns on a bright smile for Sean.
I have to work to hold back my snicker. Chris is happy with Greg, but she’s an incorrigible flirt. What I’ll have to tell her later is that she is soooo barking up the wrong tree.
“Go sit,” he says. “I’ll bring them out.”
I pucker my lips at him and he mimics the action. We both smile and I turn to get napkins, and find me and Chris a table.
Sean is very handsome. His hair is dark and his skin is golden, and he has a delicious accent. He’s discernibly Latin. Some might think he’s flirting with me. I happen to know he prefers blonds instead of red heads. Blond men, that is. That doesn’t bother me at all, though. It’s our camaraderie that I love.
The only empty table is situated near the door. I put my bag in one wooden chair and I slide into the other. As Chris takes the seat across from me, I pull out my notebook and glance around the small cafe.
People are scattered throughout the room—sitting, standing, leaning—chatting casually over steaming cups of their favorite coffee. The smell of dark beans and rich sweeteners fills the air. I inhale deeply, letting the aroma soothe me. This is one of my most beloved places on the planet.
I hear the bell over the door jingle as it opens. I don’t think anything of it until I hear Chris’s exclamation.
“Holy shit! It’s him!”
I turn around to see who’s got her so excited. My reaction, although not audible, is much more profound than hers.
My heart flutters. My lungs freeze. My stomach contracts.
It’s Mason.
I mean Alec. Alec Brand.
I think I’d recognize him anywhere, from any angle. He’s as familiar to me as the characters I live with every minute of every day. He’s the embodiment of my hopes as well as my fears, my dreams as well as my nightmares.
I thought of him no less than a dozen times last night. Then, after finally getting him out of my mind long enough to doze off to sleep, I dreamed of him, of the real-life Mason Strait.
I woke thinking of him, too. But since then, I’d just about managed to convince myself it was a trick of the light. I just knew there was no way I was remembering him correctly, that there was no way he looked that much like Mason.
But today shows it wasn’t the lighting. Or my imagination. Or my faulty memory. He’s as breathtaking as I remember him being, as breathtaking as I’ve always imagined him to be. As Mason, that is. When he walks toward the line of people waiting to order, I see that he even swaggers like Mason. It’s insane!
He stops at the end of the line, behind the last person, and shifts his weight to one foot. The tips of his fingers are stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. He’s wearing boots again, and a dark blue t-shirt. A brown leather messenger bag is slung over one shoulder. From the corner of my eye, I see several heads turn toward him. I’m sure he’s drawing nearly every eye in the small shop. And why not? He’s masculine and gorgeous and charismatic as hell.
His head begins to turn in my direction. My heart leaps with excitement and pumps copious amounts of blood into my cheeks. I whirl around in my seat, hoping he doesn’t see me or my reaction.
I blush easily, making me particularly thankful for the harsh overhead lights. They tend to wash out any extra rosy hue, obscuring any physical reactions like this one.
“That’s him, right? The guy from yesterday?”
I nod.
“What the hell are you waiting for? Go talk to him!”
“Shhh,” I hiss at her, peeking surreptitiously over my shoulder to make sure she’s not getting his attention. “First of all, please don’t embarrass me. Secondly, he has no clue who I am, remember?”
Chris turns her confused eyes to me. I watch her puzzle over my question for a minute before understanding dawns. “Right. Damn. Where’s that wig when you need it?”
“At home. Right where it should be. Where it’s far away from you.”
Her eyes light up. “Ooo, you could have twice the fun! Just think of it. He’d have no idea—”
“Stop right there. I go to too much trouble to keep up this ruse. There’s no way I could pull off something like that. So, no. Don’t even think about it.”
Chris pushes out her lower lip in a pout.
“Promise me, Chris,” I demand warningly. I can see that she’s plotting. And I know her far too well to think she’ll drop it unless I make her promise. I learned that shortly after being notified of an unexplained appointment with a therapist.