Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I smile to myself. Even her small indulgences are endearing.
As she moves to the side to wait for her order, I step up to the counter. The barista, a young guy with thick-rimmed glasses and an ironic mustache, raises an eyebrow at me.
“Let me guess,” he says with a knowing smirk. “Large black coffee?”
I clear my throat, suddenly aware of how transparent I’ve become. “Actually,” I say, surprising myself, “I’ll have what she’s having.”
The barista’s eyebrows shoot up, but he shrugs and punches in the order. I fumble with my wallet, acutely aware of Chloe standing just a few feet away. As I wait for my change, I steal a glance at her. She’s leaning against the counter, still absorbed in her phone, a slight frown creasing her forehead.
I want to ask her what’s wrong, to be the one to smooth away that worry line. But I’m just another stranger in a coffee shop, not the confidant I long to be.
“Order for Chloe!” the barista calls out, and she steps forward to claim her drink and scone. As she turns to leave, our eyes meet for a brief moment. My heart skips a beat as she flashes a polite smile, the kind you give to someone you pass on the street. It’s nothing special, but to me, it’s everything.
But then she pauses, studies me for a moment, and realization dawns on her facial expression. “Hey, I know you. You’re the man who helped my neighbor. Jack, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” I stammer, caught off guard by her recognition. “That’s me.”
“I didn’t know you came here.”
My pits begin to sweat, and my mouth goes dry. “Yeah . . . I work at the station down the street.”
“Oh.” She pauses as if absorbing the information and then smiles. “I never got to thank you properly,” Chloe says, her eyes warm with genuine appreciation. “You were so helpful, and then the fact that you shoveled his walkway was really nice.”
My face heats, unsure how to handle the praise—especially from her. “Just being neighborly,” I mumble, rubbing the back of my neck.
She glances down at the T-shirt I’m wearing. It has the fire department’s logo. Although I rarely wear my full uniform to work, preferring to change when I get there, I do often wear one of the T-shirts as the blue cotton with the FDNY logo seems they make up most my attire after ten years of working. Ever since I was eighteen when I was brought on as a seasonal, it’s all I’ve ever known.
She takes a sip of her latte. “You must have an exciting job. Dangerous too, I imagine.”
I shrug, not wanting to come across as boastful. “It has its moments. But mostly, it’s just about being there for people when they need help.”
She nods thoughtfully, and I can see a glimmer of genuine interest in her eyes.
“Order for Jack!” the barista calls out.
I turn to grab my drink, and when I look back, I notice Chloe eyeing my cup curiously.
“Soy latte with cinnamon?” she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice. “That’s . . . unexpected.”
My face heats up again. “Uh, yeah. Trying something new,” I lie, knowing full well I’ve ordered her exact drink. I reach for my scone, knowing how guilty I look. What does it tell her about me that I copied her exact order?
Chloe’s lips curve into a knowing smile, and for a moment, I wonder if she’s seen through my flimsy excuse. But then she just nods, taking another sip of her own latte.
“Well, Jack the firefighter,” she says, her tone playful, “since we’re both here and you’re trying new things, why don’t you join me? I was just about to sit down and go over some work, but I could use a break.”
My heart leaps into my throat. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, dreaming about for . . . years?
Jesus. Has it been that long? Jesus Christ.
And now that it’s here, I’m paralyzed with fear and desire to finally connect with this woman.
“I . . . uh . . . sure,” I manage to stammer out. “That’d be great.”
We make our way to a small table by the window. Sunlight streams in, catching the reddish highlights in Chloe’s dark hair. She sets down her phone and takes a bite of her scone, closing her eyes briefly in enjoyment.
“God, these really are addictive, aren’t they?” she says, echoing my earlier thoughts.
I nod, trying to appear casual as I sip my latte. The taste is unfamiliar—sweeter and smoother than my usual black coffee. But I find I like it, or maybe I just like sharing this moment with her.
“So, Jack,” Chloe says, leaning forward slightly. “Tell me more about being a firefighter. How long have you been doing it?”
As I start to answer, I feel a mix of elation and guilt. This is everything I’ve wanted—a chance to talk to Chloe, to get to know her. But there’s a voice in the back of my mind reminding me that this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. That I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t know so much about her already.