Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27641 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
She's younger than my 40 years, that much is clear. And I've never seen her around before, despite the fact she looks comfortable at her window side table. Her clothes are casual, and her large backpack is filled with what looks like art supplies.
Art supplies?
Her fingers were tapping across the keyboard in a steady rhythm, her eyes focused and intent, and she had a half-empty cup of coffee on the table next to her.
Maybe she's a student.
But something tells me that isn't the case. The way she was sitting there, with her bag on the floor next to her and her laptop on the table, made her seem like a professional. It wasn't like she had set up a temporary work area. She had settled in, making herself right at home.
So who was this girl? And why had I never seen her before, even though this was clearly her kind of place?
This reaction, this connection—I need to know more. The most basic part of myself is screaming that she belongs to me, but I need to be careful who I let into my life. If this is just some fleeting interest, I don't want to fuck myself over.
But if this is more, if this is something real…
My entire life, I had never known love. Not real love.
I was raised by a single mother—a strong, independent woman—and she instilled in me a sense of freedom and self-reliance. The other kids were always envious, telling me that they were jealous of how cool my mom was, but in reality, I always felt a little bit different. A little isolated.
By the time I was 18, I knew it was time for me to be on my own. So I did what I did best—I worked.
First, I got an entry-level coding job at a Fortune 500 company, but then I was laid off. Undaunted, I started building my own company and coding applications on the side.
When the app finally launched, it was a smash hit, and I became a millionaire before I was 21. I sold the company and moved to Cape May and, at 40, appear to be nothing more than a wealthy coffee shop owner. I keep myself fit, spend my free time traveling solo, and it's been enough. I didn't even know how badly I wanted something more until I made that indescribable connection to that woman inside Sage and Salt.
I'm being ridiculous, I think to myself. Why am I still out here hiding behind my own shop?
The back door is open, and I walk through the kitchen, catching Marissa, the other barista on shift with Leon, off guard. She jumps, her hand over her heart, and immediately starts to stammer a greeting. "M-Mr. Anders! I didn't think you were still here!"
I wave her off. "Pretend I'm not. I've just got some work to do in the office. Don't interrupt me unless the place is burning down."
Inside my office, I shut the door. After a few clicks on the computer, I have the surveillance system for the cafe pulled up. She's still there, sitting at the table, drawing something on a sketchpad, her laptop now closed.
God, she's beautiful. I could watch her forever—her delicate fingers creating something on the page, a look of concentration on her face. Every so often, her tongue peeks out between her lips, and I want to groan out loud.
She's too good, too perfect. Too everything.
And yet, I can't get her out of my head.
"Boss?"
Leon knocks on the door, and I close the surveillance footage. It's probably better that way, anyway. If she's in Sage and Salt, I don't need the temptation to sit and watch her like a creep.
"Come in," I call.
"Everything okay? Marissa said you came in the back. Did I make your drink wrong earlier or—"
My jaw works, annoyance flaring. What did I tell these two about not interrupting me? "It's fine, Leon. Now get out of here."
"Okay, alright." Leon holds up his hands and backs out of the office, shutting the door carefully behind him.
For a few moments, I resist. Then, with a sigh, I open up the surveillance again.
The angel is still there an hour later when I get a call from the same supplier I had a meeting with today. The contract would be a big deal for my little coffee shop and should improve our product significantly. Yet I can barely concentrate on what the supplier has to say, and when the call finally ends, I turn back to the screen to see her just as she breezes out the front door of the shop.
I wait thirty seconds and then follow her, glad I had the forethought to park out back. As soon as my car is out of the parking lot, I see her crossing the street and walking towards the beach.