Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75683 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Where she was wearing a sunshine yellow apron over a white tee and wide-leg cream linen pants.
And the body?
Fuck.
Curvy in the thighs, hips, and chest.
The kind of body that said she moved it on occasion, but she damn sure wasn’t going to turn down pasta or dessert.
“Think I’m gonna stay,” I said, holding up my menu.
“Great! How about right over there?” she asked, waving toward an empty table. I mean, they were mostly empty, save for one by the window.
“Sounds good,” I agreed.
“Awesome. Get yourself seated, and I will bring over some Pretty Water.”
I had no idea what the fuck ‘Pretty Water’ was, but I was going to go ahead and play along with it, sitting at the table with my back to the door. Mostly so I could let my gaze move toward her as often as possible.
As it turned out, Pretty Water was an entire mini glass pitcher filled with water, lemons, limes, cucumbers, and some sort of floating flower petals.
And it was, you know, pretty.
“Is this your place?” I asked as she dropped it off, noticing a small tattoo on the inside of her wrist, and the almost fucking intoxicating smell of her.
Something earthy and familiar.
Like rosemary and bergamot mixed with some cypress and mint.
Not overpowering and fake-smelling.
Light and teasing, begging you to get another hit of it.
“Yes. Well, mine and my mom’s. We opened it together. She’s more the one with the cooking skills. I’m slightly less prone to spilling things, so I get to be the server. Savannah, by the way,” she said, giving me another of those big smiles that seemed to come so naturally to her. “I used to ask for customer’s names until one informed me that it was ‘kind of creepy,’” she said, doing little air quotes.
“Nino,” I told her. “I don’t think it’s creepy at all.”
“Well, good. So, Nino. Can I get you some coffee? It’s early and you seem like you’ve been up for a while already. Which isn’t an insult,” she rushed to add, upset at the idea of offending me. “I, myself, have been up since just before five. And have probably had way too much coffee myself. But it’s fresh. And we have every kind of creamer known to mankind. Yes, even goat’s milk. That’s on my mom. She swears it’s better for you. So…coffee? Yes?”
I was pretty sure if this woman offered me fucking toxic sludge in a glass, I would take it, drink it, and thank her for it. Maybe with my mouth. On what I could only assume was the sweetest pussy known to mankind if it belonged to this woman who was all sunshine and rainbows.
“Yes,” I agreed, nodding.
“Milk? Plant-based or otherwise?”
“No, thanks.”
“Sweetener? Of literally any variety as well.”
“I’m good,” I told her.
“A man who knows what he likes,” she said. “Let me know if you have any questions about the menu,” she added before walking away.
Did I maybe turn slightly to check out that round ass of hers as she went? Yeah, I did.
What can I say?
It had been a while.
And, fuck, if she was so enthusiastic about milk and sugar, I could only imagine how fun she’d be in bed.
Maybe, after I was done, I would ask for her number, take her out, then take her home. Spend some hours getting lost in the smell and feel and sounds of her.
Shaking my head at myself, and at the way my cock was actually twitching at just the idea of fucking this random woman, I forced my attention to the menu.
It was… a lot.
A whole lot.
There was the typical breakfast fare. Eggs, pancakes, waffles with all sorts of topping choices. Too many, honestly. Strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, cherries, pomegranate, even mandarins.
But there was also other stuff.
Acai bowls.
Smoothies.
Strata.
Bagels and lox.
Red flannel hash.
Biscuits and gravy.
“Is your head feeling a little swimmy?” Savannah asked, coming back with an earthenware mug full of steaming coffee.
“Strata? Red flannel hash?” I asked, shaking my head a little.
“That’s my mom. She’s always been a big traveler. All over the US. Sometimes with me in a little baby backpack. She loves food. All different kinds. She said if she was ever going to open a restaurant, she was going to bring all of her favorite meals to the menu. So, yes, Strata. And Red flannel hash. They’re all good, but we definitely have all the familiar favorites too,” she said, leaning over my shoulder a bit to run her finger over the menu, indicating all the normal breakfast shit you expected at a brunch establishment.
If I turned my head even a bit, my face would be in her neck. Her breast was already touching my arm.
I couldn’t fucking think straight.
It was like she was clouding all my senses at once.
What the fuck was wrong with me?
“How about you surprise me?” I suggested, coughing a bit to clear the thick sound of my voice, wondering if she would know what had made it that way.