Chapter 2

• I giggle. Monica walks past us, out the back door and into the ally. “Going to the bathroom. I feel sick.”
• “You okay?” I call, watching as she runs for the door.
• “What’s wrong with her?” Lance asks.
• “Hungover. Bourbon.”
• Lance winces. “Nasty.”
• “Cover the coffee machine for me, will you?” Monica says as the door bangs shut behind her.
• I go back to the front of the shop to see I now have a huge line waiting. Great. “I’m sorry, we don’t have any goat’s milk turmeric.”
• “Why not?” the customer asks.
• “Because we don’t stock it. I’m sorry.” I fake a smile. “This is a goat milk free coffee house.”
• “That’s not good enough. I want to see the manager.”
• Oh, fuck off, bitch. I’m not in the mood for you today. There isn’t even a manager on duty.
• “Now!” she demands.
• I fake another smile. “I’ll just go get him.” I march out the back to Lance. “She wants to see the manager.”
• “Who does?”
• “The goat chick.”
• “What about?”
• “I don’t know. Fucking goats! Get out there.” I march back out to the register. “He won’t be a moment.” I smile. “Can you please step aside so I can serve the next person?”
• She glares at me and crosses her arms, she then steps to the side and waits.
• “Can I help you?” I ask the next man.
• “Hi.” He grins. Oh God…. not you. “It’s me, Michael.”
• “Yes.” I cringe. “I remember. Hi, Michael. What can I get you?”
• “I’ll have the usual.” He winks.
• I take his order and the bell rings over the door to tell me someone else has entered. “That will be four pounds ninety-five,” I say coldly.
• I take Michael’s card and swipe it through the card machine. I can’t make casual conversation with Michael because he’s way too flirty.
• “I want goat’s milk,” I hear the woman demanding.
• “Well, we don’t have any,” Lance replies. I can tell by the tone of his voice that he isn’t in the mood for this crap today, either.
• “I want you to put it on the menu immediately.”
• I glance over to Lance. His face is murderous, and I bite my lip to hide my smile.
• “Look, lady, if you want goat’s milk, you’re going to have to go somewhere else. We are not into milking goats.”
• “You’d rather milk a cow?”
• “Or kick them out of my coffee shop,” Lance mutters dryly. “Either, or.”
• Jeez… I drop my head to hide my smile.
• “Did you just call me a cow?” the woman gasps.
• Shit, buzz off, bitch. Enough with the dramatics. Just leave already.
• “Can I help you?” I ask the next customer and look up at the queue.
• Big brown eyes stare back at me, and I step back in surprise.
• It’s him.
• The guy from the street.
• “Hi.” I smile bashfully and tuck a piece of hair behind my ear.
• He’s wearing a perfectly fitted dark navy suit and a crisp white shirt. He looks like he may be European or something.
• “Hello.” His voice is deep and husky.
• I feel my cheeks blush and I smile nervously. “Hi.”
• We stare at each other. Fuck me. This guy is completely gorgeous.
• A trace of a smile crosses his face as if reading my mind.
• I smile goofily over at him and hunch my shoulders.
• He raises his brows. “Do you want to know my order?”
• “Oh.” I pause. “I was waiting for you.” I lie. Fuck, I’m acting like a star struck teenager. Get it together, stupid. “What would you like?”
• “I’ll have a double macchiato, please.”
• I twist my lips to hide my smile. Even his coffee is hot.
• “Would you like anything else?” I ask.
• He raises his eyebrow. “Such as?”
• I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out.
• He smirks, realizing he has me completely flustered.
• Oh, hell, act fucking cool, will you?
• “A muffin?” I reply. “They’re delicious.”
• “All right.” His eyes hold mine. “Why don’t you surprise me, April?”
• I stare at him as my brain misfires. “How do you know my name?”
• “It’s on your apron.”
• I scrunch my eyes shut. “Oh… right.” Please, Mother Earth, swallow me whole. Way to bimbo it out. “Ah, excuse me. I’m not with it today,” I stammer.
• “You look completely with it to me.” He gives me his first genuine smile, and I feel it to my toes.
• It’s official: this man is delicious.
• “And your name?” I ask, holding my pen to his cup.
• “Sebastian.”
• “Mr. Sebastian?”
• “Mr. Garcia.”
• Sebastian Garcia. Even his name is hot. “Would you like another coffee for your wife?”
• “There’s no wife.”
• “Girlfriend?”
• “No girlfriend.” A smile crosses his face once more. He knows I’m fishing for information.
• Our eyes are locked, and the air crackles between us.
• The man behind him in the line sighs heavily. “I’m in a rush, you know.”
• Oh, get lost. I’m trying to flirt here.
• Dickhead.
• Mr. Garcia steps to the side, and I bring my attention to the man behind him. “Can I help you?”
• “I want a toasted ham and cheese sandwich, and you’d better make it quick,” he barks.
• “Of course, sir.” Fuck, why is every asshole in London in my café today?
• “Excuse me.” I hear from the side.