Chapter 2
Kate
“Fine. Whatever you want!” I slammed the door and made my way toward the elevator. I needed space. He was the last person I wanted to talk to. And he sure as hell was the last person I wanted to keep looking at. Judgmental eyes, scowl lines on his forehead, and a pitiless frown. Dear old Dad.
I was glad for the quick exit. With a father like mine, a quick exit was a necessity. Especially when you were twenty-seven and living with a man who still treated you like a child. He was a pain in the ass, to put it simply. And sometimes, he was so much to deal with that I just had to get away.
But the more time that seemed to pass, the harder it was to deal—to deal with him, to deal with his burdening questions and his sarcastic remarks. He could be so condescending that it made me want to breathe fire right into his smug face.
And it was all because I chose to pursue my dreams rather than follow along behind him like some scared little puppy.
I was sorry. I told him that I was. But I didn’t want the family business.
Sure, I felt bad about it. For a while, at least. But this was my path and my life, and mine alone.
Despite the fact he was an obnoxious, overbearing old man, I hated to break his heart, and I hated, even more, to fight with him. I only wished he could give me the same courtesy.
And while I was wishing for things, I wished I wanted the same things for my life that he wanted for my life. It sure as hell would have been a lot easier.
I wanted to just jump on a plane and go. I wanted to run away from him and toward my dream. This was especially tempting, considering I already had a teaching job lined up for the fall in San Diego.
I sighed. I hated to think about going before it was actually time, because I loved my family and I wanted to spend as much time with them as possible. But if my apartment had been ready, I would probably be on my way to San Diego right now.
As I made my way through the front door, the nip from the cold New York City air seemed to burn my flesh. My breath caught in my throat, and I was instantly reminded of another reason why I really, really couldn’t wait to get to San Diego.
It was way too damn cold in New York.
I walked to the curb and raised my hand as soon as I saw a nearby cab, unoccupied. I smiled. In New York, that was almost impossible to find— especially when it was freezing outside. Which — to me — seemed like all the freaking time.
As the cab pulled up, I immediately reached for the door, not even wanting to take the chance that someone would snatch my ride. I mean, damn, the few seconds that I had spent outside in the cold were already too much for me. I didn’t want to screw around outside any longer than I had to, and there was no way in hell I’d be going back up to the apartment anytime soon. So I grabbed the handle of the car. With one swift motion, I pulled it open and leaped into the warmth of the back seat.
“Where we headin’?” the cabbie asked as I got comfortable. He cocked his head sideways just over his shoulder so he could glance back at me. He smiled, but it was far from a kind one. I could tell that he was actually annoyed that I hadn’t already told him.
“Uh…” That was a good question, actually. Truth was, I really didn’t know where I was going. I had nothing to do. It was a completely new idea for me, really, not having a place to go on a weekday morning.
I had just graduated with a Master’s degree in Education, and I considered myself lucky to secure a job so quickly afterward, but at the same time, I felt strange being a grown woman with no place to go. No job, no hobby. In fact, I felt pretty bad about it. I didn’t feel as independent as I should feel. I was twenty-seven years old, living with my dad and sister.
Shit, I thought. I still hadn’t told the cab driver where we were going. He stared at me, blankly. I muttered, a bit embarrassed, “Closet place that has coffee.” It was a roll of the die where I’d end up.
He rolled his eyes and grumbled deep in his throat. I could tell that he was irritated, but I was too wrapped up in my family drama to care much about his annoyance.
He pulled to a stop outside of Starbucks. I dug into my purse and fumbled for my wallet. My bag was a jumble of notebooks and colored pens and half-empty packs of mints, and it was a damn good thing my wallet was so big or I’d never find it in the mess. I gripped it firmly and yanked it out before throwing an apologetic look to the cabbie. He probably wanted to get on the road.
I pulled a wad of cash out quickly and handed him the money.
“Have a good one,” the man grumbled, before turning back around with my cash.
“You too.” I sighed as I glanced back to look out my window. The city was cold and gloomy. Like my current life.
I took one final deep breath as I flung the door of the cab open, bracing myself for the cold. And as soon as I pulled myself from the vehicle, I instantly regretted getting out. The freezing air stabbed at my lungs, causing me to wince in pain.
“I hate how fucking cold it is!” I growled, slamming the cab door shut.
I tightened my coat around my body. Then I laughed as I glanced around at crowds of people shuffling across sidewalks and crosswalks. I’d think that with all the people that crammed in the city like sardines, that there would be enough body heat to keep the entire damn city warm. But of course not. Most of them didn’t even seem fazed by the bone-chilling temperatures.
It made me wonder what, exactly, were the perks of living in the city, anyway?
A Starbucks on every corner?
I scoffed. A whole lot of good having so many Starbucks did! Because as soon as I crossed the street and made my way through the crowds of people scurrying across the sidewalk, I could tell that the Starbucks line was damn near out the door. Morning rush was still morning rush.
As soon as I opened the door to the shop and walked a whopping total of one step, I found myself at the end of that incredibly long line. I should have known better than to try my luck at a coffee shop in the morning.
But it was fine. In fact, it was perfectly fine with me. Because the more time I spent in line, the more time I spent away from my dad. I needed the time away. We both did.
I needed the time to take a step back and compose myself, to gather my thoughts as well as my feelings and just keep them in check. I still needed to get through a few more months with him.
Maybe some time to myself, standing in a really long line, was the perfect reprieve. Well, at least I was inside.
My head fell to look at the floor, just before a gentle smell of vanilla and spice trailed directly into my senses. Immediately, I looked up. The delicious scent was clearly wafting from the man directly in front of me.
He was tall, with sandy-blond hair. He wore a large black overcoat over what looked to be a charcoal-gray suit. The way the suit fell over his broad, defined shoulders looked tailored. From what I could tell as my neck craned to look at as much of him as possible, he looked impeccable, he looked polished, and he looked good.
His suit fit him perfectly — but with a perfect-looking body like that, I was willing to bet pretty much everything fit him perfectly. Including a wedding ring.
Immediately, curiosity began to take over, and I couldn’t help but move half a step to the side. What did he look like? Did his face match his perfect body? I wanted to look at him. I had to. There was something intriguing about his smell, and the way his clothes fit.
I gawked at his hands, trying to catch a glimpse of platinum or gold on his finger. Nothing that I could see so far. It became a game as I bided my time in line.
Just off to his side, I watched through the corner of my eye until his head turned slightly toward me, just enough for me to get a glimpse of his face.
And my god, I was in awe as I turned my head toward his and caught his gaze.
His jaw was chiseled to perfection; he looked like a fucking Greek god. But his cheeks were full and youthful. He had the most amazing brown eyes that I had ever seen before. And they were looking at me — at least for a moment, they were.
I smiled at him, and he smiled back, but only slightly — as if he hadn’t really seen me at all — before he turned his attention back to the front of the line. He seemed distracted and really tired. The small pull at the corners of his eyes and mouth spoke of fatigue.
There was something about him that made me wonder why exactly he was tired. I wondered who he was, what sort of life he led. And damn it all, I wondered how it was possible for someone to look so tired and so good at the same time.
He craned his neck toward the front of the line, and his fingers tapped against each other. I could tell that he was growing impatient. I had to wonder, as he looked out toward the beautiful dark-skinned cashier, if he was late for something, or if he just really, really needed coffee. Because the cashier was absolutely gorgeous, and he seemed completely unfazed by her.
Maybe he was gay? Well, that would be a tragedy for all of womankind.
No, I was pretty sure my gaydar wasn’t lying to me because I couldn’t seem to take my eyes off of him. I was looking at his back, his gorgeous muscular back and equally wonderful ass — or at least, what I could see of it — for the entire length of time we waited in line. I couldn’t manage to take my eyes away from him. That was until he hissed out a resounding, “Jesus!”
I wasn’t sure what he was suddenly pissy about, or what he was talking about. I mean, he couldn’t have just all of a sudden been pissed that we were standing in this line, could he?
I followed his gaze to the front of the line. A young man stood at the counter. Probably in his early-twenties. I watched as his back stiffened. His hands journeyed, almost in a panicked rush, all over his body.
He patted at the back of his jeans, right on his butt, and then the pocket of his coat.
I heard the man I’d been so entranced by earlier grumble again. It was just under his breath. I was almost certain that no one could have possibly heard him except for me. He shifted his balance from one foot to the other. Over and over again. I could tell he was getting impatient, and I couldn't really blame him. We’d been waiting in line for what felt like forever, and it was always a nuisance when it seemed like someone was holding up the line. But come on! It was clear that the poor guy couldn't find his wallet.
I knew just what it was like to be waiting and waiting and waiting and then get up to the counter and feel unprepared. Hell, the poor guy probably had the damn wallet out half a dozen times, just to put it away again the same amount of times from fidgeting.
I knew I was bad about that sort of thing.
“Fucking come on, already,” the guy in front of me hissed.
I couldn’t help but cringe at the harshness. I looked down, knowing that even though he had said it quietly, others were bound to hear him. It was only a matter of time before an asshole in line had something to say.
Well, that is, some asshole that was even more of an asshole than this guy was already being.
I rolled my eyes at the continued wait. With the dreamboat in front of me having a little outburst like that, I couldn’t help but find my mind a little preoccupied. Why was I always attracted to such assholes? It was a gift.
I sighed and shook my mind free before it started in on its spiral into negative memories of my ex-boyfriend. I looked down, trying to busy my mind, and fished for my phone inside of my coat pocket.
But I soon looked back up, somehow unable to tear my gaze away from the scene in front of me. I watched the guy up front continue his search for his wallet. He wasn’t giving up. At that moment, I wasn’t sure if I should have admired him for his persistence, or gotten angry about it myself. I mean he definitely was holding up an already long line. Finally, though, he took something out of the inner pocket of his coat.
I sighed a sigh of relief. He’d finally found it.
“About fucking time,” grumbled the man in front of me, clearly relieved as well.
Sadly, though, that relief was not long lived when the next lady made her way up. I should have been relieved that I was so close to the front, and I was, but as soon as I saw her, I realized that the physical location of where I was in line didn't matter.
It was going to be a while.
She was beautiful. Slender, with a cute red peplum pea coat, and gorgeous blond hair that had more body than even mine did. She looked professional . . . and expensive. Normally, that wouldn’t have been a bad thing at all. I probably would have been all goo-goo eyes over the gorgeous leather Coach bag she had slung over her shoulder. But this time was different.
This time, I was annoyed.
Her arm held her cell phone up in the air as she approached the counter, and I knew what was about to come next by the extreme focus she had on the display. She was studying it.
And I knew, from interning back in my college days, exactly what that meant.
“I’d like three mocha lattes. Make one of those a skinny, and one of those nonfat, but with whip. One vanilla bean frap with a caramel swirl. Two hot chocolates…” and that was all I listened to before nothing but pure annoyance washed over me.
And I wasn’t alone.
“Oh, come on!” a bunch of people yelled from behind me, a large chunk of the line groaning, including me.
The woman’s head snapped back to shoot everyone a glare, but she said nothing. Instead, she turned back around and continued to read off her screen. All while several pairs of eyes shot death glares into the back of her head.
I almost felt bad for her. Well, I would have if I hadn’t been so frustrated and annoyed. The wait had been fine in the beginning. It gave me plenty of time to chill out after my morning argument with my dad, and also ample time to look at the hottie in front of me. But now, enough was enough. I really just wanted my damn coffee.
And everyone else felt exactly the same way.
The tension in the room was thick, and so was the air. So thick, in fact, that I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Everyone was so close. Everything was so hot. The only comforting thing in the whole damned place was the delectable smell of hot roasting coffee beans. And maybe even the asshole eye-candy in front of me.
One moment I was freezing and the next beads of perspiration were forming everywhere I didn’t want them.
He kept glancing at his phone. With every minute or so that passed, he turned on the display, only to turn it off again right after. I could tell that he was checking the time, and I could only guess as to why. He was late, or about to be. I almost felt bad for a second.
Of course, there was probably a reason for him to be so pissed. And it was probably because he was supposed to be at work by now. In all reality, it probably didn’t have anything to do with him actually being an asshole. Who could know, though?
I could only thank my lucky stars that I didn’t have anything important to do today.
My eyes shifted over to my right where a woman looking like the Queen of England came traipsing across. She was swaying her hips as she crossed the middle of the room, toward the checkout counter. “How much longer is it going to be?!” she asked as if she was at a five-star restaurant waiting to be seated.
I scoffed. “You’re at Starbucks, lady, not the Plaza,” I whispered in a volume I knew no one would be able to hear.
Well, at least, I thought it was at a volume that no one would be able to hear.
The gorgeous asshole extraordinaire looked over his shoulder at me and smirked, clearly amused at my comment.
Of course he was.
I rolled my eyes again and looked down to my phone, not even bothering to hear the poor barista or cashier’s defense. The nerve of some people really astounded me sometimes. With a shrug, my eyes fixated on the screen. I sighed with relief at the distraction of Facebook.
For a while, at least.
You know, until the overwhelming pictures of everyone my age getting engaged, getting married, and having children flooded over my newsfeed.
That was enough to make anyone shudder and look up.
When I did glance up, though, I was pretty happy to see that a large gap had formed between the sexy stranger and me, because he had actually reached the counter.
“Thank God,” I whispered, as my eyes instinctively fell on his back. I hadn’t meant to, but as I took a few steps up, I found myself staring, particularly at his bulging shoulders. I could just barely see them beneath the thick fabric of his overcoat, but I could tell that they were there. I shivered and clamped my legs together, just from wondering what he looked like without all the layers.
I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me. It wasn’t every day that I just started staring at random men. But damn, he was hot. I watched, almost mesmerized, from behind as he reached into his overcoat.
His movements were quick and panicked as he pulled his hand out of his overcoat and reached back to dig into pants back pocket.
His movements got even quicker, and a whole lot more panicked as his hands patted over his entire body, across all of his clothing, in a very similar fashion to the man just a few moments ago. The one he’d so rudely hissed at.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath. “I must have forgotten my wallet.”
His voice was tired, low and groggy. And he seemed overly upset about not being able to pay for his coffee. Although, after waiting that entire time — I probably would have been too.
Now everyone was waiting on him. I smirked. Karma's a bitch. It was one of those moments where I wanted to burst out laughing at the irony. But I didn't. Instead, I bit my lip and stifled my laughter, no matter how difficult it was.
"Come on!” a man with a thick Brooklyn accent yelled from behind me.
I cringed again, just as I had when the guy in front of me had given his own little outburst.
The beautiful stranger's head shot over his shoulder, looking back. Our eyes met for a split second before his moved to look behind me, toward the man that had yelled out at him. I could tell, by the bit of red that crept to his cheek, that he was embarrassed.
I would have been, too. Especially after the production he’d just put on with that poor guy a few minutes ago.
But still, I couldn’t help but pat at my side just to make sure that I had my purse. It was silly. I mean, logically speaking, I’d just taken a cab. I had to have some means to pay for it. But still, there was something about seeing someone fumbling for their wallet that made me double-check that I had mine.
I felt kind of bad for him. Especially considering the fact that he looked like he was not only distracted and in a hurry, but he had fidgeted the entire time we stood in line. It was pretty obvious that he needed the caffeine. I could remember days like that—studying for hours during all-nighters, and then having to take a test. Or staying out all night with my friends, and then needing to be at my internship first thing in the morning. We’d all been there, and compassion was cheap.
“Excuse me?” I said quietly from behind him, as I dug my wallet out of my purse and quickly grabbed my credit card. I made sure my voice was hushed, but still loud enough for him to hear. “Step aside for a second.”
He looked over his shoulder just as I moved past a few people who had crowded next to the line to look over the menu. He looked confused, and a little taken aback, maybe even a little annoyed.
He probably thought I was an asshole. That’s probably what I would have thought, too, though. Gotta love NYC — the land of skepticism.
But that made it even better, the fact that he didn’t know what I was about to do.
Hell, I didn’t even know when I decided to do it anyway. I had never done anything like it before. I took my credit card out as soon as I got around the crowd of people and made a movement to slide it through the card-reader. But, almost immediately, his large ringless hand blocked my motion.
I smirked at the sight. What did his marriage status have to do with me?
“What are you doing?” he asked, his eyes wide with concern.
“You’re clearly not a scam-artist,” I laughed, lamely, as I gestured at his expensive clothing.
He smiled, a slight blush creeping into his cheeks. “Well, no, I’m not.”
He cleared his throat, as if he was about to protest, but instead of letting him continue, I said, “Let me just pay for this. We’re holding up the line.”
He looked pained, almost. I wasn’t sure why, but by looking at him I could take a guess: he was proud.
“What, can't stand when a woman pays your bill?” I said with a flirtatious smile.
“I don’t like when anyone pays my bill,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Look, it doesn’t hurt anything to be nice to people; even when you haven't had your daily caffeine," I said in a stern voice. My teacher voice, as my sister liked to call it.
He looked at me, a little taken aback, and a little embarrassed. Which honestly, he probably should have been. Grumbles and groans were sounding more and more behind us by the second. And they were growing in volume.
“Look, we’re holding up the line,” I said again. This time, my teeth were gritted, jaw clenched.
I glanced back over my shoulder. The line had reached so far that it wrapped out of the building and down the sidewalk. He looked back too, and instantly sighed, almost in defeat. Yet, his hand was still on the card-reader.
“Please?” I batted my eyes, deciding to change up the sternness with something a little lighter.
“Dude! If you don’t take her money, get out of line! And honey, you can buy me a coffee if you want!” the same man, with that same thick Brooklyn accent yelled out from behind.
I laughed a little and gave him the best puppy-dog face that I possibly could have ever mustered in my entire lifetime, without really knowing why I was acting so flirty.
I mean sure, he was probably the best-looking guy I had ever seen in my life, but still…
I sounded — and looked — like an idiot.
Changing tactics, once again, I said, “I insist.”
My voice was stern, probably even sterner than it had been before, and I grabbed his hand this time, roughly. I would like to think that me being intimidating was why his head fell to look at the floor, clearly defeated. But he did.
He gave a slow, sort of shy nod. One that said that he was embarrassed, but I didn’t care.
He’d get over it when he finally got to have the coffee he clearly needed.
I looked at the cashier, who I half-expected to be scowling like everyone else was doing behind us, but she was smiling at me instead. It was a smile that was so infectious that despite my frustration, I couldn’t help but smile back.
That was, until I realized that my hand was still on top of the sexy stranger’s.
“Oh, sorry,” I said with a cringe, a blush creeping up to my cheeks.
He smirked, and his hand finally fell, giving me complete access to the card reader.
“Your name for the order?” the woman asked the gorgeous stranger as I slid my card. Her voice was kind and perky, and she smiled brightly. And I wondered, silently, how many cups of coffee she had to down every morning to be that happy.
“Ian,” he replied, as he glanced over at me and smiled.
I couldn’t help but wonder if he was using that as an opportunity to introduce himself to me. But rather than wonder for too long, I just reciprocated the smile and nodded pleasantly.
He smirked at me before turning on his heel and heading over to the corner to wait for his drink. I looked back to the beautiful cashier, smiling as I finally got to order my long-awaited mocha latte.
“Name for the order?” she asked sweetly, as she had done for Ian a moment before.
“Kate,” I replied, my voice louder than normal, just in case he was listening.
I glanced over to see if he was paying attention — only he wasn’t looking at me. Or anyone else, for that matter. Instead, he was hunched over, with his back facing me. He spoke passionately into what I could only guess was his cell phone.
I sighed. It figured.
“Ian!” a male voice yelled out from behind the drink station. I couldn’t help but watch as the barista reached out to hand the drink to the hot — and apparently really busy — man. Ian switched his phone to his shoulder to grab his drink and nodded — without looking — at the young, baby-faced barista. But the young man didn’t seem to mind. He only looked down to grab another drink and then back up to the gathering crowd before calling out, “Kate!”
And sadly for me, the beautiful stranger hadn’t noticed. But why would he have? He was still on the phone, and it was clearly an important phone call. I’d seen my dad hunched over his phone enough times to recognize an important phone call. Ian’s was probably far more important than finding out what some silly girl’s first name was.
It had been a fun fantasy—me and the well-dressed hottie meeting in Starbucks and starting a whirlwind romance. I smiled to myself at how ridiculous I had been. Then I shoved through the crowd to grab my drink from the barista.
I nuzzled the steaming hot cup closer to me. Then I turned on my heel back toward the door. Time to go back out — right into the cold crappiness of the city.