The following Saturday—deciding to postpone slob day for Sunday—I sat at my favorite table at Sunny Side wearing a cream sweater dress, skin-tight jeans, and comfortable slip-on Uggs. I’d powdered my freckles and used my favorite shimmering lip gloss. With my tresses stacked neatly and tied up, I sipped my caramel latte—extra foam—and powered up my Mac, just in case. I hadn’t seen Cameron waiting when I walked in and ignored the slight sting of disappointment. Maybe he’d found someone in that suit he wore who’d said yes to a drink and seemed less complicated than me. I had to brush it off. If it wasn’t Cameron, maybe it was someone else.
Abigail, today you will be open to possibilities. You’ll leave your cynical and bitter bitch face at the door. You will visualize what you want and go for it with eyes wide open and a clear mind. You are crazy. You’ve lost your damn mind and you sound like a self-help book. Help yourself by realizing you are crazy.
I buried my face in my hands and sighed before I killed the pessimist for the moment. Two cups into my workload, it happened.
Cameron’s Mac: Hi. Sorry I’m late.
I peeked over my screen to see a waiting smirk. The man looked like a cologne ad. I wanted to rip him open, scratch, and sniff, but not in that order. My belly dropped as the soft buzz of his presence drifted over my skin. He was wearing a thin sweater over a button-down, dark jeans cuffed at the bottom—which I found sexy—and brown leather boots.
Amused eyes studied me as his black lashes flitted over his cheeks and he tilted his head in admiration. His expression was as alluring as his threatening dimples. I had to rip my eyes away to respond.
Abbie’s Mac: Hi. It’s okay, I was just catching up on some work.
Cameron’s Mac: What do you do?
Abbie’s Mac: I’m a corporate financial consultant. It’s a pretty boring conversation starter. But I’ve got a thing for numbers.
Cameron’s Mac: Nothing boring about it if it’s your thing. You look like you’re in a better mood today.
I gave him a cheeky grin.
Abbie’s Mac: Opposed to?
Cameron’s Mac: The witchy one you were in last time we were here.
I opened my mouth in mock shock and pointed at myself.
Abbie’s Mac: How rude!
Cameron’s Mac: Yes, you were. Even so, I bought your coffee.
Abbie’s Mac: I did say no. I was polite about it.
Cameron lifted his mug that read Surely Not Everybody Was Kung-Fu Fighting. I laughed and shook my head. The air shifted. I let myself sink into the small amount of comfortable playfulness between us. I could do this.
This could be easy. And dare I hope, fun?
Abbie’s Mac: I’ll let you buy me a cup today, but there are rules.
He frowned.
Cameron’s Mac: Already?
Abbie’s Mac: Yep. This is how we, meaning you and me, coffee. Just like this, behind our keyboards.
Cameron’s Mac: Coffee as a verb? I like it. But no talking?
I lifted my finger in a plea to have him hear me out as it came to me.
Abbie’s Mac: Here’s the way I see it. First, I don’t know if you are interested in . . . more than coffee.
Cameron’s Mac: I’m very interested in . . . more than coffee. But I’m okay if it’s just coffee too.
Abbie’s Mac: I’m old school. And I’m pretty pissed off about this whole technology hookup crap being the new standard. I’m no prude, but it’s like I woke up from a monogamous nap and romance died. What happened to getting to know a person before you showed your pink parts? I was serious when I told you I’d been blasted with dick pics. I have proof.
Cameron’s Mac: So, you saved the dick pics? You little pervert.
My mouth dropped. “No, that’s—”
“Shhh,” Cameron pointed to the keyboard.
Abbie’s Mac: Like I said, I’m not looking for romance in the ankles-covered, Pride and Prejudice sense, though Mr. Darcy did set the standard for me when I was twelve. I don’t have to have Mr. Darcy, but at the very least a cheesy 90s rom-com, overt type of gesture. I just think this whole digital age has ruined romance. I don’t have the millennial mindset. Think about it, when’s the last time you saw a couple holding hands, or for that matter, some inappropriate PDA? Aside from my friends, Bree and Anthony, I can’t remember the last time I saw a couple and envied their connection. It’s so fucking sad.
Cameron’s Mac: I get what you’re saying. It’s cool. And your maiden virtue is safe with me for the moment. I’m a little bit jaded too. And by the looks of your cup, I’m already in over my head.
I lifted my mug proudly that read Man Tears and took a sip.
He shook his head with a chuckle as we tried to speak around our connection. The force was strong with this one, and I knew he felt it too.
Cameron’s Mac: But you do have to admit for someone so adamant about old school, this arrangement makes your point a bit moot.
Abbie’s Mac: Touché. But, you see, I’m using it to our advantage.
Cameron’s Mac: Your advantage.
Abbie’s Mac: Fine my advantage. Mixing old school with new. I look at it this way. We get all the perks of seeing each other, knowing what the other looks like. We get clear visual reception, but we keep it like this.
Cameron’s Mac: Until?
Abbie’s Mac: Until we’re both less jaded. And let’s not get ahead of ourselves, it’s only coffee. I mean, today it’s only coffee. Tomorrow . . .
I shrugged to bring the point home. I was being completely honest, and I gave myself a mental pat on the back.
Cameron’s Mac: Suits me. You could have a voodoo doll in your purse.
This time I held nothing back as I gave him my smile. We exchanged them for several seconds before I got a message.
Cameron’s Mac: Are we allowed to give compliments?
I didn’t get a chance to answer.
Cameron’s Mac: Because if I was standing, that smile would have knocked me on my ass. What’s the next rule?
Despite my newly speeding heartbeat, I pressed on. If I had any shot of moving forward, I didn’t want to look back. And I didn’t want my fears hindering anything new.
Abbie’s Mac: We leave our relationship baggage at the door.
He studied me for a moment before he typed.
Cameron’s Mac: Nothing but who we are now, at this moment, and where we’re going, or where we want to go.
Abbie’s Mac: Exactly. No dead weight.
Cameron’s Mac: Sounds perfect, but if we do it this way, we do it with one condition.
Abbie’s Mac: Shoot.
Cameron’s Mac: We won’t deal in perfection and absolutes.
Abbie’s Mac: And no promises we can’t realistically keep.
His slow nod was confirmation we were onto something.
Cameron’s Mac: I’m just going to point out now I hate that I have to stare at the forbidden fruit instead of what’s behind it.
Abbie’s Mac: That’s kind of a two-sided thing.
Cameron’s Mac: Lend me that dress you wore the other night so I can make it as hard on you.
I grinned and shook my head.
Abbie’s Mac: Sense of humor, I like it. My mom thinks I’m a world class smart ass.
He picked up another cup hidden behind his Mac and took a sip as if he were ready for me. It read Only the Sarcastic Survive.
Abbie’s Mac: I should make that my first tattoo. How many cups do you have over there?
I leaned to the side and peeked behind his Mac to see several more.
Cameron’s Mac: I’m prepared today.
Abbie’s Mac: Okay, let’s see them.
He slowly lifted the first cup. Good Morning, Beautiful. I gave him a lopsided grin that quickly turned into a scowl when he lifted another that read Show Me Your Kitties. I palmed my mouth to hide my smile.
His third cup came up. I love Clit.
Abbie’s Mac: Really?
Cameron’s Mac: Too crass, I agree. But I was taking your friend Bree’s advice. And for the record, I know the clit is not a fictional character.
I threw his word back at him from the night at the bar.
Abbie’s Mac: Noted.
He held up a wait-for-it finger and gave me remorseful puppy dog eyes as he showed me his next cup that read I Love Your Face.
Abbie’s Mac: Much better.
Thick, sculpted brows double tapped his forehead as he lifted the last cup. Call Me El Jefe Grande. I rolled my eyes as he shrugged.
Abbie’s Mac: You’re somewhere between perfect and a pervert at this point.
“I was in a hurry,” he said across the space. I pressed a librarian’s finger to my lips.
Cameron’s Mac: Really? No talking at all?
Abbie’s Mac: Plenty of talking. Just like this.
He sat back briefly with a devastating smirk before he leaned in and typed.
Cameron’s Mac: Okay, Abbie. Where do we start?
I was trying so hard to think of something clever, witty, something . . . more, but words failed me as we stared each other down. It was perfect. Better than perfect. I had no reason to be afraid. We had every advantage of dating except for the physical aspect, which I knew I wasn’t ready for, despite my raging libido. And I needed that distance to be able to get close. It could work. Another stretch of my lips over my teeth had him biting his lip and shaking his head. God, he was gorgeous. Just outside the window behind him, a single gold maple leaf drifted at his back before it floated toward the brightly lit sky. And from that moment on, I knew I would be measuring my Saturdays in cups.