TRISTAN BELIEVED a drive-thru window would add efficiency to the process of the coffee shop around the corner and wondered why they didn’t add one. Then again, plenty of folks appeared willing to park their cars and wait several minutes in line to place their orders.
He couldn’t help the critique. He saw opportunities everywhere. And if he had the means to take advantage of a few, he would. Why not increase revenue when opportunity stood in front of you waiting to order a café Americano with soy milk?
He tucked the arm of his sunglasses into his shirt and waited. Most days, Tristan grabbed his drink and ran. But today, maybe he would linger and soak up the ambience.
When his coffee was ready, he picked it up at the far end of the counter and wandered to one corner of the dining area, where a couple of cozy chairs were arranged.
A young woman occupied one chair. Dressed in a baseball cap with a raven ponytail sticking through the back, she kept to herself as she sipped her drink, staring straight ahead.
As Tristan set his cup on the coffee table and backed himself into the seat, the chair rubbed against the tile floor and rendered a sudden, loud squeak, which startled the young woman. Wherever her thoughts were, her focus must have been intense.
“Sorry to startle you,” Tristan said. “Is this seat taken?”
She gave him a quick glance, then returned to her focus to her cup. She seemed nervous to have someone—anyone—nearby, but perhaps it was Tristan’s imagination.
“Feel free to take it,” she replied. “I’m getting ready to leave anyway.”
She possessed a natural beauty, the kind you don’t notice at first glimpse, one which grows on you and overtakes you.
Tristan didn’t want her to leave.
“Please don’t head out on my account.”
She gave him another peek, longer this time, and her features softened. “Well, I wasn’t ready to leave quite yet.”
Why did it seem as though Tristan had met her in the past? She looked familiar.
“Have I seen you here before?” he asked.
“Probably not. I don’t come here often.”
He gave her another sideways perusal. Maybe she was in film or television, a B-lister from years ago. It wasn’t unusual to run into those people here and there. He never made a big deal of it.
Based on how she kept to herself, Tristan figured she preferred her privacy, so he grabbed his coffee and rose from his seat. “I barged into your quiet corner here. I’ll let you have your space.”
As he turned, he felt a tug upon his shirt tail. When he spun around, Nora blushed, which told Tristan she had reacted before thinking. After attempting to avoid his eyes once more, she peered into them, her gaze darting from left to right, perhaps sizing up whether she could trust him. Her shoulders relaxed.
“Please stay,” she said. “I don’t mind.”
Tristan hesitated. He almost felt guilty. “Are you sure?”
“I could use some company.”
And with that, Tristan settled into the chair once again. He was between romantic relationships and didn’t spot a wedding band on this woman’s finger.
There! She did it again! It struck him as self-conscious, the way she sneaked peeks over her shoulder to see if anyone noticed them speaking. Should he worry? Tristan didn’t detect any vibes that concerned him, yet this quirk of hers seemed odd. Borderline obsessive—nervous, as if the FBI had waltzed through the door five minutes earlier and handcuffed a guy.
“I’m Tristan.” He held out his hand.
She offered a curious smile, which caused him to wonder if his initial attraction to her might be mutual. Her lips curled into a twist; she appeared to find the handshake cute.
She hesitated, as though to weigh her simple response, then took his hand and replied, “Nora.”
“Nora? I don’t hear that name much. One of those classics.”
“It was my grandmother’s name.” She sipped her coffee and continued to size him up. Her arms and shoulders relaxed. “What do you do for a living, Tristan?”
“I’m an entrepreneur.” Indeed, he considered himself such. He’d invented his own style of wellness coaching. And to his knowledge, he was the first in the area to accomplish this as an online-exclusive endeavor.
His answer appeared to pique her curiosity. She leaned forward and furrowed her brow. “Shouldn’t you be in an office somewhere instead of hanging around a coffee shop in the middle of the morning?”
“I conduct all my work online, so my time is flexible. All hours of day or night.”
“And you enjoy it?”
“Pays the bills,” Tristan shrugged. He didn’t view it beyond making a living, though it seemed to help people improve their lives, which, to him, affirmed it as an honest career. Did he have all the answers? No. Then again, he didn’t need to. People will do what they’re going to do; he helped them cut through the crap on the way to their destination.
They spoke in hushed tones. Tristan couldn’t figure why, but he followed her lead, and their conversation felt natural nonetheless.
“What type of business is it?”
“You could call it online sales.”
“What do you sell?”
Tristan tapped the lid on his coffee cup. He’d had this conversation on countless occasions. “Whatever the customer needs. People need a particular improvement, and I provide the service that gets them the information they need to make that adjustment.”
All true. Whenever anyone asked about Tristan’s profession, he kept the description vague. Not to hide what he did, but to protect his alias. The flipside of conducting coaching online was that he didn’t know who was on the other side. What if a client was a psychopath who would hunt him down if he phrased something wrong? Time to change the subject.
“What do you do, Nora?”
There! She did that weird self-conscious thing again, glancing over her shoulder! She looked like she wanted to trust him but needed to overcome an obstacle first.
Then he recognized her.