Chapter 18
“I need yoga pants,” I say. “I’m so full.”
We’ve stuffed ourselves full of Turkish food, and I swear I’m about to bust out of my jeans. It was an experience full of flavors, and it was so much fun eating with JP, I overindulged and sampled everything on the table.
“Too full for Turkish coffee?” JP asks.
“How is it different from American coffee?”
“It would be more of an adventure if I didn’t tell you.”
“You’re such a food tease.”
JP laughs. “Are you in or are you out? The cups are small.”
“Okay, but if my jeans button snaps off in the car on the ride home, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“I’ll brace for flying buttons then.”
I start laughing. “See? This is my problem. I’m too blunt. I should be coy on a date.”
“Why is this a problem? It’s you. Real.Life.Reese. I would rather have this than you trying to craft answers you think I’d want to hear.”
“Would you like to order dessert?” the server asks, reappearing at our table.
“Two cups of Turkish coffee, please. I’ll take mine sweet.” JP glances at me. “I’d advise sweet for the first time.”
“Same, please,” I say.
“Would you like dessert?” the server asks.
“I wouldn’t, no thank you,” I say.
“No, thank you,” JP agrees.
After the server leaves, I turn my attention to JP. “Why sweet for the coffee?””
“It’s strong.”
“I’d better not regret this order.”
“If you do, I’ll take you to Starbucks.”
Hmm. If we go to Starbucks, I get more time with JP.
Which is all I want.
“Does our adventure end with dinner?” I ask.
“I was hoping it wouldn’t.”
Ooh!
JP’s expression grows serious. “Reese, I haven’t felt this way in a long time. Even though we’ve been together for hours now, I still want more time with you.”
“Normally, by this point in the evening, I’m ready to go home,” I say softly. “I’d finish with coffee and say I was tired or had a modeling shoot tomorrow and needed sleep. Some excuse. I would want to escape.”
“And now?”
“I don’t want to escape. I want our conversation to continue. I want to be with you, JP.”
A smile lights up his face. “Well, you don’t live far from here. I can take you home but stay for a while.”
An image of my messy apartment flashes through my head: dishes stacked in the sink and stacks of fitness magazines on my sofa. Oh dear God, do I have my bras drip drying over the towel bar in the bathroom?
Oh, no. No, no, no. He can’t see my place in such a state!
As I rack my brain for an excuse, JP furrows his brow.
“I’m sorry,” JP says quickly. “I shouldn’t have invited myself over like that.”
“No, it’s not that,” I say, shaking my head. I cringe as things are about to get embarrassingly real for me. “It’s a complete mess. That’s why I met you at the door. I don’t want my mess to change your opinion of me.”
The server returns with two tiny cups of coffee, placing them on the table in front of us, along with two glasses of water.
“Reese, please don’t feel like that. I don’t care about your mess.”
“But you’re so neat.”
“I also hate ice in my drinks, but you don’t hold that against me just like I won’t hold your mess against you.”
I glance down at the tiny cup in front of me, the scent of steaming coffee perfuming the air.
“For the record, I like things messy. Including Turkish coffee. It has grounds in it.”
“What?” I ask, bending over and peering closer into my cup, but all I see is foam.
“It’s how they make it,” JP explains. I lift my gaze to meet his. “It’s unfiltered. Messy. Imperfect. As you can see, I like messy not only in my coffee but in my women, too.”
Hello! The smoking chemistry between us just went up another notch.
“This is good to know, Batman,” I say, picking up my tiny cup.
“Have a sip of water first,” JP instructs. “To cleanse your palate.”
I can’t help but giggle. “You’re the first man I’ve gone out with who has brought up my palate on a date.”
JP appears sheepish, and he’s so damn cute all I want to do is lean across the table and kiss him.
So I do.
“That’s for being Jean-Pierre,” I murmur.
He grins as I sit back down.
“Okay, sip of water,” I repeat.
We each take a sip, then pick up our delicate cups.
“You’re supposed to linger over this coffee,” JP says. “It’s meant to be savored.”
Savored.
Which is exactly what I intend to do each second I’m in the company of this worldly, mature, sexy European man.
I take a moment to inhale the coffee, which has a strong aroma. Mmm. I stare down into the tiny cup, noticing the thick foam and dark color.
“It looks like hot chocolate,” I say.
“It does,” JP agrees. “Are you ready?”
“Let the adventure begin,” I say, taking a small sip.
Immediately, I’m struck by the richness of the coffee. It’s very thick, super strong, and sweet.
“Wow,” I say, putting my cup down. “That’s . . . different.”
“You don’t want to drink it all the way down,” JP says. “You’ll get the grounds at the bottom.”
I nod.
“Different good or different bad?”
“Definitely different good,” I say.
Like you, I add to myself.
“I bet if we found a YouTube video and got the right pot we could make this at home,” JP says, leaning back in his chair. “It would be a nice after-dinner ritual.”
We.
He said we.
In the future tense. Buying a Turkish coffee pot, watching videos, and attempting to make this at home. Together.
This should send me into complete panic mode.
I should want to shove back from the table, say I suddenly have a raging headache, and ask if we can cut this short so I can go home.
But instead, I picture us Googling YouTube videos and searching for where to buy equipment side by side on his couch. Eagerly awaiting the delivery of our packages. Playing the video in his kitchen as we try to figure out how to replicate this wonderful ritual.
And making it our ritual.
The only fear I have now is how badly I want this.
I know I’m opening myself up to be hurt.
“I love that idea,” I blurt out.
JP grins. “Good. When we get to your place, we’ll see where we can get a cezve. That’s a little copper Turkish coffee pot.”
“How do you know all this?” I ask, going in for my second sip of the exotic coffee.
“You do like it. You’re going back for more,” JP says.
“I do,” I say. “How are you so educated in the ways of Turkish coffee?”
“I went to Istanbul on holiday once with my family. We got some from a street vendor, and he used this little pot and did it over coals. I was fascinated. When something interests me, I start reading about it.”
“So, you fell down the Turkish coffee rabbit hole online,” I tease.
“I’m a dork.”
No, I think, you’re sweet.
Charming.
Intelligent.
Sexy.
“I like that about you,” I say, setting down my cup.
“That I’m a dork?”
“You’re not a dork. I like that you have interests and you follow your curiosity. That’s attractive.”
Extremely attractive.
“I’m glad you think so,” JP says, his voice expressing a hint of amazement that I do.
“I do.”
“Good. Then we’ll go down the rabbit hole of Turkish coffee equipment when we get to your place.”
My place.
My first internal response is joy over the fact that I’m going to be making out with JP again.
Then I realize I’ll have to shovel off the sofa for us to do so.
Shit, shit, shit!
But there’s no way out of this now. JP is taking me home. I’m letting him inside.
And I only hope that getting a full dose of Real.Life.Reese won’t end in him running out the door.