Pushing the door open, I hear Pete say, “Sorry about that, Juni. I didn’t see you coming.”
I never mind opening the door for myself. It always makes me feel too pampered when I leave it to the doormen, but they don’t appreciate me stealing their job.
“No worries, Pete. I can handle the door.”
He tips his head. “We’re always looking for help if you want to cover a shift or two.”
“I appreciate the offer,” I reply. “I’ll keep that in mind.” As he helps Mrs. Smith into a taxi, I stroll the block, admiring the trees blooming in their large planters and the birds flying with a blue sky as the backdrop.
When I turn the corner, I spy Andrew pacing the sidewalk with a phone to his ear. The tips of my fingers run the length of the smile he brings to my face before I bite my lower lip. I shouldn’t fixate on such shallow things like his looks or the way his suit hangs on his body just as nice as yesterday's did. And my tummy definitely shouldn’t tighten when I eye that cliff dive of a jaw on full display. But I’m pretty sure I’m not alone, nor the first one to admire this man for his physical attributes.
Men like him get plenty of attention. The last thing he needs is mine.
But that smirky grin he’s wearing when he sees me also doesn’t help settle the butterflies flapping around my stomach.
Keep your eyes on the prize, Jacobs. Coffee, that’s it. Nothing more. The last thing I need in my life is some guy who has me imagining growing a garden, barbecuing on the weekends, strolling through Central Park, or dining out. Nope. I don’t need any of that . . . that . . . fantasy stuff in my life.
I’m not interested in changing. Cut bait and get out is working just fine.
“Hello, Juni,” he says, a grin so devilish that my knees weaken, causing me to stumble over my own feet in my stride.
My arms fly into the air as a high-pitched squeal escapes my throat. “Oh my God!” I exclaim, catching myself. Technically, my face stopped the momentum against his chest, but we don’t need to get caught up in the minutia of the details.
Fortunately, he’s quick with his hands and also stopped me from plowing into him . . . well, any more than I did already. Pushing off him, I try to catch my breath, which was also lost in the fall. I straighten my skirt before brushing my hair back from my face and failing to keep the embarrassment from heating my face.
A small section of hair falls from his prior-to-seeing-me perfectly coiffed hair, and he asks, “Are you okay?”
“I’m okay.” And utterly mortified. But I swallow down that admission.
His kind smile quirks up on one side. “If it makes a difference, you saved it at the end.”
“As did your chest. Oh no!” I reach for his shirt but stop shy of rubbing the fabric that’s now covered in makeup that conveniently matches my face. Covering my mouth in horror, I say, “I’m so sorry.” His expression hardens as he stares at his shirt, but he doesn’t say anything.
As for me, I think all of Manhattan can hear me swallow. I add, “I’m sorry. I can’t fix it, but I can have it cleaned. Again, you probably have your own dry cleaner, but you can send me the bill. Or I can just buy you a new shirt. That won’t help you right now, but—”
“It’s okay.” Nothing about his tone has me believing it’s actually okay, but he’s kind enough to pretend. “Two out of three leaves me one ahead.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking I’m bad luck for you.”
His eyes are more golden when he looks in my direction as the sun awakens the avenue. The hard lines of his forehead finally soften, and he says, “I don’t believe in bad luck. Things happen for a reason.”
“So I was meant to ruin two of your shirts in two days?” I laugh. It’s light but releases some of the guilt. Only some of it. “Look, I feel awful. How can I make it up to you?”
“No need.” He checks his watch and then glances over my shoulder. “I hate to cut this short, but I need to get to the office. Can I buy you that coffee?”
I’m quick to the door and open it. “I should be buying you a coffee.”
Andrew’s hand covers mine, and I find my breath escaping me. His body is close, all six-two, maybe six-three of him, shadows mine. “After you. I insist.” His voice is low, as if a secret was shared, and those butterflies are awakened.
I slip my hand out from under his, careful to only steal a glance at him. “Thank you,” I whisper before entering the coffee shop. When I look forward, Barry’s eyes are on me, and a smile on his face, but they’re quick to dart behind me to Andrew. His smile disappears. If there was a way to steam milk with fury, he’s mastered it.
As Andrew and I wait in line for our turn to order, I ask, “Are you sure you have time for this? I don’t want to keep you. It was only a playful joke anyway. My feelings won’t be hurt if you need to leave.”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“No,” I reply with a light laugh. “Like I said, I just feel bad. First the shirt and now I’m keeping you.”
“The line is moving fairly quick. I should be fine.” We both move forward, and as I study the pastry counter, silently debating between the chocolate croissant and the banana muffin, he says, “You look very nice.”
Instead of looking up at him, I look down at my clothes. It’s not a shining star of an outfit or anything, but I guess it’s flattering. Over my shoulder, I say, “That’s very kind of you to say.” Keeping my voice down, I say, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Confidence is built into every syllable this man speaks. And although I’m fairly certain he’s hard to catch off guard, I’m thinking I’m doing a fine job of it.
Turning all the way around, I take him in from feet to neck and then spend a little time on his face. “You look very nice too, Andrew.”
He chuckles, and says, “Thank you, Juni. Speaking of, that’s a very interesting name.”
“Thanks. My mom loved it.” Sure, he did the polite lead-in comment like so many do, but I don’t feel like delving into my past right now. My name is too tightly woven into that topic. So I leave it be and find relief that we’re called to the counter.
I expected Barry to greet me, but I get the new barista—Jen. Barry doesn’t even make eye contact with me, much less with Andrew. Apparently, I’ve gone and destroyed his dreams of us being together. I can only hope the poor kid will go on to find his soul mate in another customer.
I order, and then say, “I’m buying.”
“No, she’s not.” He leans in, and the magic of his smile makes Jen blush. “You see, Jen, Juni here won a jinx yesterday, and I owe her a coffee. So this is on me, okay?”
Jen gives him a wink. “I’ve got your back.”
“I knew you would,” he adds. “Also, make that two muffins, and I’ll have a regular coffee.”
“Your name?”
“Andrew.”
He pays, and she slips his credit card back to him like she’s slipping her digits across that counter. “Thank you, Andrew.”
I move along. When he joins me near the pickup counter, I say, “Don’t let me keep you.”