Is she bashful because I’m famous, or has she, like me, hidden more of herself than she let on in the letters? The girl I always considered to be an open book is turning out to be more mysterious. It’s wrong, but at this moment, the need to find out if she’s the same person I thought I knew is a compulsion.
She stops when she gets to the counter. “Up early for a morning run?” she asks, taking in my athletic pants, my damp hair, and the trickle of sweat that runs down my neck.
I shrug. “I like the streets when they’re quiet.” This is the truth, at least. Otherwise, I’m running, not just to keep in shape, but to get away from a crowd of fans.
She nods. “A large brewed coffee again?” She holds up the pot. Her hand shakes, the coffee sloshing from side to side.
She sets down the pot when she sees I notice the shaking, and I avert my eyes so as not to embarrass her. I hate that she’s nervous. Typewriter Girl was always comfortable with me, to the point of glibness. I spend my life surrounded by varying levels of deferential and fawning. Our relationship had been free of those constraints.
I want that connection I had with the girl behind the screen. I long to peel away the layers of us to get a glimpse of the real her before I walk away for good.
“Can I have a mug for here?” I ask, with a nod to the large cup of coffee on the counter, which I assume is hers.
Her eyes widen in surprise, but she grabs a turquoise mug from a shelf behind her. She pours the coffee and pauses to look up as it nears the top. I nod, and she keeps pouring until the coffee reaches the brim.
She pushes the cup toward me. “Anything else?”
I shake my head.
When I pay, she takes my money and gives me back my change, and just like yesterday, our fingers brush, igniting a spark. She yanks her hand back as if burned. I put the money in the tip jar and consider her.
“Actually, I would like something else.”
I’m already breaking the rules. I might as well go all in.
“I knew you couldn’t resist the buns. No one can.”
My mouth quirks. “I’m tempted,” I murmur. “But not today.”
I’m as nervous as a teenager asking a girl out for the first time. “Sit with me if you have a few minutes.” I incline my head toward the empty tables in the restaurant and hold up my cup. “I hate drinking alone.”
Her hand freezes on the register. Startled eyes meet mine. Again, slight pink tints the cream of her skin. I want to make her blush daily. Hourly. Always.
Her eyes widen as she stares at my face, and I can see the fangirl glaze to her eyes. It isn’t fair for me to judge her. My fame freaks everyone out. But I don’t want her to be everyone. I want her to be my sweet, snarky best friend who makes me feel like a real person, not some caricature of a celebrity.
“You want to have coffee? With me?” she squeaks. “Aren’t you busy? Are you making a movie in San Francisco?” she asks, looking down into her coffee as she says the word movie, like a dirty secret.
The one girl who liked me for me, and not my fame, is now asking about my movie schedule with a starstruck look in her eyes.
It’s a thousand times fucked up that I’m jealous of Chase James. When Chase James is…me. This is getting complicated. This is why I should never have come.
I run my hand through my hair in frustration and clasp the back of my neck, massaging the tight muscles bunching there.
I must have waited a beat too long to answer because Olivia frowns.
“Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s your business.”
“No, it’s fine. I’m here for some meetings.” I evade, guilty now. None of this is her fault. I’m to blame for making a mess of everything. “I’m staying at the Heights.”
She shifts her feet and tilts her head with a hesitant smile of her own. It’s small, but it gives me hope that maybe—just maybe—we can have a normal conversation.
“The Heights, huh? Pretty fancy. Don’t they have coffee?”
I’m sure they do. The small boutique hotel is world-famous for its history, discreet service, and wealthy guests. But I chose it not for those attributes, but because it’s one of the few hotels near here.
I meet her eyes. “Not like yours.” And there’s her blush again. I want to explore how far it goes down her body.
I walk to the nearest table. “Will you sit with me?” I ask again.
She looks around the empty café. “I’m supposed to be prepping for the morning rush, but…”