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She rolls her lips together, shaking her head, but I know I got her.

“Jack,” she says; I love the way she says my name. “Will you pretty please sign for the coffees?” She bats her eyelashes.

I run my finger across the iPad screen before turning it back to her. “Thank you,” I say as she rolls her eyes, fighting that smile I wish she’d give to me.

When she turns around to start making the drinks, I pull out my wallet, walking over to the tip jar at the pickup counter and dropping in two twenties before she notices.

I watch her as she moves with ease, her motions so familiar they almost look thoughtless as she preps the espresso for the two drinks.

As the machine hisses, she grabs two plastic cups with the Hey Honey’s logo, her movements flowing from one to the next, pouring a different type of milk in each cup just as the espresso is ready.

I lean over the pickup counter without meaning to, watching her movements closely.

She doesn’t rush, doesn’t pause, but I notice she bites the inside of her cheek as she works—focused on the task in front of her.

She pours both shots of espresso into the cups at the same time, and I watch as her tongue darts out to wet her lips.

The same way it did when she licked the milk from her wrist when she was showing me how to test the temperature for Evee.

When I couldn’t stop staring at her lips.

The sound of her scooping ice brings me back to the moment, and I watch as she pours ice into the two coffees, pressing lids to each one before pushing the two cups toward me.

“Order for Jack,” she says, looking right in my eyes, a smirk on her face—no doubt because she caught me staring, but I’d let her catch me every time. She’s leaned over the counter, almost meeting me where I’m on the other side doing the same.

With her face a few inches from mine, her neck slightly angled up to look me in the eyes, I can smell the vanilla on her skin, mixing with the smell of freshly brewed espresso.

Maybe I am a coffee guy after all.

“Thanks, pretty girl,” I say, surprising both her and myself.

I don’t mean to call her that, this time being just as much of an accident as the first time, but the nickname comes from my lips so seamlessly, and the catch in her breath makes me thankful for the slip.

She doesn’t say anything, just goes back to her station and cleans up, and I think I could spend a whole day watching her, only to fall asleep and wake up to do it again the next day.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” I say to her, not sure what I’m about to say but just wanted her attention back on me.

Rumi looks back at me, one brow raised at me, those pieces of her hair untucked, framing her face.

“I—” I start, then the thought hits me. “I owe you cookies.”

Confusion mars her face for a moment before understanding dawns, remembering our conversation in her smokey kitchen. She shakes her head, and I know exactly what she’s about to say, so I say it with her.

“You don’t have to do that,” we say at the same time, and her eyes widen before that blush overtakes her cheeks, that shyness creeping back in.

“You can say this next part with me, if you want,” I tease.

“But I want to.” I say it slowly, teasing her a little more.

She stares at me, and I can tell by the sparkle in her eyes that she’s trying not to smile.

Taking on a more serious tone, making sure she hears every word, I remind her, “I like doing things for you, Rumi.”

And I’ll tell her again and again until she believes it.

She lets out a sigh, but I see the way her lips curve up. “Well, Ava says I’m still banned from using the oven at the house.” It’s such a lazy excuse, and a poor attempt to change the subject, that I don’t think she’s actually trying to get out of the plans.

“Perfect. I just moved, and I’d be honored if you and Evee join me for breaking in mine.”

Her mouth opens, but she doesn’t say anything, and I’m worried I said something wrong.

“What?” I ask her.

She grabs the towel she has tucked in her apron, wiping down the counter before throwing it over her shoulder, her hands going to the front pocket of her apron, toying with something she has in there.

“You want Evee to come too?”

“Of course,” I answer. “Unless, you don’t want to bring her?” I frame it as a question, not exactly sure how to approach this.

I figured she’d want to bring Evee, that it’d be easier for her, but maybe not.

Maybe it’s a pain in the ass to bring a baby to a new place—I don’t fucking know.

Or maybe she doesn’t want to bring her daughter to some man’s house who she barely knows.

Or maybe I made up this whole friendship and connection in my head, and I’m making the biggest ass out of myself right now.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” I tell her, hoping I fix whatever mistake I made. “I just want to get to know the both of you.”

“No, it’s just that—” She stops when her voice cracks, her eyes glistening, and I want someone to come punch me in the face right now because I obviously did something very wrong. “That’s really sweet,” she says, emotion heavy in her voice.

I don’t say anything, not wanting to say something else that makes her upset, so I wait.

“I was really nervous to make friends, not only because I’ve never been good at it, but because I wasn’t sure if people would want to be friends with a single mom, so it means a lot that you want to include Evee.

” She removes her hands out of her pockets, wringing them together before running them down the front of her apron.

She seems nervous at the admission, but it makes me release a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Does Friday night work?” I grab two straws, taking the wrapping off and balling it up between my palms, just to do something with my hands.

Apparently, we’re both nervous.

“Friday works for us,” she says.

“There’s a park not too far from my new house.” The thought barely registers in my head before I say it out loud. “Maybe we can take Evee.”

“Okay,” she echos. “She would love that—the park I mean. She loves the park,” she stammers out.

“Great. I’ll text you my address.” I put the two straws in the coffees still sitting in front of me, tossing the balled-up wrappers in the garbage underneath the counter. “We can figure out something for dinner too.”

“Great.”

I think she’s going to say something else, but we hear the incoming chatter coming from behind her—where I assume the back office is—-Ava holding Evee, her little hands rubbing her eyes, her bed head on full display after her mid-morning nap.

Luke and Emerson follow close behind her, the three of them talking about a party at the end of the month, but I don’t hear much of the details.

“Look who’s awake,” Ava sing-songs, passing a still-sleepy Evee to Rumi, her small body curling against Rumi instantly, her head falling on her shoulder, her mouth around a pacifier that’s clipped to her little yellow onesie.

She has white shorts with matching yellow flowers, her feet covered by the same color socks.

“Hi, Evee girl,” I say, leaning down to see her pretty blue eyes—I swear to God, her lashes could blow me away, the same way those eyes could bring me to my knees.

Just like her mom’s.