Page 9 of Kissing is the Easy Part

“Well,” he says, “glad you’re fine, I was just calling to—”

Oh no.That’s his exit line!My mouth opens on its own. “Please don’t hang up. I’ll think of something interesting to say soon!”

Excuse me?I’m done.Done.

The back of my neck prickles when Sean’s light laugh comes through.“I was going to ask if you want to meet for coffee, if you’re not doing anything later. I figured I owe you a coffee after stealing your drink last night, but I didn’t want to ask you out over text.”

And now, after nine failed attempts at small talk, five uneventful group dates, one tutoring session, two shared classes, and one drunken confession, I’m finally going on a first date with Sean Foster.

* * *

Sean waits for me in front of the coffee shop he suggested, the Pavement, with sunlight in his hair. One look at him and I forget all the first date questions I googled. I melt like caviar on an epicurean’s tongue.

“Hi! You’re here,” I say unnecessarily. “Sorry I’m late.” Ten minutes late, which isn’t technicallytoolate, but I know my manners.

We’re standing across from a tree-lined park, where birds trill from branches overhead, and the steady splash of a fountain echoes somewhere in the distance. Sean glances over at me, taking in my blush silk cami with delicate straps and my floral skirt, a soft watercolor print that flutters just above my knees, then pushes open the heavy wooden door.

“You’re worth the wait.”

Yes! Off to a good start.

The café has an industrial feel, with exposed metal and weathered wood, and sunlight flooding through tall windows. “Is this okay?” he asks, as a whiff of freshly ground coffee hits my nose. “I’m here a lot. To do homework.”

This is where he hangs out.

“I love it!”

Except maybe it’s too quiet for my taste. The only sound is the humming of the coffee machine, while I prefer places with music and chatter, where I can laugh out loud. Never mind that, because I’d agree to whatever Sean says, even if he suggested bird watching.

“Do you want anything to eat?” He points at the glass showcase that holds desserts. Everything beckons to me, from the glossy pecan cheesecake, to the golden apple strudel with its flaky crust, to the rows of freshly baked cookies.

“I can’t decide. It’s a tough call between cinnamon roll and blueberry muffin. Everything looks amazing. I guess . . . cinnamon roll?”

“Sure. And coffee?”

“Chai latte. Wait, I changed my mind. Blueberry muffin.”

Sean nods. “Find us a seat? Let me get this.”

Should I fight with him over the bill? But maybe this is important to his male ego, so I let him pay. I sit down at a table near the back and watch Sean at the counter.

He likes his coffee black, my brain notes furiously.Poor kid also doesn’t own a wallet. He has all his cash clipped together with a metal clip, which is awfully . . .sophisticated.

From now on, money clips and black coffee are the definition of cool.

Sean comes back, balancing the tray. I push aside a tiny ceramic vase to clear space for him. He places the drinks on the table first, then lifts two plates and slides them in front of me—one with a blueberry muffin, the other with a cinnamon roll. “Try both. I’ll eat the rest if you can’t finish.”

The cinnamon roll is the fluffiest I’ve ever had, with vanilla cream glaze swirling in my mouth. The blueberry muffin is fresh and buttery, packed with juicy bursts of flavor.Out of this world.

“Do you like it?”

I nod, too busy to answer. When I swallow, I let out a satisfied sigh. “Ilovethis place.”

Sean’s shoulders relax. He smiles and looks . . . relieved? Somehow that makes me a bit relieved as well, knowing he’s not entirely cool and collected about this. Between bites, my mouth carries out conversations on its own.

“Do you have any pet peeves?” I ask, after learning that he’s a dog person, his favorite place in the world is his bedroom, he enjoys bass fishing on Lake Sammamish with his grandad, and that if he won the lottery, he’d still go to school the next Monday.

“People who blame everyone but themselves for their problems. Also, drivers who switch lanes without signaling. How about you?”