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CHAPTER 3

VANESSA

I wipe down the counter for the third time, my mind drifting back to those strange questions. Who asks about Valentine's Day like they've never heard of it before? He certainly didn't have any kind of strange accent that stood out, either.

"Hello? Vanessa?" Becca waves her hand in front of my face. "You've been cleaning that same spot for five minutes."

"Sorry, I just..." My cloth pauses mid-swipe. "Remember that guy from earlier? The one asking all those weird questions?"

"Tall, built like a linebacker doing cosplay as a professor?" Becca's eyes sparkle. "Hard to forget."

"Did you notice how he talked? Like he was conducting a survey or something?" I toss the cloth into the sanitizer bucket. "Who asks 'What is the cultural significance of exchanging heart-shaped confections during this particular seasonal celebration?'"

Becca snorts. "Maybe he's an alien doing research on human mating rituals."

"Right? I kept waiting for him to pull out a Star Trek holo pad thing and start documenting human behavior in the wild." I mimic writing in the air. "'The female of the species appears agitated by pink cardboard hearts.'"

"But you have to admit, he was kind of cute in that confused-professor way."

My stomach does an annoying little flip. "No. No way. I'm not even thinking about that. Besides, who shows up at a coffee shop asking about the 'evolutionary advantages' of giving chocolate to potential mates?"

"Someone who's clearly interested in studying you." Becca wiggles her eyebrows.

"Stop it." I grab another cloth, needing something to do with my hands. "I'm not looking for anyone right now, remember? Especially not some weird anthropologist who probably thinks dating is a social experiment."

But even as I say it, I can't help remembering the intensity in those green eyes, the way his questions seemed genuinely curious rather than condescending. There was something different about him, something I can't quite put my finger on.

The next day, I'm refilling the pastry display when bell chimes and my heart does a little stutter-step. There he is again, same stubble, same broad shoulders filling out a navy sweater that looks soft enough to touch. Not that I'm thinking about touching it.

"Welcome to Love Roast," I say, trying to keep my voice professional. "Same as yesterday?"

"Actually," Jack leans against the counter, those green eyes fixed on mine with an intensity that makes my skin tingle. "I'd like to propose something different."

"We do have other drinks besides black coffee."

"I'm more interested in conducting a practical study of modern dating customs." He pulls out a small notebook. "Would you be willing to participate in a first-hand examination of contemporary courtship rituals?"

I blink. "Are you... asking me out?"

"Yes. Though I'd appreciate if you'd allow me to document the experience. For research purposes."

Behind me, Becca drops something with a clatter. I ignore her barely suppressed giggle.

"Let me get this straight. You want to take me on a date... as a research project?" The exact thing I told Becca I thought he would do.

"I find you fascinating." He says it so matter-of-factly that my cheeks heat up. "Your insights on Valentine's Day traditions yesterday were particularly illuminating. I'd like to learn more."

"I don't date anymore." The words come out automatically, but they lack conviction. "And I'm definitely not interested in being someone's sociology experiment."

"What if I promise to leave the notebook at home?" His mouth quirks up at one corner. "Though I can't guarantee I won't ask questions. It's an occupational hazard."

"I..." My resolve wavers. There's something disarming about his directness, the way he's not trying to be smooth or clever. "This is crazy."

"Is that a yes?"

Becca coughs behind me in a way that sounds suspiciously like "Say yes!"

I should say no. I've sworn off dating. But something about his earnest curiosity makes me want to see where this goes. "Fine. One date. But no note-taking, no recording devices, and if you start treating me like a lab specimen, I'm out."

"Agreed." His smile broadens. "Tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow night works," I say, trying to ignore how my heart speeds up when his smile widens. "Though I should warn you, dating around here isn't exactly anthropologically fascinating."

"What do you mean by that?" He pulls out that little notebook again, and I reach across the counter to push it back into his pocket. His chest is solid under my fingertips, and I quickly withdraw my hand.

"No notes, remember?"

"Ah, right. My apologies." He tucks it away. "But please, enlighten me about typical courtship patterns in this geographic region."

I can't help but laugh at his formal phrasing. "Well, usually it's dinner and a movie. Maybe drinks after if things go well."

"Dinner and a movie?" His nose wrinkles like I've suggested we go dumpster diving. "That's the standard protocol for initial romantic encounters?"

"Protocol? Who talks like that?" I shake my head. "But yeah, that's pretty much the go-to first date around here."

"How disappointingly conventional." He straightens up, something almost challenging in his expression. "I can devise a far more engaging experience."

"Oh really?" I cross my arms. "And what exactly did you have in mind, Professor?"

"That would spoil the element of surprise." He checks his watch – an actual analog watch, who even wears those anymore? "I'll collect you at seven tomorrow evening."

"Collect me? I'm not a research specimen."

"Pick you up," he corrects himself quickly. "My apologies. Sometimes my professional vocabulary bleeds into casual conversation."

"Right." I scribble my address on a napkin, already wondering if I'm making a huge mistake. "Seven it is."

He takes the napkin with surprising care, folding it precisely before tucking it into his pocket. "Until tomorrow then, Vanessa."

The way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine that I absolutely refuse to acknowledge. As he walks out, shoulders square and brimming with confidence, I can't decide if I've just made a terrible or brilliant decision.