Page 10

Chapter nine

Anna

T he line at the Roastery is even busier than normal. The shorter daylight hours forces people to up their caffeine intake to make it to supper time. I fan my throat ineffectually, the cardigan I’m wearing totally unnecessary in the crush of people looking for their afternoon caffeine fix. River, my favourite barista, is totally killing it on the espresso machine while her co-owner, Fiona, takes the next customer’s order. Over the hiss of the steam wand, I hear a sigh of pure exasperation behind me.

“Come on , haven’t they ever heard of mobile ordering? ”

Immediately defensive of my favourite female-owned business and in a fairly shitty mood to begin with, I turn and say, “Haven’t you ever heard of a small business?”

My bravado dies off as I see who I’m speaking to.

“Whaddya know, I didn’t expect to see you here, Anna,” Darren drawls.

Of course, I run into him for the first time with a messy ponytail on top of my head and makeup that’s barely hanging on. I fold my arms tight across my chest. “I live across the street, so it shouldn’t be that surprising.”

I haven’t seen him since that night and the sight of him puts me on edge. The knowledge that I’ve touched this man in an intimate way makes my stomach squeeze in a manner that almost has me changing my mind about my coffee. Of course, my stepdad’s voice is there with the reminder that this is my own fault. If I hadn’t been intimate with someone without the commitment of marriage, this would be a non-issue. But that’s not what bothers me, not really. It’s that Darren treated me shitty and I didn’t deserve it.

“You still working over there?” He points his thumb behind him.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“I don’t work there. I own it. ”

He holds his hands up in innocence like he didn’t just say that to be an ass. I honestly think he was jealous of me being a business owner. Whenever I spoke about something related to running the salon, he managed to turn the subject back to him.

“ Sorry .” A smirk tugs at the corners of his dry lips. “Guess you’re still as uptight as ever.”

Like body language is a foreign concept to him, he reaches out to squeeze my shoulder. There is no doubt that my expression reads ‘don’t talk to me’ instead of ‘please touch’.

“Darren, with what you’re working with down there,” I hold my thumb and forefinger up in front of his face a couple inches apart, “you couldn’t loosen me up if you tried.”

He retracts his hand from my shoulder while I revel in the shade of burgundy that flushes over his cheeks. His eyes flit through the line up to see if anybody heard that. Okay, so my experiences with penises is very limited, but Chris’s hard length against my stomach the other day felt considerably larger. I stand a little taller as my insult hits home.