I cringe when my bag slams into the wall as I spin to lock the door behind me. A quick glance in my satchel reassures me my precious laptop hasn’t broken. Thank goodness.
I’m supposed to meet my best friend for coffee, and I cannot be late. Claire runs on a tight schedule; she plans everything out at least two weeks in advance. Whereas I’m more of a spur-of-the-moment person. I always have been. That’s why I’m surprised we’ve been friends as long as we have, but I suppose it’s because we complement each other in that way.
I don’t want to disappoint her by arriving late for our meet up like I did last week. She’s the closest thing I have to a sister. Besides, if I show up late, she’ll have extra time to flirt with Aris—my favorite barista and sort-of crush for the past few months since he started working there. Apparently, he caught her eye last time we met at the coffee house.
Claire is gorgeous. Every time we go somewhere together, I feel like a mere mortal standing next to her goddess-like beauty. Normally, I wouldn’t care who she flirts with, but this guy is different.
With chestnut hair that falls just below his brow line and emerald eyes, he’s so handsome and charismatic with his signature crooked smile, I have trouble finding words sometimes when I’m around him. But he’s not just my crush, he’s kind of a friend at this point. I spend so much time at the coffee house, writing during the day, we’ve gotten to know each other a bit.
To be honest, I’m kind of hoping maybe we can be more than just friends, but I’m still too nervous to make any sort of move. And Claire goes through boyfriends rather quickly. She loses interest pretty much around the two-week mark and I… don’t like the idea of that happening between her and Aris.
As I race down the hallway, I notice the lift doors closing up ahead. “Wait!” I call out, hoping whoever is inside will hear me. If they don’t, that’s yet another delay I cannot afford while I wait for the next one.
A hand appears on the door, stopping it before it fully closes. I reach them just as they reopen, and when I step inside, I realize the hand is attached to a very handsome man. I’ve seen him a few times before, but we’ve never spoken. He must live on a floor above me somewhere.
“Thanks.” I smile as I step into the lift.
“No problem.” He gives me a shy grin.
I take a moment to study him. He has short-cropped, stark white hair, not at all the natural white of someone with age. No, this guy looks to be maybe my age or just a bit older, so somewhere between twenty-four and twenty-five, I would think. He’s tall with broad shoulders and solidly built of lean muscle that defines his arms and legs. His square jaw could cut glass, and I could lose myself in his violet eyes for days. His cheeks flush as his gaze holds mine.
Heat creeps up my neck to my face, and I quickly avert my eyes. I hate that I blush so easily. It’s the bane of my existence.
“You live on four?” he asks.
“Yeah.” Nervous, I tuck a stray tendril of hair behind my ear. “What floor do you live on?”
“The fifth. I’m in 502. I just moved in a few weeks ago.”
“You’re directly above me,” I reply. “I live in 402. My name’s Kyra.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I fight the urge to facepalm myself. What if he’s some kind of stalker? I’ve just told him my exact apartment number.
A handsome grin curves his lips. “I’m Davin. So, you’re the one who plays all that Beethoven that keeps me up all night.”
My mouth drifts open. Beethoven is my go-to when I need inspiration for my books. Sometimes, I keep it playing in the background while I’m writing.
“You can hear that?”
He nods. “Who couldn’t?”
My mouth drifts open in horror as I realize I’m one of those loud and obnoxious neighbors, and I didn’t even know it. “Oh my gosh. I am so sorry. I didn’t think I had it on that loud.”
“It’s no problem,” he says quickly. “It helps me to relax sometimes when I’m stressed.”
“Me, too.”
He smiles. “Would you like to maybe get a cup of coffee sometime?”
My cheeks flush with warmth. “Sure.”
His smile grows even brighter. “Great.”
As soon as the lift reaches the first floor, he gestures for me to step out first, then follows behind me.
“Well, it was nice meeting you,” he says. “I’m looking forward to our coffee. Let me know when would be a good time for you.”
“All right,” I reply a bit awkwardly, then turn to walk toward the café. I’m only ten steps away when I glance over my shoulder and notice him still watching me. He gives me a nervous grin, then shakes his head softly as if caught before he turns away and starts down the street.
A smile tugs at my lips. I’m looking forward to that cup of coffee with him. As I walk along the sidewalk, weaving through the throng of people, I wonder if I should wait a few days before I ask him out.
Doubt begins to creep in. What if I seemed too eager to go out with him, and now he’s got the wrong impression? What if we go on a date and he finds out I’m a romance writer? Then, after he reads all those steamy scenes, what if he expects I’ll just fall into his arms at the end of the night or something like that? All sorts of troubling scenarios begin to play out in my mind. I’m so in my head
