Page 184 of Tormented Billionaire Romance Series

I laughed.

She didn’t.

I cleared my throat. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Right now I’m only a customer.”

“Oh,” she cried. “I’m so sorry. What would you like?”

“Do you recall what you made for me last time?”

“I do,” she said, smiling a bit.

“Can I get that again, but with two shots of espresso? I need that extra kick so my employees don’t all want to quit to get away from the grumpy boss.”

She laughed. I grinned. Her laugh was so genuine, I could tell I’d snuck past her defenses, right to her funny spot. Something did bother me, but I was too busy watching her, the way her nose crinkled and the corners of her eyes creased up.

“Anything else?”

“Just a regular mocha. Oh and, uh, these.” On a whim, I snatched up a bag of chocolate-dipped pretzels from the display case next to me.

“Oh, those are really good. The chocolate has coffee grounds mixed into it.”

“Sounds great. After that coffee you made for me, I’d trust your opinion of anything.”

She took my card and smiled a little. “You might not want to be so hasty. I hate caramel.”

“So do I!”

She laughed again and gave me my card back. Our fingers brushed together, just enough for a spark of warmth to pass between us. “I’ll get those ready for you.”

I took my bag of pretzels off to wait, watching her from my peripherals while pretending to answer some texts. It would have been better for me to actually respond to the messages, since Brian was hounding my ass over the delay, but I couldn’t find it in me to focus on anything other than the cute coffee girl.

The drinks were ready much sooner this time. That Suzie wasn’t there to get in her way.

“Do you want a drink tray?” she asked.

“I’ve got it all, I think. Do you take tips?”

“Ye-es,” she said slowly. She pointed to a little cup on the counter. “It’s not necessary.”

“I want to. Can I tip just you?”

She hesitated even more. “I… Yes.”

I set my drinks back on the counter and pulled out my wallet. “Here.” I passed over a folded $20.

She looked at the bill. “Do you, uh, want change?”

“No.” I reached over the counter and took her hand in mine, curling her fingers around the money. “You have been nothing but a delight and I want you to have that. Please don’t put it in the shared tip jar as soon as I leave. It’s for you. You’ve earned it. Okay?”

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Put it in your pocket.”

She did, and then rubbed her fingers together, like they tingled.

“See you soon,” I told her, and took my drinks out to the car. I knew the money had embarrassed her, of course. She’d have to get used to it, because I was going to keep coming back and buying coffee.

Working with artists, I understood that a lot of people in the world didn’t appreciateeffort.So many people saw only the end result, the final product, and used that to figure its value, completely ignoring the hours of practice, the hours of work, the lifelong dedication. While that girl wasn’t painting or composing music, she was crafting coffees while dealing with customers, not all of whom would be nice. She was on her feet for hours in a hot kitchen, creating products with knowledge she’d worked to acquire.

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