Page 71 of The Comeback Summer

Adam’s face falls.

“Order for Libby!” the barista calls.

I stand, grateful for the perfect timing. Before I head back to the table, I type out the next message.

HANNAHF:I’m so sorry, an emergency at work came up. A client had a data leak and it’s a mess. I was hoping to have everything wrapped up so I could leave, but it looks like I’m going to be here a few more hours. Any chance we can reschedule?

I hit send on the message, then walk back to the table with my latte and cookies. Adam’s eyebrows are pulled together; he looks disappointed, but not devastated or mad, which is good. I watch as he types a response, making sure to tilt my phone up so he doesn’t see his own message appear on my screen.

ADAMR:Data leaks are 1/10

ADAMR:And no problem, we can reschedule

HANNAHF:Thank you so much, and again, I am SO sorry

ADAMR:Good luck

I watch as he sets his phone down, his mouth dipping into a slight frown. He has such nice lips. The man even looks adorable when he’s sad. He taps his fingers against the table, and I can tell he’s debating what to do next. I don’t want him to leave.

“Excuse me,” I say, my voice coming out a little froggy.

Adam looks up. He meets my eyes and smiles, and warmth spreads through my body. For one brief, beautiful moment, Iimagine another world where this could be a serendipitous meeting, where Adam could get to know me for me. And maybe even like me.

“Yes?” he says, and I blush, realizing I’ve forgotten to speak.

“They accidentally gave me two cookies,” I tell him, pushing the plate toward the middle of my table. “Would you like one?”

“What a lucky mistake,” Adam says.

“Very lucky,” I tell him, even though luck had nothing to do with it. “They’re white chocolate with macadamia nuts.”

Adam’s eyes go wide as he leans closer. My breath hitches and I wait for him to say the words I know he’s going to say, the same thing he told Hannah the first time I brought up my—her—favorite cookie.

“You know, white chocolate isn’t really chocolate,” he says, his voice low. The words seem to hum against my skin. “There’s no cocoa in it, just sugar and butter. And sometimes a little vanilla.”

I shrug and pinch a piece off one of the cookies. “Those are some of my favorite ingredients.”

“Do you cook?” he asks.

“I dabble. How about you?”

“A little more than dabble,” Adam says. He dips his head and looks back up at me in a gesture that feels shockingly familiar, even though I’m seeing it for the first time. Like he’s uncomfortable talking about himself. “It’s what I do professionally.”

“A chef,” I say, although I know he doesn’t like to claim that professional title.

“More like a cook,” he says, one corner of his mouth rising in a self-deprecating smile. “I didn’t go to culinary school, I just learned the ropes growing up in the kitchen at my parents’ restaurant. I run the place now.”

“What kind of restaurant?” I ask.

It feels a little like cheating because I already know so much about him, but since society puts people who look like me at a disadvantage, I figure it’s okay to use what I know to steer the conversation.

“A diner in Wicker Park. Nothing fancy, but we make a mean breakfast.”

“Hey, don’t knock the most important meal of the day,” I tell him. “Other than dessert.”

I nudge the plate toward him and he takes the second cookie.

“Thank you,” he says. “I’m Adam, by the way.”

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