Page 43 of Well, That Was Unexpected

With a start, I realize George is watching me. “Do you like it?” he says.

“Yeah. It’s amazing. Your mom had good taste.”

He gives me a smile that’s so bright and unabashed that I feel my cheeks warming. “She really did,” he says, then leans in and lowers his voice, “but she would put sugar in her coffee, so I don’t know that Lukmi would approve.”

I laugh and George puts a finger to his lips like this tiny little tidbit about his mother is our secret.

Now that we’ve had our caffeine shot, Lukmi starts the latte art class. He talks to us about correctly steaming the milk to get the perfect texture and taste, then gives us each a pourer full of steamed, foamy milk and tells us to follow him. We watch as he pours milk into a waiting cup of coffee, jiggling the pourer with expert ease until he forms a graceful swan on the latte.

“Now, you try it,” he says.

I do as he says, trying to remember everything he’s instructed, pouring as carefully as I can. I step back and admire my handiwork.

“Not bad,” George murmurs, looking over at my cup. “I’ve always wanted a blob fish on my latte.”

I glare at him. “Let’s see yours then.”

George takes a dramatically slow breath and starts pouring. He wiggles his hand as naturally as though he’s done this a dozen times before and manages to make semi-decent circles on hiscoffee. The circles are misshapen of course, but at least they’re not a shapeless glop like mine is.

Kiki and Eleanor have gotten spoons and are totally cheating by spooning the foam onto their cups instead of pouring them in. Kiki is making—oh god, of course she’s making boobs. And Eleanor is trying to make a snowman. Or a foam man, I guess.

“Kiki,” I hiss, “stop making boobs! We’re being filmed.”

She looks at me innocently. “Excuse you, this is a teddy bear. Can I help it if that’s where your perverted mind goes?”

“Oh.” I frown down at her cup. “Sorry, I didn’t realize—”

“Nah, I’m just kidding, they’re totally boobs.”

George bursts out laughing, and though I try my best to stop myself, I can’t help but cackle as well. Lukmi just rolls his eyes at the camera, like he’s seen this about a hundred times.

“C’mere, you two,” Lukmi says to George and me. “Latte art can be fun”—he gives a wry nod toward Kiki and Eleanor, who are now sporting milk-foam mustaches—“but it can also be romantic.” He winks at us.

“Oh, er…” Whatever I’m about to say, I manage to swallow it down. I’m supposed to be George’s girlfriend. I should be excited at the thought of doing a romantic activity with him.

“Right,” Lukmi says. “Sharlot, you hold this.” He hands me a milk pourer filled with foamed milk. “And now, George, you hold her hand—uh-oh, what’s going on?” he says as George touches my hand gingerly and I fumble and nearly let the pourerfall.

“Sorry,” George mumbles.

“It’s okay, really.” I give him a small smile. He puts his hand over mine, engulfing it with his warm, firm grip. My heart skips abeat. Despite everything about our situation, my traitorous hormones won’t stop reminding me that there’s a very good-looking guy holding my hand.

“Now, pour together and I’ll read your milk foam.”

“Sorry, read our milk foam?” I say.

“You know, like reading tea leaves?” Lukmi grins. “It’s just for fun, but people have said my milk-foam readings are very accurate.”

I turn to George to give him a can-you-believe-this-guy look, but find him standing so close to me that I immediately change my mind and turn away, my whole face flaming. The nearness of him is overwhelming.

Together, we guide the little pot over the big cup of coffee that Lukmi has prepared for us. The cameraman guides his lens to zoom in on our hands. George is so close behind me that I can sense the warmth radiating from him, and as he moves, I feel his chest—his pecs, oh my god—lightly bumping the back of my shoulders. I valiantly try to focus on the latte. Our hands move together and we start pouring the foamed milk into the cup. I’m not sure who’s leading whom. George’s hand is gentle over mine, and we pour with a lot more confidence than I’m feeling.

A whole bunch of concentric circles appear. Excitement unfurls inside me. We’re doing it. I’m getting the hang of the wobbling movement needed to make the circles, and when the latte reaches the brim of the cup, George gives my hand a small tug and I let him lead the pourer down the middle of the circles. It’sonly when we lift the pourer that I realize he’s turned the circles into a heart. He grins down at me, and my breath catches for a second.

“We did well,” he says in a voice so low it’s clear the words are only meant for me. His mouth is close to my forehead and I feel his whisper caress my skin, sending an electric current down my entire length. Seriously, please stop messing with me, hormones. I look away quickly and blink at the cameraman, who’s trained his lens at our faces. I wonder how we must look, how guiltyImust look. I don’t even know why I’m feeling guilty.

We all watch Lukmi as he peers closely at our cup and walks around the table, inspecting it from all angles. He’s a total showman, completely at ease with the camera and our attention. He straightens up and says, solemnly, “Mm. You two are a strong couple.”

Kiki whistles and Eleanor giggles. With flames licking my cheeks, I don’t even dare look up at anyone, least of all George.

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