Page 19 of By Any Beans Necessary

He noticed her cheeks tinged pink as she smiled at him. "You give me too much credit."

"Not enough, by far," he assured her.

Dessert came—berry pie a la mode—and they split it, forks dueling playfully for the last bite, which Michelle graciously surrendered with mock defeat.

"Generous loser," he quipped, popping the morsel into his mouth.

"Remember that," she warned with a light tone.

Meal done, they ambled out into the night, side by side. The air had cooled considerably, carrying a hint of the winter’scrispness. They walked slowly, no destination in mind except the end of the evening that neither seemed eager to reach.

"Thanks for dinner," Michelle told him, "but you really didn't have to pay."

"Oh yes, I did. It was a date, and I owed you anyway," he countered, pulling his hands out of his pockets, feeling the shift from playful banter to something laden with meaning.

"But dinner should have been on me; you aced your test. I should be thanking you for the honored company." She bumped into him lightly.

"Guess we're even then," he mused, though his heart hammered a different truth.

"Even Steven."

Her apartment came into view, looming closer with each step. It was now or never.

"Michelle..." he began, voice trailing.

"Jeff?" she echoed, turning to face him, the porch light casting golden hues over her features.

"I'm not good at this," he confessed, the words clumsy. "But tonight was...it was great."

"It was," she agreed, her gaze steady on his.

"Can I—" His question hung between them, unfinished yet understood.

"Please do," she whispered.

He leaned in, hesitance giving way to certainty. Their lips met again, nothing tentative about it this time. The kiss was deep and powerful, and the world shrank to just the two of them, a pocket of warmth in the cool Texas night.

"Good night, Jeff," she murmured against his lips as they parted.

"Good night, Michelle." He watched her retreat into her apartment, the door closing softly behind her. He stood there amoment longer, a goofy grin plastered on his face, the taste of berry pie and new beginnings lingering sweetly on his lips.

Chapter Seven

The Coffee Loft buzzed with the cozy hum of morning chatter, but Michelle was somewhere between steaming milk and a daydream. In her mind's eye, Jeff's rugged smirk played on loop, his brown hair falling just so over a brow that suggested both mischief and mystery.

"Michelle, honey, you planning to serve that or audition it for a beauty pageant?" Mr. Henderson grumbled from his usual spot at the counter, breaking her reverie.

"Sorry, Mr. Henderson." She blinked back to reality, her cheeks warming as she pushed the cup over to him.

"Is this...a joke?" His voice scratched like sandpaper, his usual scowl now etched deeper into his weather-beaten face.

She glanced over at what should have been his black coffee. Instead, a frothy, pink concoction topped with sprinkles stared up at her like some kind of sugary abomination. "Your correct coffee's coming right up," she promised, trying to ignore how her pulse still danced to thoughts of Jeff. "This one's on the house."

"The next one better not be pink," he muttered, folding his newspaper with a snap.

As she turned to fix the mistake, shrieks echoed from outside. She peeked through the window just in time to see chaos unfold on the patio. A group of chickens—brazen little hooligans from a nearby farm—had descended upon the Coffee Loft's outdoor seating like feathered pirates. They were pecking at pastry crumbs and darting under tables.

"Shoo, shoo," Michelle shouted, darting out the door, apron strings flying. She chased the clucking invaders around tables where customers were now standing, balancing laptops and lattes in a comical ballet.

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