Page 39 of Well, Actually
Chapter 10
Cooper leads us a few blocks to what he’s told me is his favorite coffee shop in his neighborhood, a cozy cafe in a squat brick building with a million potted plants hanging in the window.
“After you,” he says, holding the door open for me.
Something about his smile hits me—how damn happy he looks to be welcoming me to his favorite spot—and suddenly, it feels like I’m walking on shifting sand, and I trip over the threshold.
But Cooper’s there, one hand at my elbow, the other at the small of my back, steadying me. I straighten, and his hand falls away from my arm, but the other stays gently pressed at the base of my spine, the warmth of his palm making it feel like I’m lying in the summer sun.
“You okay?” he asks, voice a low vibration near my cheek.
I shake my head, then jerk it into a nod. “Fine,” I say, not feeling fine at all. He still doesn’t move his hand. “Grab us a table.” I nod at the only one open as I step away from his touch. “I’ll order. What do you want?”
His eyes flick to the board as he bites his lower lip. The way the edge of his teeth push into the pillowy pinkness makes heat rush to my cheeks, and I dart my gaze away.
“I’ll do an iced latte,” he says, turning back to me. I make the mistake of looking at him again, his grin sunny and lopsided. God, I hate him.
I nod, pursing my lips and shooing him toward the table.
The line is long, the barista taking the time to actually chat with each customer in a way that’s disarmingly personal. It makes sense why Cooper likes this place. The bright, mismatched decor, the staff that genuinely seems to give a shit, patrons greeting each other with knowing smiles… He’s found Midwestern friendliness in this brutal city.
As much as I try to fix my attention to the chalkboard menu, it keeps slipping to Cooper. I can’t help but study the way he absorbs the room and then reflects it back—a smile playing at his lips as he watches a little girl blow bubbles in her pink drink while her mom beams, his ears perking up as a trio of friends whoop with laughter over some joke, the subtle way his eyes melt as an elderly man reaches across the small table to brush his thumb at the corner of his companion’s lips.
Finally, I put in our order and wait for the drinks at theend of the bar. Cooper catches me looking at him and makes a big show of waving his arm like I lost him in a crowd. My cheeks heat and I look away, taking a scalding sip of my black coffee the second it’s placed on the counter.
With a deep breath to calm my shaky center, I head to my demise… I mean, our table.
“Iced latte with oat milk, Polly Pocket,” I say, sliding it to him.
“My hero.” Cooper grins, tapping the wrapper off his straw, poking it in the drink, and taking a sip. “Why oat milk, though?”
My eyebrows dip low. “Aren’t you lactose intolerant?”
“No?”
I blink a few times, studying him. “Oh… I thought for sure you were. You give off that energy.”
“I give off lactose-intolerant energy?” Cooper says, leaning back, face fixed in a sour expression. “What does that even mean?”
“I… I just…” I swirl my hand at him. He glances down at his sweatshirt, which is embroidered withSILLY GOOSE ON THE LOOSEand an image of the animal fleeing from a pond. At least this one he’s upgraded with a hood. “I feel like someone who can consume cheese without issue wouldn’t compensate with a fit like that.”
“This shows I’m a warrior,” Cooper says, slapping a hand to his chest. It makes me think of a goose flapping its wings and I snort.
“I don’t know, man, you just have the energy of someone who tweeted about being a tummy ache survivor long after itstopped being funny. Probably pinned it as your last one as that ship sank. It seems reasonable that milk could take you down.”
Cooper is silent for a moment, jaw slack as he rapidly blinks. I shift, worried that somehow this was the jab that hit him too hard.
Then his face creases with a smile, his laugh infectious. “You’re brutal.”
I try to hide my own smile but it sneaks through. “So?” I mumble, taking another sip of my coffee.
His grin slips into something more pensive, head tipping to the side as he studies me. “It’s alarming how much I like it.”
I gulp down another sip right as he says that, and the hot liquid stabs down the wrong pipe as I involuntarily gasp. It takes everything in my power to choke it down instead of spitting it right in his face. Would serve him right if I did. Who does he think he is, saying something like that out of the blue?
“You good, Kitten?”
I wave him away, blinking back tears and holding in some rib-shattering coughs. “Fine,” I wheeze. Cooper gives me a skeptical look, casually sipping his drink as I collect myself.
