Page 3 of Knotting Hill
He yawns, running his hand through his hair. He has a similar colouring to Josh, which makes me stand out more. I know it, and I use it.
We head out of the coffee shop into the fresh Spring air, where we are waylaid by my Mum’s old friend, Mrs Figg and herannoying as fuck Cockapoo that doesn’t like the sight of me one bit.
Three
Storm
The first timeI stepped foot into this coffee shop a few years ago, I could already smell its heady flavour, as if the room itself were brewed in the finest of beans. Every inch of the shop is filled with a feeling of grandeur, a unique mixture of warmth, luxury, and elegance. It felt like the kind of place that only the elite could afford to enter.
The walls are adorned with a rich tapestry of art, and modern abstract canvases. A piano sits in the corner. I don’t know if anyone ever plays it, but it looks good. Everything is carefully arranged to give the impression that this is not just an ordinary coffee shop but an experience to be savoured.
The barista shows a touch of luxury in his appearance. He is wearing a crisp white shirt with a sleek black apron. His hair is slicked back, and his eyes have a glint of mischief in them as if he knows some secret that no one else does. He smiles politely as I approach, and I give him my order of a latte macchiato and lemon muffin.
I turn as I feel eyes on me, but when I glance around, I don’t see anyone looking. I do see JP and Russell St. Luc leaving. I’m pretty sure it was Josh who let me in earlier. He is less obvious than the alphas. No less of an omeganiser, though, which is a shame. He’s cute and brooding. They all have a bold reputation which is a huge turn off for me. Most of my friends and half the omegas in the area would be drooling all over them if they were in my shoes now, but not me.
I smile at the sexy barista and take my to-go coffee with a sultry smile. He returns it, but he doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s Italian and a flirt. He is already giving that slow smile to the woman behind me.
I snatch up my muffin and turn on my heel, taking a sip of the scorching hot liquid.
Opening the door, I step out, returning my sunglasses to my eyes from the top of my head as I turn into the sun. But then something small and furry rushes me.
“Eep!” I shriek as it brushes past my leg. I take a step back from it, only to find that the arsing creature has ducked behind me. I trip in my six-inch heels, knowing that I’m about to land on my backside with coffee all over me, when the overpowering scent of apple pie hits my nose, and I gasp.
A strong hand goes under my elbow, knocking my coffee upwards. I spin, trying to keep my balance, but the coffee is a goner. As I fall against the body which tried to save me from the killer furball, I scrunch up the cardboard cup of my latte macchiato, popping the lid clean off to dump the contents on my would-be saviour.
“Ah!” he cries as the red-hot coffee goes all down his chest.
“Shit! I’m so sorry, that fucking dog!” I glance viciously at the Cockapoo at my feet, wagging its tail, its eyes on my muffin.
The one in my hand, that is.
“Fucking hell! What the fuck?”
I draw my eyes back to the apple pie alpha and grimace. Of all the alphas in all the world, I just threw my coffee all over JP St. Luc.
It immediately gets my back up when his furious eyes bore into mine, the colour of cornflowers in summer. Pretty…
I shake my head, vowing not to be swayed by his good looks. Clearly, his attitude isn’t as attractive.
“Sorry,” I say, taking a step back as he lets me go and starts patting at his coffee-stained white t-shirt. “The dog got in my way.”
“Or you got in his way!” the old lady whose fluff-nugget nearly tried to end me, yells.
Like it’s my fault.
I glare at her, not taking any crap from this old bag. She looks like a bulldog chewing a wasp.
“JP!” she shrieks, making more of a scene than we already have. “Do something about this!”
He shoots her an incredulous glare.
I might’ve known she’d be with him. Probably his mum.
“Look,” I say to him, ignoring her by turning my back to her. “I’m really sorry. I’ll pay for the dry cleaning…”
“Yeah, you fucking will. Can’t you watch where you’re going?”
Our gaze locks.
