Page 25 of The Wedding Run
Luke’s attention snaps in my direction. He’s too keen on my answer as I scan the overhead menu. And I remember our challenge.
“Fill ‘er up with whatever. Instant is fine.”
Roxie’s nose wrinkles. “We don’t have instant.”
Andrea’s jaw drops. “You don’t care?”
Luke shakes his head. “Weird, isn’t it?”
“Oh, I do care,” I explain. “Sort of, but not really. Luke and I have a…” How do I explain?
“We have a bet,” he supplies a word I was not expecting. “To see who can make the best coffee. Libby thinks making a magical cup of brew is easy.”
Roxie scoffs. “It’s a science and an art form.”
“Oh, I see!” Andrea exclaims. “You don’t want to give away any preferences. I get you. If you need a judge to sample, I’ll volunteer.”
“She makes instant,” Luke says as a warning.
Roxie and Andrea stare at me as if Luke said I drink gasoline.
He rounds the counter and takes my to-go cup from Roxie. “I’ll handle this one.”
CHAPTER 11
Libby
Behind the counter, Luke fiddles with knobs and contraptions and who knows what. The industrial-sized machine looks like it could do most anything, including flying an astronaut to the moon. All I have at my apartment in Atlanta is a tea kettle, a jar of instant coffee, and a spoon. I can make a mean cuppa joe. And I’m talking m-e-a-n, as in grumpy.
But Luke seems to take his coffee way too seriously. And so, I will have my work cut out for me for our coffee challenge or bet or whatever it is.
“I’ve got a showing,” Andrea says. “But I’ll see you later.”
“Don’t worry,” I add, “we’ll organize and prepare all your wedding plans.”
She offers me a grateful hug and leaves.
Roxie disappears into the back. And I am left alone. With Luke.
He shrugs out of his jacket, and his muscles bunch beneath the faded T-shirt. He grabs jars and syrups, in a choreographed dance of sorts, as if he’s done this thousands of times, which I’m guessing he has. Yet, he seems careful in his design of this particular cup of coffee, especially for little ol’ me.
“You like almond milk?” he asks.
“If we’re in a contest, I shouldn’t say.” I look up at the chalkboard at the names of coffee drinks: Midsummer’s Night Dream with lavender, the Tell-Tale Heart with heart-stopping five shots of espresso, Fahrenheit 451 with a dash of chili pepper, and Pride and Peppermint.
Luke leans on the counter, his broad shoulders slanted, his gaze steady. “How adventurous are you?”
“You mean, do I read Edgar Allan Poe? Ride bulls for fun? Or drive like Tom Cruise in aMission Impossibleflick?”
He chuckles. “You have quite the imagination with what you think I can do with a cup of coffee. Do you like spices?”
“Like the Carolina Reaper?”
He rubs his neck. “Any allergies I should be aware of?”
“No, but you’re not going to put something like octopus ink in my coffee, are you?”
“I want to win, not hand over the contest to you.”
