Page 70 of The Wedding Run
“Sounds potent. And like my life.”
“It might keep us awake into next week.” He prepares more grounds. “Or at least through frosting the cake.”
“Excellent. Is this your favorite?” I probe.
“If I were to answer yes or no, that might help you win our contest.”
“We have never figured out how to determine the winner.”
He smiles. “I think we’ll know.”
“In other words,” I say, “there’s no criteria? No real finish line?”
“Nope. No list. Can you handle it?”
I prop my hand on my hip. “We’ll rely on our hearts or some such ooey-gooey, wishy-washy methodology?”
“Sounds good to me.” His grin widens, making me uneasy because he has a devastating smile.
I focus on his stash of magic beans, reading the labels: Crème Brulee, Cinnamon Hazelnut, Colombian, Ethiopian, French,Brown Sugar, and Midnight Moonshine. “How do you know which coffee to use?”
“It depends on what I’m making. But the freshest roast is always the best.”
“All that machinery looks a bit intimidating."
“The most important thing is the grinder,” he says.
The machine whirs, and heady odors of molasses, toffee, and tobacco awaken my senses. I already have a coffee buzz before I’ve taken a sip.
“I should have told you. Charlie doesn’t drink coffee.”
Luke merely raises one eyebrow as he continues pouring and steaming. “Does she drink tea?”
“She does. Very much like our mom. But nothing caffeinated. It makes her jittery.”
“Then we’ll fix her a decaf London Fog. I have a good one from Jazz.” He shifts toward another contraption and starts the water to boil.
I get in Luke’s way, but he directs me toward the small fridge to grab milk as he brews tea for Charlie. Soon, we have four to-go cups in a cardboard carrier.
“What do you think?” he asks, waiting for me to try one.
“Is this your contest entry?” I tease.
“If you declare it a winner.”
I frown. “Why would I do that?”
“Competitive, are we?” he teases.
“Of course. We need to nail down the rules.”
“Brace yourself, Libby. There are no rules.”
“All’s fair in love and—” My gaze crashes into his. What did I just say?
I grab a cup and take a gulp. The heat burns my tongue, and I sputter and cough.
“You okay?” Luke’s brow crinkles with concern. “Obviously, this isn’t a winner.”
