Page 37 of The Baby Dragon Cafe
“Hm, good question,” Aiden replied. He had no idea. “What would you recommend?” he asked, which seemed to be the correct response because Saphira smiled.
“Oh, I love it when people ask me this!” She got serious. “Okay, do you want something seasonal or something classic? Or something new?”
He considered it. “Maybe something new?” He wanted to put himself out there, which was the correct decision because Saphira squealed.
“Okay, give me two seconds.” She gave Sparky a little treat, then got to work at the espresso machine, then handed him a mug of what seemed to be a latte, except it had a greenish tint to it.
Far be it from him to question her, however. She looked at him expectantly. Holding his breath, he took a small sip, bracingfor the green tint to mean the milk was curdled or expired or fungus-ridden.
But he was surprised to find it tasted perfectly fine; it was pretty good, actually, with a nutty flavor.
“It’s good,” he told her. “What is it?”
“A cappuccino made with pistachio milk.”
“Oh? I’ve literally never heard of that before.”
“It’s a new thing! I learned about it at this conference I went to for cafe owners. You’re the first person I’ve made it for, actually.”
He took another sip. “I like it.”
She grinned, pleased. Aiden knew that even if the coffee was shit, even if the milk had expired, even if the drink had been poisoned—he would have thought it was wonderful just to see her smile.
Aiden thought back to those moments in the garden again, the ones he had played over and over in his head like a scene from his favorite movie: his hand over hers pulling out weeds, the sturdy feel of her knuckles against his palm; their hands brushing in the soil, tantalizingly soft; a gust of wind lifting her skirt, the sight of her bare legs.
Even just the memory now made his blood rush.
Saphira seemed equally lost in thought, both of them leaning on the counter across from each other, pulling closer.
Until Lavinia interjected. “Hello! We have customers!”
Aiden sputtered back, face hot. Lavinia smirked; he knew of her a bit because she was friends with Genevieve.
He knew he should probably try and chat with her, since she was Saphira’s friend, but he just stared, saying nothing. Lavinia gave him a funny look, then disappeared into the kitchen.
“She doesn’t bite, you know,” Saphira said gently, and he felt like a massive jerk. She probably thought he was being so rude to her friend. He made a note to himself to do better.
“Sorry, I-I’ll get out of your hair,” he sputtered, setting Sparky down and grabbing his drink. “I’ll just be sitting over there.”
She was surprised. “You’re staying? I thought you hated being around people.” As evidenced by his awkward behavior with Lavinia just a moment ago.
“I do, but this place is amazing,” he said, looking around. “It makes even me want to stick around, and it’s all because of you.”
Her cheeks flushed pink, and pleasure spread through him at the sight. He loved to compliment her.
Aiden went and grabbed a table by the wall, helping Sparky jump up into a nook, like a prince up in his high tower. While Aiden took sips from his drink, he looked around.
He was glad it wasn’t as rushed as usual, and the rainy weather seemed to have put everyone in a subdued mood, so it wasn’t overwhelming for Aiden to be around this many people.
Aiden went to the bookshelves and perused the titles, grabbing a worn book; if it was read to the point of disrepair, it must have been good. He sat down with the title. It was a copy ofHowl’s Moving Castle, the pages yellowed. When Aiden opened the flap, he saw there was a handwritten name on the inside, alongside a year.
This book was Saphira’s from when she was about twelve. He touched a reverent finger over the words, this artifact from her past, this piece of her. Every bit of knowledge gained about her felt like a treasure. He delighted in noticing her, in knowing her.
Which was why as he was reading, he kept sneaking glances up to watch her: the way she petted the baby dragons as she passed by tables, the smiles she had for every customer, the easy small talk she made. She was so vivacious and jubilant. She was radiant.
As the afternoon progressed and they neared closing time, he looked deeper and saw she was tired, as well. He noticed the quiet moments where she caught her breath or took a sip of an iced chai latte.
The way she twisted her hair up into a clip, little tendrils gradually slipping out. The swoosh of her skirt around her legs. The movement of her lips as she sang a song to herself—he could watch her justexistingfor hours and hours.
