Page 41 of The Clause in Christmas
“Since you seem to know who I am,” Frank said, his voice flat, “I suppose you fancy yourself something of a coffee expert?”
Heat spread across Cassie’s cheeks. He sure knew how to make a girl uncomfortable. “I guess you could say that.”
“Let’s see how good you are, then.” Frank swung the door open a few more centimeters, wide enough for Cassie to squeeze inside.
Cassie blinked, certain she must be imagining things.
“What’s the matter? Feet glued to the floor?” Frank grunted.
Flustered, Cassie scrambled across the threshold.
As she followed Frank down the dimly lit hallway, she suddenly became self-conscious of her feet. Was she walking too fast? Too slow? Should she match his stride? Or trail behind? Finally, they made it to the kitchen, and Cassie exhaled in relief. Never in all her life had placing one foot in front of the other been so stressful.
Frank’s kitchen was…pure heaven.Cassie couldn’t think of a better way to describe it. While simplistic in decor, with unstained pine cabinets and white tiled countertops, the kitchen boasted enough coffee-related paraphernalia to start a slew of coffee shops. Cassie even spotted a mini Cavaliere espresso machine, she was sure cost over four thousand dollars.
“Sit,” Frank barked, nodding to the tiny round dining table and mismatched chairs.
Obediently, Cassie sat and watched, in complete awe, as Frank proceeded to hand grind tan-colored coffee beans and scoop them into a pour-over filter, before switching on an electric kettle. Each move was swift and deliberate, as though he’d performed the same dance a hundred times.
In less than five minutes, Frank scooted a piping-hot cup of coffee in front of Cassie. The steam curled in an aromatic wisp, tickling her nose.
Cassie stared at the tawny liquid, wondering what she should do next. Did he expect her to drink it in front of him? Or was he going to prepare a second serving for himself? The thought of sharing a cup of coffee with the illustrious Richard Stanton sent tingles of excitement coursing through her.
“Tell me what you think.” Frank crossed his arms in front of his chest, waiting for her to take a sip.
Cassie hesitated.Oh, no!It was a test. Maybe even a trap.
Taking a deep breath to steady her rattling nerves, Cassie wrapped her hands around the stout mug and lifted it to chin level. She closed her eyes, inhaling the sharp, tangy aroma, aware he was watching her every move.
Tentatively, she took a sip, allowing the hot liquid to remain on her tongue a moment before swishing it around her mouth. Her taste buds instantly registered several flavor notes, but…
Uh-oh.
Cassie suppressed a groan. This wasn’t going to bode well for her.
Slowly, she opened her eyes and set the mug back on the table.
“Well?” Frank narrowed his gaze. “What do you think?”
Cassie’s heart pounded against her rib cage as if shouting, Warning! Warning! It’s definitely a trap! “Um…” she stalled, uncertain how to talk herself out of this mess. Telling him the truth wasn’t an option.
He cocked one bushy eyebrow. “Out with it. How does it taste?”
Cassie’s pulse jumped erratically as she tried to remember how to breathe.In and out. In and out.Maybe telling him the truth wouldn’t be so bad? Without meeting his gaze, Cassie said, “It tastes… okay.”
Surreptitiously, she stole a glance in his direction. No smoke billowed out of his ears yet, so she pressed on, a bit bolder this time. “It’s a little sour. With grassy undertones. And the finish is… shallow.” Fearful, she sucked in a breath, waiting for Frank to implode.
He stared at her evenly. “And how would you fix it?”
“I would… roast the beans longer, taking the color a smidge darker.”
Frank’s expression remained stoic, void of any clue regarding what he thought of her assessment.
As the seconds ticked by, Cassie counted each pulsing throb against her temple, doing her best to remain calm. While in reality, she was ready to sacrifice her last pot of coffee to know what Frank was thinking at that precise moment.
Without a word, Frank snatched the mug off the table and strode to the sink, dumping the contents down the drain.
Was he angry? Neither his posture or expression gave any hint of the emotions brewing inside. But a niggling feeling told her Frank already knew the answer to his question. So, why was he testing her?
