Page 9 of Pomegranates and Olive

Queue-jumper doesn't even turn around. He just says, "I'm not interested."

I tap him on the shoulder. "I said, excuse me?"

Then, and almost as if he was moving in slow motion, Queue-Jumper turns to face me. I blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. And find myself gazing into smouldering slate-grey eyes of the most magnificent human being I have ever encountered.

Gulp.

Starting at the top of what is very close to perfection, I gaze at his hair, thick and dark and cut to flatter his masculine features. His eyebrows are slightly darker and perfectly situated as they shade those, as already established, searingly sexy bedroom eyes that, for some reason, are currently scowling at me, hard and accusing as though I had just insulted his mother. In an attempt to ignore his scowl, my eyes move onto Queue-Jumper's high cheekbones, perfect Grecian nose and deliciously sculpted jawline, that has just the right amount of perfect scruff peppered over his angular jaw, and full, and may I just say, totally kissable lips.

The tip of his tongue appears and he licks those full, thick, lips as he appraises me. Yeah, those are definitely some kissable lips.

He's a good head taller than me; at least six-foot-something since I'm five foot seven and I have to crane my neck to glare back at him. His broad shoulders taper down to a trim waistline. An athlete's body - maybe a swimmer? A runner? I'm picturing washboard abs and a defined "V" pointing south. But what clinches the deal for me is that he's wearing a gorgeous cable knit, dark grey cardigan (my own personal kryptonite), which caused my pulse to skyrocket. It took all my willpower not to reach out and touch its thick knotting.

Don't come at me about that either! Cardigan's are totally hip. Believe me, if William Shakespeare was alive today he would be rocking the cardigan in that sexy hipster, man-bun way as hard as he did ruffle collars and starched curls back in 1582.

So just to re-cap, Queue-Jumper and his kissable lips are wearing the hell out of that cable knit, distressed jeans and loafers and I am totally digging it. Even his scowl, which is still directed right at me, can’t diminish the fact that he is a bona fide hottie!

"Yes, I find you attractive, but no, I'm not interested."

His proper English accent is thick, seductively deep and salacious, with just a hint of something exotic underneath.

Librarian Olive would probably smile politely and let him order ahead of her but right now he's standing between her and a much-needed espresso macchiato.

There is no way this world-travelling, adventure-seeking Olive is going to let that happen!

I should... do something. Push past him. Tell him where to go. Stamp my foot. Yes, I should do one of these things, but instead, I find myself frozen in place as I my brain attempts to come up with an appropriate retort.

Tick. Tock.

Then my mouth blurts out something before my brain can catch up. "You think I'm flirting with you? In your dreams!"

Yes, that really is the best I can come up with. Ugh. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I look over at the cashier who is watching us with a bored expression on her face. "He pushed in."

The cashier shrugs and turns her attention back to Queue-Jumper.

"Vaffunculo," I mumble under my breath.

His eyes widen in surprise as I cuss at him in Italian but he flashes me a grin that is both flirtatious and stupidly hopeful, which has the opposite effect with me than he was hoping, for sure. Now I'm just pissed off!

I bet he gets his way with a lot of women with that grin.

I bet he gets his way with a lot of women just by looking at them.

He turns back to the cashier and places his order; venti espresso macchiato.

I huff loudly as I wait for him to pay for what should bemyespresso macchiato and move down the line, when my mind wanders to the last thing Rosie said to me when she hugged me goodbye yesterday. "This is your time, Olive. Embrace it. Be courageous. Be crazy. Have your adventure. But most importantly, don't look back. Be the Olive you've always wanted to be but were too scared to be until now!"

My little sister can be the epitome of annoying at times, but as I stand in the queue at Starbucks I realise she might just be a bloody genius!

I watch as Queue-Jumper's espresso is made and, as my heart beats wildly, I stroll over, oh so casually, pick it up and walk off with it. Queue-Jumper is too engrossed in the blonde beside him to notice.

Victory!

Olive, one; Queue-Jumper, zero. I laugh under my breath as I walk off. Way to score a FREE coffee. Just what I need to give me a boost for the final leg of my journey.

Feeling rather chuffed with myself I make my way to the gate where I sit and sip my stolen, but totally delicious, espresso macchiato.

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