Caleb moves down the line from me, going straight for the oatmeal and getting himself a bowl. I watch as he loads it up with fruits and nuts, then puts a drizzle of honey over the top. I know he has to eat not only to fuel himself for practice and qualifying today, but he has to stay lean for racing, too.
Thank God there’s no such restriction for content creation, I think as I put a piece of banana- bread french toast on my plate.
I follow Caleb to a table, where he puts his plate down, but doesn’t take a seat. “Would you like a hazelnut mocha latte?”
I think of all the sugar on my plate and decide a hazelnut latte would be a bit much this morning. “Actually, I would love a coffee with half-and-half,” I say, taking my seat. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, heading off to the barista bar.
I hang my purse over the back of my chair. Then I flick the napkin open and put it in my lap. Nerves make me feel jittery, but I pause and take a deep breath, then exhale slowly.
This is a business meeting.
Caleb went above and beyond with the french toast, however, he’s not only an F1 driver, but a Collings. He can have things like three kinds of french toast made for guests and it’s no big deal.
No big deal.
No big deal.
NO. BIG. DEAL.
Maybe if I repeat it twenty-two more times, I’ll believe it.
Sighing in exasperation, I pick up my silverware and dig in, opting to try the cannoli one first. I cut into it and find a rich, creamy filling studded with chocolate chips.
Talk about a love language.
I take a bite. Oh my. It tastes like the filling of a cannoli is tucked right inside the brioche bread. It’s rich and luscious, and I think I could be happy just eating a plate of this alone. I move on to the banana-bread french toast, which is indeed made out of banana bread. Yum. I take a second bite of that and am about to try the jelly-donut one when a cup of coffee is placed at my side, along with a pitcher of half-and-half.
“Oh, thank you,” I say, smiling at Caleb. I put my fork down and dump a hefty amount of half-and-half into my coffee.
“You’re welcome,” he says, picking up his spoon. “How’s the french toast?”
“It’s definitely speaking to me,” I say, smiling at him. “I’ve tried the cannoli and banana bread so far—both are delicious. Now I have to try the jelly donut before I can declare who gets first on the podium.”
To my surprise, he laughs at that, a smile lighting up his face. “Podium.”
God, he’s ridiculously good-looking when he smiles.
I take a bite of the jelly-donut french toast, the raspberry jam and powdered sugar indeed reminding me of a donut in that one single bite.
I nod, putting my hand up as I swallow, and then blot my lips with my napkin. “Okay, project how they’ll land on the podium, and I’ll tell you if you’re right.”
I wonder if he’ll think I’m a weirdo for suggesting this. But my gut tells me Caleb needs some stupid fun like this in his life.
“All right. Third is jelly donut. Just because it’s jelly and bread, how exciting is that? It’s got to finish in the third spot. But really, if we had more options, I’d put this at the back of the grid.”
I laugh at that, and his blue eyes light up in response.
“I like the commentary with your projections. It enriches my experience. Go on. Pick second place.”
“Second would be banana bread. Not that there’s anything wrong with banana bread—”
“You’re not mad at it,” I interrupt.
Caleb begins to laugh. “No, I’ve never been mad about banana bread. Disappointed, maybe. Like if it’s dry. Or doesn’t taste like banana. But never mad. I’d have to be more invested to be pissed off at banana bread. And I can’t say I’ve ever been pissed off at a piece of banana bread.”
I can’t help but giggle. Who knew this humor existed underneath his serious demeanor?