"Dev, honey, nobody asks someone to spend their break talking about books unless they're interested."
"Maybe he just really likes books."
"He does. He also really likes shy baristas who leave him notes with smiley faces."
My face burns. "I have customers."
"No, you don't. It's dead until the afternoon crowd." Robin props his elbows on the counter. "So. You gonna actually talk to him, or are you going to panic and hide in the storage room?"
"I don't hide in the storage room."
"You hid in the storage room yesterday when Knox and Vaughn got into an argument about motorcycle parts."
"They were loud."
"They were enthusiastic." Robin glances at Silas's booth. "He's different from them. Quiet. Thoughtful. Kind of like you."
"He's nothing like me."
"Why? Because he's older? Gorgeous? Has his life together?"
Because he probably has a real apartment with his own bathroom. Because he doesn't count down days until he can afford a security deposit. Because he doesn't wake up at night worried about aging out with nowhere to go.
"Dev?" Robin's voice is gentle. "Seriously, are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Okay." He doesn't push, which I appreciate. "Well, when you take your break at two-thirty to definitely just talk aboutbooks with the hot lion shifter, maybe get to know him a little more. You know, for purely literary discussions."
"Robin —"
"I'm just saying, the man checked out a book you recommended and showed up to talk to you about it. That's romance novel behavior."
"That's friendly behavior."
"That's 'I'm interested but I don't want to scare the shy barista' behavior."
I glance at Silas's booth. He's reading, completely absorbed, using my note as a bookmark still.
Two-thirty. An hour and a half to figure out how to have a normal conversation with the most beautiful man I've ever seen.
No pressure.
Chapter 4
Silas
Two-thirty approaches and I've read the same page three times.
Devin keeps glancing at the clock behind the counter, then at me, then back at whatever he's cleaning. He's wiped down the espresso machine four times. The counter's so clean it's practically sterile.
He's nervous.
Good. So am I.
Robin says something that makes Devin duck his head, and even from here I can see the flush spreading across his cheeks. Then Robin literally shoos him away from the counter, pointing at my booth.
Devin pulls off his apron, grabs a book from under the counter, and walks over. He stops a foot from the table, uncertain.