Now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t actually remember the last time he mentioned anyone. Not a hookup. Not an ex. Not even a crush.
I frown, my mind rewinding through months of living together, practices, nights out. Nothing.
Not once have I seen him leave with someone.
I haven’t even seen him talk to a girl for more than a few minutes.
I wipe the counter, trying to shake it off, but my brain shifts, wondering what his deal is.
Maybe he’s just private. Maybe he’s too busy with hockey and classes, or maybe I’m just making shit up because I’m sleep-deprived and need to stop thinking about the tight muscle of his jaw when he tenses it.
I drag a hand through my hair and sigh. I need to get it together.
The bell over the door rings and I glance up out of habit, only to feel my stomach drop.
Because Hayes is no longer in my head but standing in the doorway.
He pushes back the hood of his green sweatshirt, shaking out his dark hair as he unzips his black puffer.
For a half second, I honestly think my brain’s playing tricks on me.
But then he lifts his eyes and finds mine across the counter.
Anoopa nudges me. “Psst. You’re staring.”
I don’t answer and before I know it, I step out from behind the espresso machine, wipe my hands on my apron, and step toward the register.
He keeps his eyes on me as he makes his way to the counter, the tip of his nose slightly pink from the freezing cold air outside.
“You work here?” he asks me.
I tug at the strap of my apron. “No, I just stole this and like to stand behind the register for kicks.”
His mouth twitches. “Right.”
He glances up at the chalkboard menu, skimming the list. His hand comes up to rub the back of his neck.
I grab a cup and a marker, because if I stand here any longer doing nothing, Anoopa’s gonna start grinning like she knows something and then I’ll never hear the end of it.
“You want your usual?” I ask.
His brow pulls in slightly. “You remember what my usual is?”
“I live with you, don’t I?” I scribble on the cup. “Black coffee. No sugar. No joy.” I glance up at him and tut. “It’s honestly depressing.”
That earns me a flat look, but I swear his mouth twitches before he hides it.
I sigh. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”
He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head like he’s not sure why he puts up with me.
I write on the cup, and then, because I can’t help myself, I ask, “You want whipped cream with that, sweetheart?”
His brows lift. “Don’t test me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I tease, scribbling away.
Nathan’s eyes flick to the cup in my hand. “What are you writing?”