“There you go, gorgeous,” I say to the girl.
She blushes, pays, and heads for a table by the window and I quickly grab the portafilter and knock out the old puck.
A tiny huff leaves Nathan as she leaves.
I lift an eyebrow. “What?”
He leans an elbow on the counter, watching me tamp down the espresso. “You really flirt with everyone, huh?”
My lips twitch. “It’s how I get tips,” I say. “Can’t have unhappy customers.”
That earns me a low laugh, and he shakes his head.
I clear my throat. “You want a muffin or something?”
“I’m good.”
“You sure?” I ask, arching a brow. “The pumpkin spice ones might bring some joy into your life. Lord knows you need it.”
That gets a faint exhale through his nose, his brows lifting a little. “Do you talk to all your customers like this?”
I shoot him a smirk. “Only the ones I think are hot.”
He chokes mid-sip.
I grab a napkin from the counter and slide it toward him, chuckling under my breath. “Relax. It’s a joke.”
He wipes his mouth, his dark eyes flicking up to mine over the edge of the napkin. “You’ve gotta stop saying stuff like that.”
“Why? It makes you blush.”
“I’m not blushing,” he says, although his cheeks are a little pinker than before.
“Sure,” I say, leaning my hip against the counter, enjoying how stiff his shoulders go. “Tell yourself that.”
His jaw tightens as his fingers tap against the side of his cup. He rips his gaze away from mine and glances back at the door. “I should go.”
“Already?” The word slips out before I can stop it, that small sting of disappointment catching somewhere in my chest.
“You’re working.”
“Didn’t stop you from distracting me,” I tease.
He reaches for his wallet, his thumb running over the worn edge before he looks back at me. “What do I owe you?”
“Nothing.” I tap the counter with the flat of my hand. “First one’s free. The next costs a compliment, though.” I tip my head, just a little. “You remember how to give one of those, right?”
His brows lift, a flicker of recognition passing through his face. He knows exactly what I’m referencing. The couch, the night I told him he needed flirting lessons.
He lets out a quiet breath, his eyes dropping for half a second to my… mouth? I must be imagining things, but before I can process it, he jerks away almost immediately and grabs his cup.
“Thanks for the drink,” he says. “See you back at home.”
“Mm,” I murmur as he steps back, because my brain’s too busy cataloguing everything about the last ten seconds.
The bell over the door makes a soft chime when he pushes the door open, a rush of cold air slipping inside before the door closes.
I scrub a hand over my face, mostly because I need something to do before my thoughts start spiraling. I don’t know what the hell that was. The teasing, the way he kept looking at me, the wayIkept looking at him.