Page 57 of A Taste of Vanilla
Black Coffee at a Bar is a Warning Sign
HALSTON
Present Day
The man is tall,but not in the lean, pretty way Grant had been tall. This man is built with thick arms that make me respect fabric with ambition.
He glances at me for half a second, and it makes my stomach twist.
Half a second should not be a problem. Half a second is barely a unit of time. Half a second should not make my stomach tighten like it has just received classified information.
But my body has apparently decided common sense is optional.
Oliver reaches across the bar and takes my glass from my hand.
I blink. “Hey.”
“No,” he says firmly.
I look back at him. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was going to say hello.”
“You were about to make a bad decision.”
“I’m allowed to say hello to people,” I scoff like he’s not absolutely correct.
“Not like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you just found a match and remember you’re flammable.”
I smile.
Across the room, the man starts toward the bar. He has the kind of walk that makes everyone else look like they’re just wasting energy. There’s no swagger, no performative confidence. No bright athlete smile or backward cap or loud voice waiting to be noticed.
Oliver mutters something.
I lean closer. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“You only say nothing when something is aggressively not nothing.”
“It’s nothing that involves you.”
“I’m sitting right here.”
“Unfortunate.”
The man reaches the bar.
Up close, he’s worse.
Worse in the way a bad idea becomes easier to justify once it has broad shoulders.
