Page 91 of A Taste of Vanilla

She smiles slowly.

“That’s hot coffee. You drink lattes in the morning.”

“It has vanilla in it.”

“But it started black.”

“Nope.”

“Halston. Did he get you coffee?”

I look away, and Marley melts. Her whole face goes soft and delighted and horrified on my behalf. “He made you coffee.” She swoons.

“He also criticized my lock.”

Her eyes widen.

I nod grimly. “He left a note.”

“A note?”

I grab it before I can think better of it and hold it up. She snatches it.

She reads it aloud. “You need a better lock.Enjoy your day, stranger.” She pauses. “Why does every man’s handwriting look the same? Every time I see a man’s handwriting, I swear it looks like my brother’s. All of it.”

I try to grab it from her, but she twists away.

“Marley King.”

“This is so sweet. He got you coffee and identified a safety hazard after rearranging your organs.”

I gasp. “Marley!”

“What? Did he not rearrange?”

My face grows hot, and her eyes grow huge.

“I regret telling you,” I mumble.

But I don’t. She knows I don’t. And that’s the worst part.

Telling her makes it feel real in a different way. Not a secret. Less of a fever dream. Less like something that happened somewhere else.

More like a memory I can hold.

She leans both elbows on the counter. “Was he nice?”

I think of his mouth on my shoulder again.

“He was careful. I liked him.”

Her gaze holds mine. “That sounds good.”

“It was.”

“Good.”

“Very good.”