Page 100 of My Faire Lady

And yet.

I suck in a cheek and press onward, my umbrella doing little to stop the rain from dropping off the spiked ends and onto the hem of my pants. Bodies bustle around me, cars and taxis darting through the streets—horns blaring. I climb the steep hill, my legs burning under each step. I crest to the top, and the bitter tang of fresh coffee wafts through the air.

My shoulders relax, and I step under the awning, closing the umbrella as I push through the door. Warmth sweeps over me like a blanket, and I sidestep along the back wall, joining the end of the line snaking around the small coffee shop.

Digging my phone out of my pocket, I check the time and wince. Bethany promised she’d let me take over the final adjustments for the costumes for the upcoming performance, but only if I brought her a latte after she finished teaching her last class.

At this rate, she’ll be waiting on me. While she’s a great boss, and an even better teacher, she’s not one to forgive tardiness. And I need that opportunity to show how capable I am. So that maybe, next year, I’ll be sitting in her class and not behind the curtain organizing bolts of fabric.

The line inches forward, and the bell above the door chimes, letting in a gust of early fall air as another customer steps in. Goosebumps form along the back of my neck, and I tug the sides of my jacket against the chill. A barista pours coffee beans into the grinder, and as she flicks the machine on, a dull roar echoes through the shop.

It’s cold and loud and I shut my eyes, smiling. It’s been less than two months, but it’s like I’ve spent my whole life here. Like I’m finally where I’m meant to be, even if it’s on the other side of the world from everything I’ve ever known.

The man in front of me orders and steps to the side.

“Morning, Lottie,” the barista says, pulling a to-go cup from the stack beside the register. “What can I get for you today?”

I haven’t quite pieced together how he remembered my name so quickly, but I have a suspicion it’s because I’m the only regular with an American accent.

Leaning against the counter, I twist my wallet between my fingers. “Vanilla latte, please.”

He scribbles onto the paper cup and passes it down the line, toward the barista at the espresso machine. His attention swings back to me, and he nods toward the space over my shoulder. “And for you?”

I turn, and my breath catches at the woman standing behind me. Among the sea of black jackets and dull grey umbrellas, her copper hair is a burst of color. Her eyes find mine, and time slows, stumbling to a stop as her lips part.

I swallow, clearing my throat as I whip back around to the barista. “Oh, no. We’re not together.”

And yet, as I pull out my credit card and pay, my pulse skitters. Warmth creeps up my neck and I nod my thanks before I skitter to the end of the countertop.

Through the corner of my eye, I watch the woman order her drink. I’ve never seen her here before. If I had, I’d remember the golden flecks in her hazel eyes. The coffee grinder whirrs to a stop, and her voice carries down the countertop.

She pauses long enough to pay, and as she slides her card back into her wallet, she catches me staring. A blush shoots into my cheeks, and I jerk my attention to my hands wringing the strap of my bag.

“Is it usually this busy?”

A shiver skates down my spine, and I lift my head to where she stands, waiting for me to answer. But my tongue turns to lead, words somersault around my mouth, and all I manage is a weak shake of my head.

The corner of her mouth quirks, revealing the slightest dimple pressed into her cheek. “You wouldn’t happen to be headed to the university, would you?”

“I am, actually.” I furrow my brow. “How’d you know?”

She points to the lanyard slung around my neck designating me as staff, with an unflattering photo plastered in the middle. I chew on my lip and nod.

“Think you could show me the way?” she says, her voice low. “It turns out I’m not nearly as good at directions as I originally thought.”

My breath bottles in my throat. I have to be back in just a few minutes, but there’s something in the tone of the woman’s voice, the way her gaze roams over my face, that makes me want to drop everything. The brown collar of her turtleneck hugs the sun-warmed skin of her neck and contrasts a white scar curving around her brow.

She presses her tongue into her cheek. “Don’t feel like you have to, if you’re busy. Or if you don’t want⁠—”

“Yes,” I say, too fast, too eager.

I shift on my feet. Despite this woman being a complete stranger, a small part of me has missed talking to someone from the States. And, well, I’d like to know her name. Maybe her number. Kelsey mentioned I should put myself out there and date, but this is the first time I’ve felt compelled to focus on something other than my work.

The barista sets a cup on the counter and presses a lid around the rim. “Vanilla latte for Lottie.”

I wrap my hand around the steaming coffee, welcoming the burn against my palm as I turn back to the woman. “I’d be more than happy to show you the way.”

Her jacket shifts, and only now do I notice the necklace around her throat—liquid pooled inside a glass vial. The small quirk of her lips shifts into a smile, and my heart forgets an entire beat.