🥊 Hate or Fate 💕 {Enemies to Lovers}

.33.

Like a brushfire, a fierce blush scorched my neck and face, sweeping over my skin to leave gooseflesh in its wake. The expression tugging at the corner of his mouth was sphinxlike, yet his keen gaze felt like a tender caress.

I left the line, a little worried that whatever Gray ordered wasn't going to be sweet enough, but mostly curious as to why I hadn't noticed him on my way in.

He was striking, even by Seattle standards. Gray stood out in any room, and not because of his myriad of ink or his multiple piercings or his athletic build, it was his prismatic eyes and devastating face.

And at that particular moment, his hauntingly beautiful stare was solely focused on me.    

"Hey," his lower lip, the one that kept me up at night, curled into a warm smile. "I promise I'm not stalking you."

A nervous giggle escaped my mouth before I could catch it. I was too busy enjoying the way his smile touched his emerald eyes. Gray's heavily tattooed wrist peeked out of his coat sleeve as he reached over the counter to grab my coffee.

"I don't know," I tried to play off my ridiculous laugh with a cool line that sounded too forced. "First all those texts, and now showing up at my coffee spot?"

"Your coffee spot?" Gray's chuckle sent a delightful shiver through me that I should have ignored. "Aren't you supposed to be at work? Café Vida mid-day on Capitol Hill is my domain."

Our fingers brushed as he handed the paper cup to me and our conversation halted.

That inadvertent touch had created a schism in time, imprisoning us in a bubble from the regular world. Outside, machines steamed while people bantered back and forth. Some indie band's album was playing over the speakers. Behind the double doors beyond the counter, the grinders and roasting ovens were gnashing the aromatic beans. All of that faded into obscurity until it was just us.

"Excuse me," a particularly passive-aggressive gentleman pushed past Gray to grab a coffee stirrer off the counter.

"Uh, thanks, for this," I held up my drink as if to cheers our caffeinated beverages.

We stepped aside for the growing crowd to swamp the counter. Gray kept his attention squarely on me as I took an exploratory, baby-sized sip of the drink.

My face relaxed into confusion, "How did you know?" I almost choked on the familiar mocha and hint of peppermint mixed with velvety dark espresso.

"What?" He brought a hand up to rub the bashful smile on his masculine jaw. "Your drink?"

I nodded and took another, longer, sip.

"I've known you for five years, Isla," he shrugged lightly. "Of course, I know how you like your coffee."

"Rebecca's known me for two years," I told him, "and she still gets my order wrong if I don't go with her."

He didn't answer. For a second, it looked as if he wanted to, but whatever it was, died on his tongue.

The noise of the shop crashed down around my shoulders, filling my ears with the cacophonous background activity. Ceramic mugs clanked against metal, voices competed for attention, the music swelled in anticipation of the rousing chorus, and feet rushed and squeaked over the hardwood floor.

"I took a personal day," I volunteered when the noise threatened to overtake me.

"Understandable," his head bobbed.

He took a sip of his own drink.

Gray liked dark, acidic roasts with a healthy serving of cream and no sugar. I couldn't remember how, or why, I knew that.