Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 370(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
His eyes slide back to mine and he studies me without saying a word. His gaze travels down my face, body, right to my toes, then back up again. “Sunday.”
Heat winds through my body as if his gaze leaves a trickle of melted chocolate on my bare skin. I frown, a little irritated at the way my body is reacting to a decidedly un-charming man. “Today’s Monday.”
“Your name,” he says.
Oh, bless his heart, he’s trying to make an effort. My apple-pie smile is back. “Tuesday. Not Sunday,” I correct him. “Nice to meet you.” I hold out my hand, and instead of shaking it—like any normal human being, even if I am a perfect stranger—he just nods. I snap my head around to find the cashier waving at me.
Okay, so the Daniel De Luca doppelgänger is rude, but at least it’s my turn for coffee.
I order my venti cappuccino with an extra shot, half almond milk, half oat milk, three pumps of caramel, extra foam, and cinnamon sprinkles. I really hope they remember the sprinkles. Generally, there’s a fifty percent hit rate.
The cashier, who has crayon-red hair and a name tag that reads Ginny, looks at me. “American?”
I beam. “Yes. I guess my accent gives me away.”
Her expression is blank. “Your order, more like.” She bellows my order to the barista, and he openly groans. “Name?”
“Tuesday.”
She laughs and shakes her head. “If you say so.” She scribbles on my cup; I put a tip in the box and move out of the way.
I stay close to the line so I can hear what Daniel Doppelgänger will order.
“Medium filter coffee,” Ginny says to the barista without Double-D saying a word. He pays with his phone, puts a bill in the tip jar, then moves to the other side of me, checking his phone.
Maybe he can’t speak. Or not in sentences anyway. He’s said exactly one word to me. I suppose I should feel special, as he didn’t even manage a “good morning” for the cashier.
The barista calls out a medium filter coffee, and Double-D moves to the pickup counter to collect it. He’s tall and broad and shouldn’t move as gracefully as he does. Wait . . . They didn’t even call his name. He must be a regular.
“Tuesday,” someone calls out. I turn to find Ginny holding out my drink to me. The line has almost gone now, and someone else is manning the cash register.
“Thanks,” I say, grabbing a cupholder. “I heard this place makes really great coffee.”
“We’re the best in Mayfair,” she says as she begins to tidy the stirrers and the sugar packets. “Maybe even London.”
“I have my favorite coffee place in New York.”
“That where you’re from?” she asks.
“Yes. I’m just visiting, as you guessed. Here for a few weeks for work.” I pause, wondering whether or not to say anything else. She’s not overly friendly, and I’ve heard Brits can be a bit cold. But my new Tuesday persona gets the better of me. “Hopefully I’ll leave here with a promotion.”
“Either way, you’ll get to spend time in the best city in the world.”
I nod and go to sip my coffee, but change my mind when I remember it’s just been served. “Yeah. I’m in London.” I’ve been so focused on proving myself in the new role as project manager that I’ve skipped past the bit about being in a place I only ever dreamed of visiting. I have thousands of years of history around me, and I haven’t so much as cracked open a guidebook. I’m going to have to focus on work—there’s no doubt about that—but I have weekends to fill.
“That guy after me,” I say. “The filter coffee guy. What’s his deal?”
She glances up at me, and suddenly, her eyes light up. “He’s seriously hot, right? I mean, the suit, those eyes. Have you seen the size of his hands?”
“Does he ever speak?” I ask. “You seem to know his order by heart.”
“He must have done at some point. But a guy like that only needs to give me his order once, and I have it memorized for the rest of my life. He comes in seven days a week, but he never makes small talk. I get the odd thanks. He always tips—which ninety-nine percent of customers don’t. And honestly, I don’t care what he says or doesn’t say as long as I get to look at him once a day. He’s a walking dose of dopamine.”
I can’t disagree with her assessment. He looks like a movie star. “He’s a dead ringer for Daniel De Luca,” I say.
“I guess he is.” She pauses and squints at me. “Is your name really Tuesday?”
I know she’s not asking me because she thinks my name is beautiful, but I can’t help but beam at her. “Sure is.”