Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“I’m fine on my own.”
Wait, was that really what he thought? That I’d said I was going to a coffee shop out of pity?
He turned to leave, and without thinking, I reached out and caught his arm. Even through the thick fleece of his hoodie, I felt hard muscle there. “Wait a minute, please.”
Cody did so, but I could practically feel his desire to slip his headphones on, pull up the hood of his sweatshirt, and go on his solitary way.
Cautiously, I let go of him and then reached down to unzip my bag. I pulled out a piece of blue nylon and fumbled with it until I found the hard piece of plastic pinned to it. “See this?”
“Mia,” he said, not addressing me but reading the name tag.
“I work at a coffee house, and my shift starts in a few minutes. I thought that if you didn’t have class right now, you could come with me and get some caffeine.”
Cody stared at me as if my invitation was somehow a trap. I couldn’t help wondering what had happened to him to make him so wary. Or maybe wounded was a better word.
“At least let me make you a drink, and then you can do whatever you want. You don’t have to stay.”
There was a long pause, and it was an effort not to fill the silence. Finally, he said, “Do I have to tip?” His mouth quirked just a little, like before.
“Absolutely.” I grinned. “That part’s non-negotiable.”
“What instruments do you play?”
Cody and I were at the little coffee shop where I worked. As usual, it was empty. We were located in the basement of the social sciences building, and there were better options for snacks or meals close by. I was the only one on duty, but since Cody was my only customer, I was sitting next to him at a little café table.
His light blue eyes seemed to stare right into my soul, but at least he didn’t seem opposed to answering, as he had the questions I’d asked on the way here.
“Guess,” he said. Maybe the hot coffee I’d prepared for him had been good enough to get him talking.
“I’m going to say drums, given by the way you were tapping your pencil in class.” I studied the way his fingers were twitching. “Even now, your eyes keep darting around the room like you’re looking for something you can use for makeshift drumsticks.” I’d noticed that even though I’d been trying not to stare at his handsome face.
He gave an actual laugh, a low chuckle, and the sound pleased me. “You’re not wrong. Straws are too light, but maybe two of those little stirrers…”
“I’ll have to charge extra for two.”
His arched eyebrow raised further. “You didn’t let me pay for this in the first place.” He’d still stuffed some bills in the tip jar, however. Which was nice. This place was so out of the way that some days I’d only have a handful of customers throughout my entire four-hour shift. I had no idea how this place stayed open, but that was for my manager, whom I hadn’t seen since my first day on the job, to worry about, not me.
“It pays to be a barista’s roommate.”
“I guess it does. And it’s good coffee.” He took another sip, and pleasure centers in my brain lit up. The most reticent man I knew had just said something that was almost a compliment.
“Glad you like it. So what are you going to do with your music degree? Perform?” My voice wavered a little on that last word. He seemed like the last person who’d want to play in front of a crowd.
“God, no. Composing is my favorite part of it all.”
“So you’re going to be a composer?”
“I am a composer,” he said steadily. “But unless you’re Beethoven, it’s not a living, so I’m studying audio engineering. I don’t care if I make music by writing it, playing it, or putting it together digitally.”
That made sense. “When’s the last time you composed a song?”
Cody glanced at his phone. “About twenty minutes ago.”
I did a double take. “In class?”
“Yes.”
“Just in your head?”
“I jotted the notes down in my notebook.”
Wow. “I can’t believe you can do that in the middle of a lecture hall, without, like, a piano.”
“It wouldn’t fit through the door.”
My mouth gaped open. “Was that a joke?”
He cocked his head to the side, studying me. “I reportedly don’t have a sense of humor.”
There was no need to ask him who’d made those reports. All of us who grew up in the foster care system were well used to all kinds of assessments being made about us. I wondered if Cody’s had always felt as inaccurate to him as mine did to me.
After a moment had passed, I asked, “So instead of taking notes on the class, you were writing musical notes?”