treatingyou?” Lost in his delicious Irish accent, I realize I’m headed in the wrong direction. Human Resources is to the left of us. I pivot, and he follows.
“Fine. Just delivering paperwork and visiting HR today,” I say. His eyes take me in and I know that look. Mark gave me the same look last night.
It’s a decidedly wolfish look. I blush, matching my shirt. Eric? Eric always seemed interested, but...
I was never interested back .
“ You want to catch a cup of coffee or tea before you go into the paperwork jungle and don’t emerge?” he asks. Eric’s voice is strong, but I can see he’s nervous.
“Sure!” I chirp. It sounds a little too overeager. Great. I’ve turned into an excited chipmunk. How did I go from kissing Mark twelve hours ago to having coffee with Eric?
The same way I got to AccountsPayable. One step at a time.
Eric points to a tiny building with a hobbit-like door. I’m short , but I have to bend down. Eric’s not nearly as tall as Mark, but he’s still taller than me, so his shoulders slump as I follow him. The room is dark and I start to feel uneasy. Where the heck is he taking me?
A huge cloud of dark-roasted coffee assaults my nose. Inhaling deeply, I smile as my eyesadjust. Ah. Something new on campus. Yates didn’t have this place when I was here. The coffee shop is tiny, with only eight tables and a short counter. Coffee, tea, and plastic-wrapped biscotti seems to be all they sell.
“What’s your poison?” Eric ask s as we walk to the counter, which i s a huge slab of some kind of tree, polished and varnished to a high shine. Rings as thick as my thumb showthrough the wood. It i s gorgeous.
“Mocha latte with cinnamon,” I say as I dig through my pockets. My cash reserves are low, but I can manage the four dollar coffee. This one, at least. I can’t do this every day until the paychecks start rolling in.
He holds out his hand in protest. “My treat.”
That gives me pause. The Eric I knew from three years ago didn’t have two nickels to rub together.People don’t “treat” each other when they’re broke. They complain and borrow and lend, but they don’t do what he’s doing.
Suddenly this feels like a date.
And a part of me doesn’t mind.
A million answers fight with each other to come out of my mouth, but as I smooth the hem of my shirt with nervous hands I look at him. “Thank you,” I say, as genuinely as I can. “I’ll buy the next time.”
All he does is crook an eyebrow, but it tells me everything he’s thinking. I am not sure I’m thinking the same thoughts.
But I might be thinking some of the same thoughts. My tongue is twisted and I don’t know what to say, so I start looking around the room.
Student art covers the shabby brick wal l s. Half the mortar between the bricks has rubbed away. The sofas, if you can call them that, looklike rejects from the student center. From, say, seventy years ago. Torn and stained, at least they’re a place to sit. At your own risk.
A chess set, a game of Sorry! and Mastermind are scattered across a gouged coffee table. Eric gets our drinks and he nods toward a two-seater. We take it and settle in, my eyes still wandering.
“What was this before it became a coffee shop?”
“The vet schoolslaughterhouse.”
That makes me choke. The steaming coffee-milk I tried to carefully sip goes shooting down my throat, some up my nose. It burns.
Gasping, I stand. The cup tips . Eric saves it before I pour sixteen ounces of scalding liquid on us. The burning pain in my nose fades quickly, leaving the back of my throat raw.
I feel like a fool.
“You okay? Do you w ant cold water?” Eric sets mypaper cup of hot latte down gingerly, his eyebrows knitted with concern.
All I can do is nod.
He rushes off and returns in seconds, a tiny juice glass full of water. I drink it greedily. It helps.
“Thanks,” I rasp.
“I didn’t know veterinary school slaughterhouses were so upsetting,” he
“Fine. Just delivering paperwork and visiting HR today,” I say. His eyes take me in and I know that look. Mark gave me the same look last night.
It’s a decidedly wolfish look. I blush, matching my shirt. Eric? Eric always seemed interested, but...
I was never interested back .
“ You want to catch a cup of coffee or tea before you go into the paperwork jungle and don’t emerge?” he asks. Eric’s voice is strong, but I can see he’s nervous.
“Sure!” I chirp. It sounds a little too overeager. Great. I’ve turned into an excited chipmunk. How did I go from kissing Mark twelve hours ago to having coffee with Eric?
The same way I got to AccountsPayable. One step at a time.
Eric points to a tiny building with a hobbit-like door. I’m short , but I have to bend down. Eric’s not nearly as tall as Mark, but he’s still taller than me, so his shoulders slump as I follow him. The room is dark and I start to feel uneasy. Where the heck is he taking me?
A huge cloud of dark-roasted coffee assaults my nose. Inhaling deeply, I smile as my eyesadjust. Ah. Something new on campus. Yates didn’t have this place when I was here. The coffee shop is tiny, with only eight tables and a short counter. Coffee, tea, and plastic-wrapped biscotti seems to be all they sell.
“What’s your poison?” Eric ask s as we walk to the counter, which i s a huge slab of some kind of tree, polished and varnished to a high shine. Rings as thick as my thumb showthrough the wood. It i s gorgeous.
“Mocha latte with cinnamon,” I say as I dig through my pockets. My cash reserves are low, but I can manage the four dollar coffee. This one, at least. I can’t do this every day until the paychecks start rolling in.
He holds out his hand in protest. “My treat.”
That gives me pause. The Eric I knew from three years ago didn’t have two nickels to rub together.People don’t “treat” each other when they’re broke. They complain and borrow and lend, but they don’t do what he’s doing.
Suddenly this feels like a date.
And a part of me doesn’t mind.
A million answers fight with each other to come out of my mouth, but as I smooth the hem of my shirt with nervous hands I look at him. “Thank you,” I say, as genuinely as I can. “I’ll buy the next time.”
All he does is crook an eyebrow, but it tells me everything he’s thinking. I am not sure I’m thinking the same thoughts.
But I might be thinking some of the same thoughts. My tongue is twisted and I don’t know what to say, so I start looking around the room.
Student art covers the shabby brick wal l s. Half the mortar between the bricks has rubbed away. The sofas, if you can call them that, looklike rejects from the student center. From, say, seventy years ago. Torn and stained, at least they’re a place to sit. At your own risk.
A chess set, a game of Sorry! and Mastermind are scattered across a gouged coffee table. Eric gets our drinks and he nods toward a two-seater. We take it and settle in, my eyes still wandering.
“What was this before it became a coffee shop?”
“The vet schoolslaughterhouse.”
That makes me choke. The steaming coffee-milk I tried to carefully sip goes shooting down my throat, some up my nose. It burns.
Gasping, I stand. The cup tips . Eric saves it before I pour sixteen ounces of scalding liquid on us. The burning pain in my nose fades quickly, leaving the back of my throat raw.
I feel like a fool.
“You okay? Do you w ant cold water?” Eric sets mypaper cup of hot latte down gingerly, his eyebrows knitted with concern.
All I can do is nod.
He rushes off and returns in seconds, a tiny juice glass full of water. I drink it greedily. It helps.
“Thanks,” I rasp.
“I didn’t know veterinary school slaughterhouses were so upsetting,” he
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