trying to avoid the security camera. I figured he and his partner would run our plates. And we’re going to let them. So why don’t you educate me?”
“Educate you? On what?!”
“On the coffee. I want your mind—and eyes—off that mirror. So tell me what a city roast is.”
I cleared my throat and closed my eyes, willing myself not to gawk into the mirror. It wasn’t easy. I couldn’t stop picturing those uniformed men walking up to our SUV, guns drawn.
“Clare, talk to me now .”
“Right, okay . . . uh, city roast. You’ve heard me say roasting different coffees is akin to cooking different foods?”
“Sure.”
“Well, a professional roaster chooses what level of cooking best suits a varietal’s profile. Vienna, French, Italian, Spanish, those are . . .” I clenched my fists, trying not to picture Quinn and me in the back of that cruiser wearing handcuffs.
“Keep talking, Clare, what about them?”
“Uh, those are the darker end of the spectrum; they come after the second crack. On the lighter end, you’ve got city, city plus, full city, and full city plus. They come after the first crack and before the second.”
“Crack?”
“The beans make a popping sound as they’re roasted. That’s how we judge the cooking time. We call it crack .”
“In my business we call something else crack. But I’d rather get my jolts from caffeine.”
“Then you’re in luck with this donut shop coffee. A light roast like this preserves more caffeine than a darker roast would.” I gulped down half the cup and whispered, “Are they still there?”
“Yes, but now the officer behind the wheel is shaking his head, laughing with his partner. He’s starting his engine, and . . .”
Zoom! The cruiser rolled by my window and disappeared around the bend.
I slumped back. “They’re gone.”
“Yeah, and I’m not surprised.”
“Why?”
“Because these plates don’t belong to me. They belong to a federal employee who resides in DC, and that radio call would have confirmed it. He probably figured me for a hotshot agent out here on a fact-finding jaunt, and off he went.”
“Why didn’t he come up to your window and check your driver’s license?”
“Because his coffee was hot, his donuts were warm, and he didn’t feel like dealing with federal arrogance, or . . .”
“Or what?”
Quinn shrugged. “Or he saw me get into this SUV with an attractive woman, miles away from my home and work, and decided the sunglasses served another purpose.”
I was about to ask what? when light dawned. “A married man with his mistress wouldn’t want to be recognized.”
“Sorry, sweetheart.”
“Hey, whatever it took for him to leave us alone is fine with me, and—wait a second. If the DC police or federal authorities are out looking for me, or you and me, they’re still doing it within the Beltway. That cop wouldn’t have driven off if there was a nationwide APB out describing us.”
“Exactly right. It’s good news. For now.” He regarded me. “So what do you actually think of the coffee?”
“It’s fine.”
Mike raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, it’s one-dimensional and a little flat, but it has a pleasant nuttiness and it’s freshly brewed—an acceptable choice for serving with donuts this good; after all, they’re the star.”
“I’ll say . . .” Quinn garbled, mouth full. By now he was on his third. “Too bad this place is so far from DC.”
“Tell you what, if we actually get out of this mess alive , I’ll ask Luther for his recipe and make you a dozen. He makes fantastic glazed donuts for the staff.”
“Positive thinking. I like that. A reason to get out of this mess alive.”
“Donuts aren’t the only reason . . .”
As I touched Mike’s cheek, his gaze melted. My fingers were sticky from the honey glaze, but he didn’t care. He turned his face enough to taste the sweetness. Then I reached around his neck to pull his kisses closer, and we held on.
“Educate you? On what?!”
“On the coffee. I want your mind—and eyes—off that mirror. So tell me what a city roast is.”
I cleared my throat and closed my eyes, willing myself not to gawk into the mirror. It wasn’t easy. I couldn’t stop picturing those uniformed men walking up to our SUV, guns drawn.
“Clare, talk to me now .”
“Right, okay . . . uh, city roast. You’ve heard me say roasting different coffees is akin to cooking different foods?”
“Sure.”
“Well, a professional roaster chooses what level of cooking best suits a varietal’s profile. Vienna, French, Italian, Spanish, those are . . .” I clenched my fists, trying not to picture Quinn and me in the back of that cruiser wearing handcuffs.
“Keep talking, Clare, what about them?”
“Uh, those are the darker end of the spectrum; they come after the second crack. On the lighter end, you’ve got city, city plus, full city, and full city plus. They come after the first crack and before the second.”
“Crack?”
“The beans make a popping sound as they’re roasted. That’s how we judge the cooking time. We call it crack .”
“In my business we call something else crack. But I’d rather get my jolts from caffeine.”
“Then you’re in luck with this donut shop coffee. A light roast like this preserves more caffeine than a darker roast would.” I gulped down half the cup and whispered, “Are they still there?”
“Yes, but now the officer behind the wheel is shaking his head, laughing with his partner. He’s starting his engine, and . . .”
Zoom! The cruiser rolled by my window and disappeared around the bend.
I slumped back. “They’re gone.”
“Yeah, and I’m not surprised.”
“Why?”
“Because these plates don’t belong to me. They belong to a federal employee who resides in DC, and that radio call would have confirmed it. He probably figured me for a hotshot agent out here on a fact-finding jaunt, and off he went.”
“Why didn’t he come up to your window and check your driver’s license?”
“Because his coffee was hot, his donuts were warm, and he didn’t feel like dealing with federal arrogance, or . . .”
“Or what?”
Quinn shrugged. “Or he saw me get into this SUV with an attractive woman, miles away from my home and work, and decided the sunglasses served another purpose.”
I was about to ask what? when light dawned. “A married man with his mistress wouldn’t want to be recognized.”
“Sorry, sweetheart.”
“Hey, whatever it took for him to leave us alone is fine with me, and—wait a second. If the DC police or federal authorities are out looking for me, or you and me, they’re still doing it within the Beltway. That cop wouldn’t have driven off if there was a nationwide APB out describing us.”
“Exactly right. It’s good news. For now.” He regarded me. “So what do you actually think of the coffee?”
“It’s fine.”
Mike raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, it’s one-dimensional and a little flat, but it has a pleasant nuttiness and it’s freshly brewed—an acceptable choice for serving with donuts this good; after all, they’re the star.”
“I’ll say . . .” Quinn garbled, mouth full. By now he was on his third. “Too bad this place is so far from DC.”
“Tell you what, if we actually get out of this mess alive , I’ll ask Luther for his recipe and make you a dozen. He makes fantastic glazed donuts for the staff.”
“Positive thinking. I like that. A reason to get out of this mess alive.”
“Donuts aren’t the only reason . . .”
As I touched Mike’s cheek, his gaze melted. My fingers were sticky from the honey glaze, but he didn’t care. He turned his face enough to taste the sweetness. Then I reached around his neck to pull his kisses closer, and we held on.
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