The Perfect Blend by Allie Pleiter Page A

thebottom, I turn to find him standing halfway down the stairs, staring. “What?”
    â€œYou know, I suggested a sandwich because I thought it might be less complicated than going for a coffee.”
    â€œCoffee’s not complicated.” I give him a let’s-go gesture and he comes down the last of the stairs to hold the entrance door open for me. Great. It’s even darker outside now, so I have even less of an excuse to be wearing sunglasses. “Coffee’s the most basic thing in the world,” I continue, happy to have a safe topic of conversation on which to park my nervous energy. “It’s complex, but not complicated. There’s a difference. Roasting fine Kenyan coffee beans is complex. You, you’re complicated.”
    â€œComplicated, am I?” From behind the protection of my enormous shades, I risk a glance at his face. I thought I’d find the glowering teacher who’s stared me down in class. That’s not who I see at all. I see a surprised, somewhat intrigued man with a disarming glint in his eyes. There’s a word for the way he looks, but I can’t quite think of it. A spark behind his eyes that makes you want to spar with him because you know it will be so much fun. I should back down, apologize, pretend I meant to say something different, but his demeanor (or is it mine?) just won’t let me.
    â€œHighly,” I reply, enjoying this.
    â€œWell, one certainly can’t resist an explanation for that. Will I be sorry if I ask exactly how it is that I am complicated? Or don’t I want to know?”
    Come on, there’s not a woman on the planet who could resist an open door like that. I place my right hand in front of my face as if spreading out a marquis. “William Grey III. Banker. Three-piece suit. Files with typed labels. A dozen freshly sharpened pencils lined up on his desk. Efficient. Organized. Driven.”
    Grey looks a little disturbed to know I saw the dozen lined-up pencils, but seems to be enjoying my description.
    We turn the corner and I raise my left hand, creating another marquis. “Will Grey. Rugged. Gets dirty for a good cause. Competitive. Heroic. Captain of the guard. Capable, I’m guessing, of very good pranks in school. But never caught.”
    One look at Grey and I know I’ve nailed it. I’m good that way. Intuitive. That’s important in the coffee business. You’ve got to know how much cream is too much, how much sugar is not enough. When the woman who says to only put a “smidge” of whipped cream on her latte really means for you to pile it on.
    Will chuckles. “Once,” he says, looking at me sideways. “I was caught only once.”
    â€œAnd what did little Willy Grey do to get caught at boarding school?”
    He raises an eyebrow. “And just how do you know that the incident in question was at boarding school?”
    I point to his finger. “The ring. The attitude. Plus, I read enough to know that all proper English ladsget into mischief at boarding school. Besides, I imagine after you got caught the first time, you made very sure you were never caught again.”
    Will stares at me. “You’re rather frightening, you know. Has anyone ever told you that?”
    â€œMy three brothers tell me all the time.”
    Will’s eyes pop. “Three. Brothers. Well, that certainly explains it.”
    Now it’s my turn to stare. “Explains what?”
    â€œYou are, without a doubt, the feistiest person I have ever met.”
    I can’t resist. “Will I be sorry to ask why?” I mimic his earlier response. “Or don’t I want to know?”
    Will grins, pulls open the restaurant door, and says, “Yes, I’m quite sure now coffee would have been less complicated. Even with you.”
    I don’t even want to get into what happened in the pit of my stomach when he said you. Let’s just say it was complex.