Chapter Three
765 Words
By the time the morning meeting with the site foremen wrapped, Adriana was in dire need of a cup of coffee but work beckoned.
Adriana was halfway through checking the surveyor’s readings when she saw Carl striding across the site. She stood straight and watched as he came close, carrying rolled-up blueprints in one hand and, in the other, two paper cups that sent tendrils of steam curling in the air.
“Morning, Hopper,” he called, the corners of his mouth tugging upward.
She started walking towards the office.
“Hi, Bennett,” she replied with a nod, keeping her tone even. She didn’t slow her pace.
But Carl matched her stride easily, a half-smile lingering on his face. “Got something for you.”
“I’m guessing it’s not a day off.”
He held out one of the cups. “Close. Coffee. Black, no sugar—unless I guessed wrong?”
“I thought we agreed that there would be no more coffee gifts?” Adriana said, tongue in cheek.
Carl's eyes twinkled.
“Let's just say that I am stubborn.”
Her brow furrowed as she slowed her pace.
“Ei, how would you know how I take my coffee?”
He shrugged. “I pay attention.”
That was a dangerous thing for him to say. Paying attention meant seeing. Seeing meant finding the cracks. She accepted the cup anyway, the warmth seeping through her gloves.
“You know,” Carl said lightly, “I’ve been trying to figure out why you never join anyone for the morning coffee run. Thought maybe you just hated coffee.”
“I don’t hate coffee. I just don’t have time for chatter when there’s work to do.”
She took a sip, more to distract herself than to enjoy it. It was good—rich, strong, exactly how she liked it. She gave him a nod of appreciation.
Carl tilted his head. “Or maybe you just don’t like people?”
She shot him a look cold enough to melt Iceland.
“I work with people all day.”
“That’s not the same as liking them,” he said with a wide grin.
She rolled her eyes, but there was a tiny hitch in her chest. The truth was, she didn’t avoid the coffee runs because she disliked people. She avoided them because small talk meant openings. Openings meant questions. Questions meant the risk of someone realizing she wasn’t as confident and bold that she appeared.
She set the coffee down on a nearby workbench. “We should look at those skylight placements before the crew starts framing.”
Carl unrolled the blueprints across the table, the paper rustling in the breeze. As they leaned over them, their shoulders nearly brushed. Adriana kept her focus locked on the clean black lines, tracing measurements with pencil, but she could feel his presence beside her—warm, steady, unhurried.
“Here,” Carl said, tapping a spot on the plan. “I’m thinking we will shift this section about four feet. It’ll give better light without too much heat in summer.”
“It’ll also add to the cost,” she countered, scanning the numbers.
“True,” he admitted. “But it’s worth considering. A library should be comfortable and calming and not feel like overheated hotspots.”
She looked at him then, really looked. His gaze was steady, not challenging, but there was something in it—a calmness that made her pulse tick faster. She hated that. She hated that he could stand there and meet her eyes without flinching.
Amelia could do that. Amelia could hold someone’s gaze and make them feel like the only person in the room. Adriana had always been more comfortable with her head buried in books than holding the eyes of people, especially men who shared her space and world.
She forced her attention back to the plan. “We’ll review it with the client tomorrow.”
Carl smiled. “Sounds like a maybe.”
“It’s a ‘we’ll review it with the client tomorrow.’”
He laughed softly, rolling the blueprint back up. “You know, for someone who doesn’t like people, you’re not half bad company.”
She snorted. “Don’t get used to it.”
As he walked away, coffee cup in hand, Adriana told herself that was the end of it. Just a coworker, just a conversation, just coffee.
But the truth lingered like the aftertaste on her tongue—strong, unexpected, and far too easy to wish for again.
- Writer
