TWENTY-EIGHT
Nathan looked hesitant as he came back in, but he didn't back out. He took me downstairs and made sure I was seated at a table in the coffee shop, before asking what sort of coffee I liked.
Rather than betray my limited knowledge of coffee, I asked him for a cappuccino. I could count on one hand the times I'd asked someone else to make me a coffee. To me, coffee meant whatever instant blend was available, mixed with enough sugar and milk to help me choke the bitter brew down.
He didn't ask me about cake and I wondered if he'd forgotten about it. Or was he one of those domineering men who ordered for you because he felt girls were too helpless to make their own decisions? I was betting on the first option.
I looked around. The cafe was perhaps a third full. I wasn't the onl
