The Real(12)

Abbie’s Mac: Much better.

Thick, sculpted brows double tapped his forehead as he lifted the last cup. Call Me El Jefe Grande. I rolled my eyes as he shrugged.

Abbie’s Mac: You’re somewhere between perfect and a pervert at this point.

“I was in a hurry,” he said across the space. I pressed a librarian’s finger to my lips.

Cameron’s Mac: Really? No talking at all?

Abbie’s Mac: Plenty of talking. Just like this.

He sat back briefly with a devastating smirk before he leaned in and typed.

Cameron’s Mac: Okay, Abbie. Where do we start?

I was trying so hard to think of something clever, witty, something . . . more, but words failed me as we stared each other down. It was perfect. Better than perfect. I had no reason to be afraid. We had every advantage of dating except for the physical aspect, which I knew I wasn’t ready for, despite my raging libido. And I needed that distance to be able to get close. It could work. Another stretch of my lips over my teeth had him biting his lip and shaking his head. God, he was gorgeous. Just outside the window behind him, a single gold maple leaf drifted at his back before it floated toward the brightly lit sky. And from that moment on, I knew I would be measuring my Saturdays in cups.





Nine Cups



It was our third Saturday, and I had to admit I’d been daydreaming through my week until I got to meet up with Cameron. When he’d asked for another date, I didn’t hesitate to accept. A set coffee date every Saturday with no expectations, what could be better?

That morning when I showed up, he was waiting. I walked past him, giving him my best smile, a steaming cup in hand that read Dear Karma, I have a list of people you missed. I glanced at his cup and saw it read I’m here. What are your other two wishes? and caught his eyes as they swept over me before I took my seat. Though the café was bustling, I was tickled to see the handwritten sign that said Reserved before I picked up the fresh daisy he’d placed on it and opened my Mac.

Abbie’s Mac: Thank you.

Cameron’s Mac: They were fresh out of bloodroots and oleander.

Abbie’s Mac: I’m all stocked up on deadly poison at home. But thanks, I’ll practice my dark magic on your daisy.

I gave him a knowing grin. Our rapport was building into something . . . familiar. He still gave me hell about my witchy attitude the day we’d met, and I had no issues giving him hell about his crass cup choice. Unwrapping from my coat, a rush of blood crept up my face. I didn’t have to look his way to know he was checking me out. Once I got comfortable, Cameron’s first question was waiting for me. It was like he was anxious to find out what I would type, which only made me more eager to answer.

Cameron’s Mac: Tell me something no one knows about you. That you never tell anyone.

Abbie’s Mac: I’ve got nothing.

Cameron sat back in his seat, hands at his sides, his thick fingers sprinkled with dark hair and spread on the two-seater booth he sat on. Eyes fixed on him, I took my time with my perusal. He hadn’t disappointed thus far. He was always impressively dressed, which I’d learned was his typical, no matter the attire. Today, he was sporty chic in silky sweatpants and a zipped up, long-sleeved athletic shirt. A solid black beanie covered his coffee-colored hair and outlined his sculpted face.

Once I’d had my fill, though it was never enough, I noticed the challenge in his green depths as he sat scanning my face. He narrowed his eyes before he typed.

Cameron’s Mac: Too quick to answer. What are you hiding?

I looked up at the ceiling as if I was pondering what to give away but hit him with the only thing I could think of since he asked the question.

Abbie’s Mac: Fine. I was born in a sanitarium.

Laughter burst from him as he looked over our screens and mouthed “Really?”

I let him get away with readable whispers despite our no talking rule. Well, my no talking rule. Still, he was working hard to keep our agreement.

Abbie’s Mac: Yep. Hinsdale Sanitarium and Hospital. The minute I was born, they changed the name. You don’t seem too surprised.

Cameron’s Mac: I’m not. You’re a wonderful kind of crazy. You’re all fire, you know that? And you look fucking beautiful.

It was those types of sentiments that kept me glued to that chair for a few hours every Saturday. He wasn’t incessant with his compliments. He gave them when he felt like it. The conversation flowed, but he surprised me every so often, and my reaction was always the same. My chest tightened, my throat filled as I stared over at him and mouthed “Thank you.” I came away from those moments knowing he wanted it clear that he was interested in more than having coffee with me.

Cameron’s Mac: Did you grow up in Chicago?

I nodded.

Abbie’s Mac: Mostly. Until I was thirteen when my parents bought a place in Naperville. I love our home there, but I always wanted to move back to the city. I’m a city girl at heart. You?

Cameron’s Mac: Same, I came here for college, but I was born and raised in Niagara Falls. I used to live in the city, but I moved here not too long ago.

Cameron owned a small chain of sporting goods stores. He’d told me his dream was to coach in the NBA, and though it never happened for him, he still coached high school part-time.

Abbie’s Mac: Welcome to the neighborhood.

Cameron’s Mac: You’re one hell of a welcoming committee.