The Bookstore Temptation
" Lena asked, already moving towards the little niche next to the register. There was a small French press, two chipped cups, and a pyramid of ceramic sugar bowls jammed next to jars of biscotti and handmade bookmarks.
"I'm good," Julian said quickly.
She turned half-way around, half-smiling. "It's bookstore coffee, Mr. Blackwood. Not poison."
A silence. Then—
"Julian," he corrected softly.
Lena's hands froze on the mug.
He’d never told her his first name before. She turned, her smile softening. “Alright. Julian, then.”
She poured two mugs before he could argue further. “You can decline the second cup, but I’ll be offended.”
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