Gramercy Nights (The Argo Press Trilogy Book 1) (2 page)

One day I hope to quit my day job and translate full-time. That’s the dream, anyway. In the meantime, it’s a question of spending every free moment working on a book that will likely never be published. And even if, by some miracle, I do find a publisher, no one will ever read it. Prose poems aren’t exactly flying off the shelves these days.

I don’t notice Chloe until she plops down in the seat across from me, eliciting a yelp of surprise from me.

“Christ, you scared the shit out of me,” I say as I pull my earbuds out. “Long night?”

Chloe yawns. “You should have come with us. We went to a bar on Grand and then over to this new place in Bushwick.”

“I had to work,” I say, shrugging. Chloe and I have this conversation all the time. She wants to know why I don’t go out with her more while I keep trying to explain that unlike her, when I get home at the end of my shift, I’m not actually finished with work. “What time is it?”

She checks her phone. “Almost one,” she responds, stifling another yawn.

“Shit, I have to get ready for work,” I say, jumping out of my chair and gathering everything up from the table.

“Don’t forget, roommate dinner this week,” she says, rubbing her eyes.

Sunday nights are always slow and there’s not much to do but restock for the week to come. I almost wish there were more customers. At least then, the time would pass faster and I wouldn’t be able to keep thinking about that gorgeous man from yesterday.

To say he’s way out of my league wouldn’t even begin to describe it, but hey, a girl can dream.

I haven’t been back to Barcelona in two years, not since that summer after I graduated and I miss the language and the city. I miss being able to speak Catalan.

“Mind if I grab a smoke?” Dan asks, dropping a dirty towel into a bin under the counter.

I glance around. Aside from the couple sitting by the window that has been here most of the afternoon, it’s empty.

“Go ahead. I think I’ve got this covered,” I say. I want to finish filling all the jars of loose leaf tea before closing. Because anything we don’t get around to now we’ll have to do once we’ve locked up and I’d rather get home early since I have to be back in the morning.

The bells chime but I keep scooping tea into jars, trying not to spill any. It’s harder than it sounds.

“
Bona nit
.”

Those two words hit me in the chest like a shock of cold air.
Good evening.
I look up in surprise to find him standing there, leaning against the counter, watching me with barely contained amusement. His nearly black hair is just a little long and artfully disheveled, like he just rolled out of bed and he’s wearing a pair of well-fitting jeans and a white t-shirt that shows off his muscular chest.

Jesus, he’s even better looking than I remembered. The man looks like sex incarnate. Just a little bit dangerous and a whole lot of masculine.

“What can I get you?” I ask, brushing my hands on my apron nervously.

He rests his chin in his hand, letting his eyes take me in. And what eyes they are. Deep green and expressive as they flick over me and I get the impression that he doesn’t miss much.

“I’m in the mood for something sweet,” he says finally. When I don’t say anything, he finally points to the pastry display. “Do you have a favorite?”

I shake my head. Something about the way he’s talking makes me think he’s not just talking about desserts. “I don’t really eat sweets,” I say.

One eyebrow shoots up. “A woman who doesn’t eat sweets? Fascinating.”

I can tell he’s laughing at me and I want to tell him to fuck off but I don’t. I just shrug my shoulders. “What can I say, I’m more of a salt person.”

He laughs, pulling himself up to his full-height. God, he’s tall. I have to strain my neck just to meet his beautiful green eyes. It’s both intimidating and sexy. What can I say, I’ve always had a soft spot for tall men?

I can feel his eyes on me. The weight of his gaze makes me want to squirm but I do my best to stand up straight. I’m sure he’s well aware of how intimidating he is. In fact, I’m pretty certain he’s enjoying it but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Dan comes back in, looking from Sebastian to me, but he just goes back to cleaning behind the counter.

“I guess I’ll save dessert for later,” he says with a naturally wicked smile that makes my heart race. “I will have a macchiato, though.”

I turn to make his drink, relieved to be out from under his scorching gaze, but Dan has already got a portafilter in his hand and is packing the basket tight with espresso. Reluctantly, I turn around.

“Have you worked here long?” Sebastian asks as he waits for his coffee and I nod.

“Two years.”

He frowns, a crease appearing between his cleanly shaped eyebrows. “How have I never seen you before?”

The question is clearly meant to be rhetorical, but I respond anyway. “You probably just didn’t notice me. I’m here most days.”

“I would have noticed you, Danielle.”

There’s something about the way he says my name that makes my insides clench and my nipples hard and I hate that my body is reacting so easily to this man.

“So, what do you do?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject, his voice muffled by the sound of milk frothing behind us.

“This,” I say with a shrug. After two years, I’ve come to accept my place in the world as a lowly coffee wench and provider of over-priced scones. He frowns, reaching around me to take the coffee cup from Dan.

“You don’t strike me as the type of woman who’d be content to do just this.” It isn’t a question and I don’t know why, but this observation rubs me the wrong way.

“I’m a translator,” I answer stiffly.

“Then what are you doing working here?” He seems truly puzzled, like if you want something bad enough you can make it happen out of sheer force of will. It’s the reaction of someone who’s never had to worry about money and I can’t help but bristle with irritation. Because the man standing in front of me screams money.

“Money,” I snap, ignoring the sharp look Dan shoots me. Rule number one in the service industry: do not snap at customers. “Translating poetry doesn’t exactly pay the bills.”

Instead of looking offended, Sebastian just nods thoughtfully. “Yes, I can see how that might be a problem.”

I hate having to explain what I’m doing with my life. Especially to a stranger. I get it enough from my best friend, Connor, who seems to think I’m throwing away all my talent by working here.

“That’ll be four dollars,” I say, trying my best not to glare at him but it’s hard.

He reaches for his wallet and hands me a twenty, his thumb brushing my hand softly, the unexpected touch making me jerk away in surprise. When I look up, the crease between Sebastian’s eyebrows has returned and he’s frowning down at my hand on the counter.

“Keep the change,” he says softly. “I look forward to getting to know you, Danielle,” he says before turning to leave and I gape at him as he goes.

“Who was that?”

I look over at Dan and shake my head. “I have no idea.”

Chapter Three

The way Sebastian left, I have no doubt that I’ll be seeing him again, which puts me on edge whenever I’m at work. Every time the door chimes, I glance up, my heart beating rapidly in my chest.

There’s a part of me hoping he doesn’t come back because just the thought of talking to him makes me nervous as hell. And then there’s that stab of disappointment when I realize it’s not him.

It’s horrible. I feel like a complete idiot. But it’s not exactly every day that a gorgeous man comes in and shamelessly flirts with me.

At least, I think he was flirting with me. But as the days tick by with no sign of Sebastian, I start thinking maybe I made it up. After all, what had he really said to give me that impression?

Only it wasn’t what he said, it was the way he said it. The man oozed sex appeal. And I feel stupid for falling for it. I don’t have time for this kind of distraction. Not now. Not when I’m so close to finishing
L’hivern fosc
.

I’ve all but given up on seeing Sebastian again when he strolls into the Gramercy later in the week, looking like perfection embodied.

I’m totally fucked.

I feel the color come to my cheeks as he makes his way across the room, his eyes locked on mine.

I see the corners of his lips curl up into a faint smile. “Do you have a minute?” he asks and I glance over at Dan, who just shrugs. It’s relatively quiet at the moment, though that could change at any time.

“Sure,” I say without moving from behind the counter.

“Let’s go outside. I promise it won’t take long.”

I shrug my shoulders and toss my apron under the counter, following Sebastian out onto the street.

“What do you want?” I ask, when we’re finally outside.

Sebastian’s eyes twinkle with amusement and I find myself holding my breath nervously. Because Sebastian definitely makes me nervous. And it’s not a feeling I’m thrilled with.

He holds out his hand, ignoring my question completely. “We haven’t met properly. Sebastian Casal.”

Wearily, I take his hand. “Danny Sutton.”

People have to move out of our way as they walk up and down the sidewalk and I notice more than a few irritated glances at us, but Sebastian makes no move to get out of their way. It’s like he owns the sidewalk.

I wait for him to say something, but he just watches me with that amused look of his, his green eyes twinkling.

“You,” he says finally.

“Excuse me?”

His laughter is warm and light and I can feel it, travelling through my chest. I look down at the sidewalk. Because looking at Sebastian’s perfect face is making it very difficult to think clearly.

“What time are you off?” he asks, once again throwing me for a loop as he changes the subject without warning.

“Midnight.”

“Get a drink with me,” he says and I can tell it’s barely a question. “I’ve given it some thought and I think I have a solution to that problem you mentioned.”

“What problem?”

“That money situation.”

This is ridiculous. He can’t show up here and say things like this. I want to protest but instead, I take one look at the man standing in front of me and find myself nodding. Because when will I get another chance with someone like Sebastian Casal? Even if it’s just one drink.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” He arches one eyebrow, like my response amuses him. I shrug my shoulders. If he wants me to jump up and down with joy, he’s talking to the wrong woman. “Then I’ll see you at midnight,” he says, giving me a satisfied smile and I can’t help but feel like maybe this is a terrible idea.

Chapter Four

I’m a jittery mess the rest of my shift. When it’s time to mop down the floors, I jump at the task. I hate mopping, but right now, I’d do just about anything to get my mind off the fact that I’m getting a drink with Sebastian later.

While Dan wipes down all the surfaces behind the counter, I run descaler through the espresso machines. I may not be particularly fond of Dan, but I like closing with him. We’re like a well-oiled machine: methodical, quiet and supremely efficient.

By 11:55, we’re done and I look around. The store is spotless and Dan is waiting for me to grab my things so he can lock up.

It’s just a drink, what’s the big deal?

I take a deep breath and head outside, almost hoping that he won’t be there. But of course he is, leaning casually against the brownstone next door. He’s changed into an oxford with the sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons undone, showing of a patch of his tanned chest.

When he sees me, he smiles. “I half expected you to sneak out the back,” he jokes, gracefully pushing himself off the building and in three long steps, he’s standing so close, I can smell him, a delicious mixture of laundry detergent and musky cologne.

“There’s no back exit.”

“I know,” he whispers with a chuckle.

When he places his large hand on the small of my back, I can feel the heat of his skin burning through my t-shirt. The proximity, paired with my excitement, makes me dizzy and I don’t even ask where we’re going as we start walking down Irving towards 14
th
Street.

Eventually, he stops outside of a bar I walk past every night on my way to the train. The words WINE BAR stenciled in gold on the window and the dim lighting inside from the Edison bulbs hanging from the ceiling scream, You cannot afford me.

Without taking his hand from my body, he reaches over and opens the door.

“After you,” he says with the slightest of bows.

Inside is small and intimate. Two person tables are spaced well enough apart to give the illusion of privacy. A couple by the window lean close together, their voices an unintelligible murmur above the vocal jazz pouring softly from the speakers. I feel a little self-conscious in my faded black skinny jeans and t-shirt, but Sebastian doesn’t seem to care. He selects a table as far from the couple as possible.