Until I Saw Your Smile by J.J. Murray Read Free Book Online

blend so perfectly into cinnamon? And all of it is set off strikingly by bright white teeth. Beautiful.
    â€œDoes that sound good?” she asked.
    And it looks good. I mean, she looks good. Say something . “Yes.”
    â€œLarge?”
    â€œYes, I will need a large,” Matthew said.
    â€œI hope you don’t mind waiting,” she said, “I’ll call you when it’s ready. I brew the house blend longer, so it’s not quite ready to serve yet. Another five minutes or so. Are you in a hurry?”
    â€œNo.” He sniffed the air. “What else do I smell?”
    â€œBlueberry and cherry pastries,” she said. “They’ll be out in about seven minutes. You interested?”
    In your beautiful eyes? Yes. In the pastries? Yes. “I will wait.” “Thought you might.”
    Matthew wandered to the front and noticed a flyer taped to the window advertising a block party tonight near King Park in Queens. Why would anyone throw a block party in February? Okay, it’s National Freedom Day, but really. Hmm. No one will know me in Queens, however. It might be fun to be incognito on a Saturday night. If I don’t freeze my ass off. I’d have to dress—
    â€œCoffee’s ready.”
    He returned to the counter.
    â€œHow do you take it?” she asked.
    â€œWith lots of caffeine.”
    She smiled. “There’s plenty of that. No cream, no sugar?” I just left her. Monique was all cream and too much sugar. “Give it to me straight.”
    â€œOkay,” the woman said, “you need to shave, take a bath, and do something about your hair.”
    Matthew laughed. She’s sharp. “I do, don’t I? I’ll move farther away.”
    â€œIt’s all right. Which pastry do you want?”
    Such a sweet voice. She could sell me anything. “One of each.” “Couldn’t decide, huh?”
    Maybe I like to keep my options open. “I like variety.” He pulled out the five, smoothing it out. “What do I owe you?”
    â€œFour-fifty. Tax is included.”
    A large cup of coffee and two pastries for less than five bucks? In Brooklyn? No, in New York City? Maybe she’s hooking me up. He handed the five to her. “Keep the change.”
    She plunked two quarters into a jar marked “Angela’s IRA.”
    Her name is Angela. “Thank you, Angela,” he said.
    She poured and placed the cup on the counter. “You’re welcome, um . . .”
    â€œMatthew.”
    â€œMatthew.” A buzzer sounded from somewhere in the back. “The pastries are ready. If you have a seat, I’ll bring them out to you.”
    â€œThanks.”
    Matthew collected his coffee and took a sip. Wow. Real. Rich! He sat in the middle booth, the vinyl whining slightly. A moment later, Angela brought the pastries to him on a small china plate before returning to the counter. Matthew watched her move, her black walking shoes moving swiftly, her legs—
    â€œHow are they?” she asked.
    Your legs? Sexy in those jeans. “I haven’t taken a bite yet.” “Let me know.”
    He took a bite of the cherry pastry. Light, fluffy, sweet. What do people sometimes say? This is bangin’.
    â€œHow is it?” Angela asked.
    â€œAngela, this is the first real cup of coffee I have had in years,” Matthew said. “I will be awake until Monday, and these pastries . . . wow. Real blueberries and real cherries.”
    â€œThey’re the only kind I make,” Angela said. “You could take some to go.”
    And I wish I could. I blew close to seventy-five bucks on Monique last night. “Maybe next time.”
    She wiped the counter with a white towel. “You promise?”
    That woman has the soft sell down pat. How could I refuse her kind face, sexy eyes, bright smile, and sweet voice? “Yes. Thank you.”
    He wolfed down the pastries and sucked down the coffee in