Page 35 of It's a Brewtiful Day

A sheepish grin played on the edges of my lips. “Well… thereisthat.”

“You are passionate about reading, and for getting others to read.” He nodded with a sense of pride on the tip of his tongue.

I did love it when people read books for fun. It kept them out of trouble. It broadened their minds. It took them on a journey to someplace new and exciting.

He pointed a finger at me, punctuated with a sly grin of his own. “See… you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

I nodded and tipped my head down.

“That, my friend, is passion. And you have it in spades.”

Friend?Is that all?

He picked up the donut and bit half of it, chasing it down with a good gulp from his water bottle after staring back at the treat. “Wow, that is one rich donut.”

“Agreed.” I wiped the corners of my lips. “It would go perfect with a cup of dark roast.”

“Or a… Yeah, you’re right,” he said pensively. “Those two would mate perfectly together.” Before he stuffed another bite of donut into his mouth, another wink—very swift and subtle—came my way. “So, back to your passions—like books. What do you love most about them?”

“Well…” I set my treat upon the napkin and lick some chocolate off my finger. “When an author weaves their words in such a way that you can’t put the book down and you’re transported to a far-off place, like New York, it’s the best feeling.” I chuckled since the east coast of the U.S. was a faraway place for me. “Or to the Renaissance age. Reading makes me happy. For the most part.”

“Oh?”

“Sometimes, the stories are sad, and I cry.” Telling anyone else that would’ve made me cringe but sharing that with Elliot didn’t seem to bother me. With his yarn skills and crafty side, I was starting to feel a bit more of a connection to him, rather than what was just simply a crush a few hours ago.

“That’s a well-done story then. If the author can evoke such powerful emotions, they must be doing something right.”

“Oh, they most certainly are. And the heroes they write about?” I leaned into the back of the chair with a satisfied sigh. “Ah-mazing, and totally fictional because Cassie says guys aren’t like that in real life, not even her husband. My sister calls it ‘storybook syndrome’ because I’m constantly chasing after this idealized version of a man. Apparently, and morespecifically, the kind who treat their ladies as an equal, respect their boundaries, and yet still protect and cherish you.”

Not unsurprising, Elliot snort-laughed and then softened his voice. “I think those guys are more real than you think. You just need to look harder.”

“Tell that to Cassie.”

“And you’ve never dated a guy like that? You’ve only read about them in your books?”

A faint heat warmed my chest and rolled up my neck. “Although those heroes are becoming more noticed, there does seem to be an abundance of alpha-holes, which I’m just not into.” Especially since my father had been one, right down to the letter.

“Excuse me, what?”

“Alpha-holes. It’s a term a customer used for describing a hero who is dominating and bossy and not always nice to the heroine all in the name of love.” I shrugged, remembering the conversation because it was surprising. “The customer filled me in about all sorts of hero descriptions, and various sub-genres, most of which I set into my memory so we could keep a fresh inventory of reads for her. If there was a gold star customer, it was her.”

“So she’s the Sage of the Coffee Loft eh?”

I smiled at his comment. “She sure is. Some readers truly enjoy those types of male characters, so we make sure to keep them well-stocked at the bookstore. Unfortunately, in my personal world,thoseguys, those alpha-holes as she put it, they exist, andI’ve known enough of them to not want to read about them in my spare time. I much prefer the niche characters who are more of a what did she call them?” My finger tapped my chin. “Ah, right. The cinnamon roll hero.”

“Does this hero have raisins?”

“What?” I laughed as it dawned on me about the raisin reference. “No, my cinnamon roll hero has nothing aged or wrinkled on him.”

“But he’s perfect?”

I tipped my head to the side and tore off a chunk of the donut, choosing my words carefully. “Not all the way through perfect; he has his flaws, but inherently, he’s a good guy and the world is better with him in it.”

He took a bite of his donut and followed it with a swig of water. “Ever thought of writing?”

“Not in a million years.” My feet slipped off the chair and hit the floor. Sliding them into my flats, I repositioned myself. “It’s enough trying to finish my essays.”

“Are you studying for something?”