Hot in the city, p.1
Hot In the City, page 1
Hot in the City
A Romantic Comedy Story Collection
Cassandra O’Leary
Table of Contents
Title Page
Hot In The City: A Romantic Comedy Story Collection
Chocolate Truffle Kiss
Tree Love
Girl Under The Christmas Tree
Girl on a Babymoon
Friday I'm In Love
Acknowledgements
About Cassandra O’Leary
© Copyright 2022 Cassandra O’Leary
Hot In The City: A Romantic Comedy Story Collection
Cover design created with stock art in Canva by Cassandra O’Leary
Ebook ISBN: 9798201329396
Paperback ISBN: 9780648422716
This collection first published in 2022 in ebook and paperback formats. Cassandra O’Leary asserts her moral rights as the author and copyright holder. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission of the author.
Any requests for licencing, reproduction or reprints must be with permission of the author at email: cassandra@cassandraolearyauthor.com
These stories are works of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead is coincidental.
Cassandra O’Leary, Author
Melbourne, Australia
cassandraolearyauthor.com
Chocolate Truffle Kiss: A Romantic Comedy Novelette
© Copyright 2016 Cassandra O’Leary
Tree Love: A Romantic Short Story
© Copyright 2017 Cassandra O’Leary
Girl Under The Christmas Tree: A Christmas Romcom Novella
© Copyright 2020 Cassandra O’Leary
Girl On A Babymoon: A Girl On A Plane Story
© Copyright 2022 Cassandra O’Leary
Friday I’m In Love: A Short and Sweet Story
© Copyright 2022 Cassandra O’Leary
Contains an excerpt of Girl On A Plane, first published in ebook by HarperCollins UK in 2016. © Copyright 2016 Cassandra O’Leary.
Chocolate Truffle Kiss
A Romantic Comedy Novelette
Cassandra O’Leary
Monday
Your eyes meet mine, then retreat
Softness behind glass
Let me break your barriers
The poem on the blackboard enticed her to enter. Just like every day. Each afternoon when Beth escaped work for a few minutes’ peace. Someone jostled her shoulder as they opened the door to her left and a waft of rich, aromatic deliciousness teased her senses. Melbourne’s finest single origin fair trade caffeine goodness and other indulgent treats.
But first, a new mini-poem greeted her. Today’s was sweet – a tentative love story. The poems added a sparkling glint of spring sunshine to her days, assisted by delicious coffee and the even more delicious-looking man behind the counter.
She let her imagination run rampant, standing on the footpath, rubbing her icy fingertips together to ward off the chill breeze whipping through the city street. She read the poem again, the distinctive cursive script etched on the A-frame board adding an artistic touch.
The poems were written for her. It was him, he was the poet. ‘Hot café guy’. Or on her more creative days, the Dragon Master, after his distinctive forearm tattoo. But she knew his real name after so many months. The barista, Samuel. She imagined he watched her the way she watched him, quietly, inconspicuously enjoying the view.
Ridiculous. A proper nutjob. As if he’d notice me, average in every way. Average height and weight, maybe a tad skinny, weak chai latte skin, light blue eyes. Long, strawberry blonde curls were her only noticeable feature. And she was old . . . thirty-eight was a dinosaur in today’s online insta-dating scene.
Palm pressing into cold glass, the heavy wooden framed door opened, and she stepped into comforting warmth. She looked down at the intricate square of mosaic tiles beneath her feet, a creative welcome mat, as the old-fashioned bell above the door jingled. Raising her head, her gaze locked on him.
Samuel, dark and brooding, held court behind the streamlined Art Deco espresso machine, chatting with two older women. Beth wasn’t the only customer to fall under his spell.
“Really, Sam-u-elle?” asked the plumper of the two. “A new coffee for me to try? But I like mine hot, dark and sweet, just like my men.”
Samuel whispered something too low for Beth to hear, then shook his head, treating both women to a cheeky wink. They soon left, laughing like schoolgirls, the older grey-haired lady fanning her face theatrically.
Beth approached the counter, aware of his every movement. Samuel steamed milk under the chrome nozzle, his biceps exposed by a tight black t-shirt. She was a dirty old woman, ogling his strong jaw shadowed with stubble, and the tattooed dragons and Celtic style crosses intertwined down his muscular, tanned arms.
She had to be ten years older. God, maybe fifteen. A cougar, much as she hated to admit it. If not already a crazy cat lady.
He turned and flicked his long black hair, dark eyes alight when he smiled. Bubbles of frothy pleasure rose in her belly. He’d noticed her.
“Beth.” He smiled again, that smile could melt chocolate from one hundred paces. “I’m just making your usual latte. I’ll bring it over to you.”
“Thanks, Samuel.” She ducked behind the espresso machine and rolled her eyes at herself. Did she have to sound so breathy and fan-girlish whenever she spoke to him?
She crossed the checkerboard black and white tiles, then dumped her oversize leather handbag on her usual table, grabbing her favourite notebook and pen from the inner pocket. The city street view was great for people-watching. Capturing whatever details popped into her mind, feeding her hobby as a writer. The words appeared in her head and poured onto the page like liquid dreams. She was never short of inspiration here.
Samuel stalked across the tiles towards her, silent and graceful as a big cat. But she was aware of him. Oh, so aware. Her skin prickled at the back of her neck and goose bumps raced down her arms as he neared. He placed the red glossy cup and saucer on the scrubbed pine table. There was an elegant heart and swirl in the coffee foam. And a delectable chocolate truffle on the side.
“Enjoy.” His smile beamed like shimmering sunlight through the leadlight windows by the café door. She blinked slowly, soaking up his attention. Once he’d turned away, she jotted the shimmering description down. That was damned good.
Why did inspiration hit so often when he was near?
The bell jingled, almost distracting her from the drool-worthy sight of Samuel walking away, his slim black jeans fitting sublimely. A group of university students entered, chattering over tablet computers and library books as they settled into one of the red leather booths. A couple of the girls batted eyelashes in Samuel’s direction, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Before long, she had a page of notes and her half-hour break was up. Sooner than she’d like, as usual. Draining the dregs of her coffee, she made the most of the last morsel of her truffle. Licking her fingers, she glanced up to find Samuel watching. Great, he probably thought she had disgusting table manners now.
Except, the way he’d watched her with glittering black diamond eyes said something else entirely. He looked ... hungry.
Whoa. She didn’t need that look fanning the flames of her hot and steamy thoughts.
Fossicking in her purse, she struck gold. She counted out enough coins to cover her bill and stacked them neatly in the middle of the table. With a little extra as a tip, for him. Her muse.
Tuesday
Divine indulgence
Awaits the brave
Chocolate, coffee and you
All I crave
He lowered his head towards hers, dipping his chin. Everything inside her tightened, heated. Cinnamon and manly spice, strong arms wrapped around her, his dark eyes flashing.
“Beth!” Beth’s old friend arrived in her usual full-on style, slamming the door and flouncing across the room.
Beth snapped her head up, rudely awakened from her daydream. Was her face completely red? She hoped no-one one could hear her heartbeat thumping like a jackhammer. She had been sitting at her usual table, still pondering today’s poem.
Chocolate, coffee and you. All I crave.
She could say those words to Samuel. If she were brave. Then the daydream had taken on a life of its own.
Jenny took a seat like she was perching on a throne, the queen of Beth’s table, dramatically arranging designer shopping bags beside her chair. Beth’s glance slipped to Samuel where he leaned on the counter. His raised eyebrow gave a hint of his thoughts. He probably thought she was a loner with no friends. How could he know she wanted him all to herself? Samuel was her secret indulgence.
Her love-life was officially extinct. That’s exactly what the coffee catch-up with her oldest friend was supposed to be about – kick-starting Beth’s apparently dormant sex drive. So here they were. Jenny talked her into meeting here, and now had grand plans to enrol Beth in a singles club or some such scheme, to get her back on the dating scene.
A year had gone by since Beth’s divorce, and everyone agreed it was time. Everyone suddenly tried to set her up with all the ‘suitable’, single, fifty-ish men they could find. Whether she liked it or not. When they last chatted on the phone, Jenny had informed Beth that she would “dry up” if she didn’t get some action soon. Little did Jenny know that Beth’s sex drive switched automatically to hyperdrive whenever s
Beth had made an exception for Jenny, inviting her to meet at her favourite café. Jenny was her childhood friend who she hardly saw, since Jenny had moved interstate with a high-powered job and equally high-powered husband.
Samuel watched their table, openly, checking out Jenny from coiffed head to perfectly shod toe. Beth should have stood up for herself, should never have brought Jenny to her favourite café. Her friend was lithe and effortlessly elegant with the perfect blonde hairdo and immaculate black suit and heels. If Samuel wanted an older woman, he’d probably choose someone like Jenny.
Beth glanced down at her own outfit. Her offbeat style, combat boots and a second-hand 1970s floral dress today, turned heads for the wrong reasons. She didn’t really care anymore. Not usually. The ad agency where she worked as a copywriter was happy with alternative gear. She wore what she liked, what felt comfortable. That was one good thing about getting older – she was more confident in her own style and in her own skin. Except when a man she desired was watching another woman right in front of her.
“Beth, darling, look at you!” Jenny leaned over and air-kissed her cheek. “Your dress is so cute. And your hair is to die for, as always.” Jenny turned and snapped her fingers at Samuel as if he was her personal serving-boy.
Beth’s cheeks warmed. “Jenny, behave.” Her warning tone apparently fell on deaf ears.
“Why? Is that him? Hot café guy?” Jenny’s voice boomed across the café. Then her icy blue eyes evaluated him, thoroughly. Head to toe, all the good places in between. “He’s certainly hot. And he wants you too, I can tell.”
Beth’s cheeks heated. Her whole body was tinder dry, about to burst into flame with the flick of a struck match. Her gaze snapped across to the counter to find Samuel staring. Really, properly staring, as if he could see straight into her soul. Or at least into her dirtiest fantasies. As if he heard her thunderous heart beating from across the room and finally understood the pathetic, unrequited crush she nurtured deep inside.
He quickly turned away, busily stacking coffee mugs. Jenny didn’t notice the silent exchange and tottered over to the counter to place her order.
After a few minutes of boasting about her new home (on Jenny’s part), Beth was beginning to wonder if she and Jenny had anything in common anymore. Samuel delivered Jenny’s coffee to their table with a furtive glance in Beth’s direction. A quick but steamy glance.
Was she wrong, or was there definite smoulder in those coal ember eyes? And there she went. Whoosh. On fire.
“Where’s my chocolate truffle? I’ve heard they’re divine.” The superior note in Jenny’s voice made Beth’s stomach churn. Was her friend always so condescending?
Samuel shrugged, then walked over to another table of customers.
“Only for Beth. I see.” Jenny laughed loudly. “Never mind.”
Beth cringed inside, then downed her coffee in a single gulp, mind reeling.
Did Samuel like her? Chewing her divine truffle, she thought it through. Any attraction on his part seemed unlikely. He could have any hot young chick. Half of the students who came into the café asked him out. Girls and guys. Although, she’d never noticed him accept any of their invitations.
He was probably taken. She’d bet he had some supermodel girlfriend ready to give up her jet-setting lifestyle to have his babies. Or maybe he was a private person, an introvert like herself.
The conversation with Jenny lurched along. Beth prepared herself, sitting up straighter, then told her friend something important.
“I’ve got some news. A couple of my short stories are about to be published. There’s a book launch coming up and everything.” It was exciting, something Beth had worked long and hard to achieve. Her heart fluttered a little in her chest, finally having the chance to tell someone.
“Really? Some of your little stories? After all these years? Well, good on you. That’s so... fun.” Jenny touched Beth’s arm, giving her a little pat.
Beth’s heart sank like a stone in a cold bucket of water. Apparently, Jenny didn’t see the point, if a book wouldn’t sell a million copies. Her eyes stung, but she wouldn’t cry. She’d had enough of tears the last few years.
Beth endured a few more minutes of mindless chatter, then Jenny left in a flurry of air kisses and dah-lings, with a promise to meet soon. Beth didn’t commit to anything.
Then, Samuel’s gaze was on her again. Time slowed to the pace of thick caramel syrup dripping off the back of a spoon as Samuel sauntered across the floor to her table.
She stood and met his eyes, tilted her head upwards. They were only centimetres apart, a hand’s breadth. It would be so easy to reach out and touch him.
“Did your friend like the place?” Samuel asked.
“I think so.” She paused to suck in much needed oxygen. Her heart wobbled now he was here, standing so close. Making her want things. “Sorry she’s a bit loud. A bit much in general, sometimes.”
“Don’t apologise. I wasn’t offended.” He paused and looked her straight in the eye, but only for a second. Then his gaze dropped to his feet. “Did she like today’s poem?”
“I don’t know. But I did, I always do. Who writes them?”
Samuel studied the floor, then took a deep breath that made his chest expand. He peeked up underneath long black eyelashes. “It’s a secret. The poet prefers it that way.”
Before she could respond, or even find her voice, he’d picked up her bag and passed it to her. Standing so close, she inhaled the scent of his skin – woody, intense, spiced with cinnamon. Their fingers brushed, quickly. Softly. Only a moment. But somehow it was one of life’s big moments. At least it was for her.
Her heart stopped mid-thump, her blood flowed slowly, languidly, her eyelids hit half-mast. Heat flooded her belly and settled between her thighs. Her whole body screamed, ‘Take me to bed!’ but he was already gone.
Back behind the counter, making coffee, serving customers. He barely noticed when she dropped her money by the register and left.
Wednesday
A touch
A taste
A tease
A torment
When she entered the café that afternoon, the bell rang with its jaunty jingle. But there was another pretty sound. Samuel’s voice floated and echoed across the tiled room towards her. An old Michael Hutchence song about precious hearts and two worlds colliding.
Heaven on a stick.
His voice was liquid sugar, sweet and smooth, but overflowing with pure sensuality. He had it. Charisma, sex appeal, animal magnetism. Whatever it was, that some singers and movie stars had. Samuel had it and a bit. And it hit her right in the ovaries.
A voice like that, combined with his body, it wasn’t fair. It was like he was there just to taunt and tempt her.
She sidled up to the counter, achingly aware of every inch of her skin as he hit a high note. “That song’s a bit old for you to remember, isn’t it?”
Samuel shook his head, wiping down the countertop at the same time. “It’s a classic. How old do you think I am exactly?”
“I don’t know, twenty-four, twenty-five, maybe?”
He smiled, flashing white teeth and a killer dimple. “I’m glad I’ve still got it. I’m thirty-two.”
Her mouth formed a silent ‘O’. Only six years younger. She shouldn’t think about it. Shouldn’t get her hopes up. He was still too young. But not embarrassingly young. Perfect for a woman who’d always liked younger men. Until a certain ex-husband proved to be a boy in a man’s body, juvenile and self-centred.
“Still, young and handsome and with a stunning voice. Not old and decrepit like me.”
“Thanks, but ... decrepit?” His gaze strolled a lazy path from her eyes to her nude lips, detoured at the low neckline of her black t-shirt and down her red mini skirt to her exposed legs. “You look absolutely fine from where I’m standing.”
Oh, holy hell. She was about to spontaneously combust right in front of him. Somehow she found her voice, even if it was breathier than usual. That was pretty breathy. “Thanks, that’s um, nice to know.”
Nice. Nice? She deserved his laughter, but damn if his low, throaty chuckle didn’t just continue the chain reaction inside her. He’d said he found her attractive, hadn’t he? Something like that. She backed away and headed for the refuge of her usual table. Putting distance between them.
