Jennifer Whalen
“Yes, Mom, I remembered the book signing.” Ava shifted her phone to the other ear and dropped her large sack of books to the coffee shop floor. “But I’m not waiting in line to meet this guy without coffee.”
The customer in front of her—a tall man with broad shoulders who looked to be around thirty—glanced over his shoulder. He wore wire-rimmed glasses that Ava thought might make him look handsome in an academic sort of way, but it was hard to tell from behind.
She mouthed sorry to him and Glasses shot her a smirk, then turned around.
Her mother kept talking, reminding her to get all the books signed, as if they hadn’t been over this already, but Ava was focused on Glasses. Now that he’d ordered and stepped out of line, she had a much better view of him.
He sported a head full of soft brown curls, the perfect amount of stubble (in Ava’s opinion), and his glasses framed warm, brown eyes. She’d been right, he did look academic. Like an English professor with a rugged edge. Ava found him more than a little appealing.
“Ma’am, you’re next.” The barista pulled Ava’s attention back to the bustling cafe and her phone call.
“It’s my turn to order, Mom. I have to go.” She slid her phone into her pocket and ordered a double hazelnut cortado. But when she tried to pay, the barista waved her off.
“It’s all taken care of, by that gentleman over there.”
Ava turned to where the barista was pointing. Glasses.
He smiled and raised his coffee to her. She returned the smile and after receiving her own drink, lugged her bag of books across the crowded coffee shop to thank him.
“It was my pleasure,” he said. “I couldn’t let a fellow bibliophile face a book signing uncaffeinated.”
Ava winced. “You overheard my phone call?”
He smirked in response and took a sip of his coffee, never breaking eye contact.
Embarrassment spread through her. Had he seen her staring, too?
“You’re a fan of G. E. Marshall?” He nodded toward the bundle at her feet, the top title nearly spilling out.
“Not exactly.” She adjusted the bag. “But my sister is, and he’s having a book signing today. These are her birthday presents.”
“Generous sister.”
“Generous mom.” She pointed to herself. “Errand girl.”
He laughed and held out his hand. “Can I carry that for you? I’m headed that way, too.”
She nudged the bag with her foot, and he bent to pick it up as if it weighed no more than a feather.
Handsome.
Generous.
Strong.
Who was this guy?
“Can I buy you another coffee?” she asked as he tossed his first cup in the trash. “As a thank you for carrying G. E. Marshall’s entire backlist three blocks.”
He smiled and shook his head. “I think a brisk walk with a beautiful woman is thanks enough.” He winked and Ava blushed.
They exited the coffee shop, and she noticed how Glasses positioned himself on the sidewalk between her and the moving traffic. She mentally added gentleman to his growing list of desirable qualities.
He interrupted her thoughts. “Your sister’s a fan of G. E. Marshall, but you’re not?”
“It’s not that I’m not a fan,” Ava began, choosing her words cautiously. “I’ve read his books, but they’re a little . . .”
“Smart. Amusing. Well-written,” he supplied.
“Predictable. I always guess the ending.”
“Ouch.” Glasses gripped his chest in mock pain. “Tough break for Marshall.”
She laughed. “Don’t get me wrong, they’re okay. But I like surprises, you know? Something I didn’t expect.”
Glasses was quiet long enough that Ava started to worry he wasn’t interested in more conversation, until he said, “Maybe Marshall’s plot twists aren’t predictable. Maybe you pay attention.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “Even the best plot twists are easy to predict if you know what to look for, and some you never see coming.” He waggled his eyebrows as a slow, mischievous grin spread across his face.
Were they still talking about novels, or was she missing something?
If she hadn’t been so distracted by his fresh, masculine scent or the way his eyes danced with humor, she might have picked up on his meaning. Instead, she sipped her coffee and continued their walk in blissful ignorance, wondering if he felt the pull between them, too.
But all thoughts of attraction stopped cold when Ava’s eyes landed on the window display for the author signing. More specifically, when her eyes landed on the author’s photo—a handsome man around thirty, with brown, curly hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and the perfect amount of stubble (in Ava’s opinion).
Her stomach dropped, and her mouth went dry.
“You’re G. E. Marshall?”
“Grant Ethan Marshall.” He smiled and held out his hand.
And because she didn’t know what else to do, she slid her hand into his and numbly replied, “Ava.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ava.”
“And you’re—but you—and I—”
Grant chuckled, still holding her hand. “Are there ends to these sentences?”
“I insulted your books.”
“I know.”
“I said they were predictable.”
“I remember.”
Ava swallowed and looked up to the man she now knew as Grant. International Bestselling Author, crime-writer extraordinaire, and named Bookish Magazine’s Author of the Year. Twice.
Or at least, that’s what the sign said.
They locked eyes, but where she expected to see anger or hurt, she saw humor. Almost as if he had been charmed by her little faux pas.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“I’m very offended. Perhaps you should make it up to me over dinner.” He winked and Ava’s stomach swooped.
“I—you’re asking me out?”
He leaned in and whispered, “How’s that for a plot twist?”
“I never saw it coming.”
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Spark Flash Fiction 