He grins, straightening to extend his hand for a shake. “Liz, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Will you be in town long?”

“A few weeks, but hopefully longer. I have a deal in the works,” he explains. “I grew up on the Upper West and went to NYU, then headed to the left coast. But I miss New York. There’s nowhere else like it.”

I smile in agreement, then place a hand on the coffee grinder. “Single or doppio?”

“I’m guessing that second option is double, and yes to that, please.”

“Doppio it is.” I measure out the grounds, using the scale Toby purchased for the precise eighteen grams. “So, will you be at this weekend’s party?”

“Toby just told me about that. Am I right to assume you organized it?”

“One of my many duties.”

“Then I’m sure it will be an unforgettable event.”

I tamp the espresso into the filter. “You always this smooth?”

“Only when the company warrants.”

“Wow.” He is quick, I’ll give him that. “Save some material for Saturday. Do you have the details or should I get your email from Toby?”

“How about I give you my number and you can text me the information?”

“But then you would have my number.”

“Yes, I would, wouldn’t I?” He says it as though he didn’t come to the conclusion himself. His eyes say otherwise.

I let out a sigh for effect, though I purse my lips in legitimate consideration. He’s cute, even with the cheese-oozing. He’s also receptive, which is a far cry from Mr. Tolerable, however pleasant Monday’s wet-nap massage was. He’s at least worthy of maintaining a text exchange; further assessment can be administered Saturday.

“Tell you what.” I pull the espresso, raising my voice over the din. “Give me your email, and I’ll get back to you.”

Wickham smiles, and Toby pokes his head back into the break room. “Toby, your Liz is a firecracker. Where did you find her?”

“Craigslist?” Toby looks between us. “You need a sec, or—”

“We’re good.” I hand Wickham the double shot. The crema is a perfect shade of brown. “You have ten seconds before the flavor changes.”

Wickham raises his eyebrows.

“She’s right,” says Toby, joining us. “She took a class.”

Wickham tosses back the coffee, returning the cup to the saucer with a short clatter. “Liz, that was exceptional.” He places the cup and saucer in my waiting palm, and his fingers graze mine during the handoff. He winks at me, then shifts to drape an arm over Toby’s shoulders. “All right. Show me around your empire, bud.”

The phone’s ringing shatters the quiet of the lobby, but I let it go two rings before picking up, just to maintain my air of diligence. I don’t have to look at the “Toby” icon on the cradle to know who’s calling.