We got to the coffee shop, and it was busy. Like, too busy for nice conversation between myself and this beautiful enigma of Hannah. I fretted, wondering if this would break the spell of this perfect morning, or even worse if Hannah would want to go in anyway and wait, and endure the too-loud conversations around us, and try to talk over the too-loud music the shop would play to try to drown out the din.

"Ah, shit, it's Friday, isn't it? They have their raspberry scones today, and they're pretty good, but people lose their shit over them, so the place is packed." Hannah said, turning toward me and leaning against the front window of the shop.

I wasn't sure if she was thinking along the same lines I was or not. The last thing I wanted to do was walk back toward the train, away from Hannah. I was having fun, I was loving everything about this. "I'm sure there's…somewhere else?" I said.

"Not really…" Hannah frowned. "I mean, I do know this really nice private place that's a bit obscure, and the barista isn't very talented…and she'd definitely have to change out of her white shirt because she almost always manages to spill something on herself when she uses the espresso machine…but she can make a decent latte and offers as much sparkling conversation as you can stomach."

"You mean, your…" I said, knowing she was laying it on thick but not wanting to step over any boundaries, "…you want to make me coffee at your place?"

"The coffee might just be a prelude, but…yeah." Hannah said, scrunching up her face.

I wanted to scream yes and drop to my knees, that a woman this stunning would even want to spend another minute with me, the fact that she wanted me to come up to her apartment for…whatever…made me want to even more, but instead I managed to keep my cool and say. "Sounds good."

"Well, come on then, I'll show you the way." Hannah reached her hand out, and I held it, melting into her.

3

Hannah lived in an apartment building on the fifth floor. The building had a cute vintage vibe, but as we got out of the elevator and I saw Hannah's apartment number on the wall, it clicked into place that I was actually at the place where Penelope, the lead in Breach of Contract took place. Apartment 534, with the shiny brass numbers hung slightly crooked on the ivory door, the red rug in the hallway with the gold checkerboard pattern that ran the length of it.

No, I was just imagining it. Nicole Marcel's books were fiction, and there were probably a hundred buildings within a five-mile radius that looked exactly like this. Plus nobody ever hung those damn numbers on straight.