The barista watches our exchange like a spectator at a tennis match, head bouncing back and forth.

Holly stands with one fist on her hip, glaring at me, while I grin back. We’re still holding hands, which I have no intention of pointing out to her.

“But the kidney exchange is happening because your cousin is donating to my brother.”

“Aha! Exactly. That’s two whole different people. They don’t come into play.”

“Of course they come into play!”

She is so fucking adorable; I want to drag her into my chest and kiss her angry mouth. Instead, I give her my snarkiest smirk and shake my head.

“Nope. This is between you and me.”

She huffs out a dramatic sigh. “My croissant.”

I raise an eyebrow.

She gestures to the cash register. “You can buy my croissant. I’m paying for my tea.”

I make like I’m thinking over her proposal before nodding. “We’ve reached an accord.”

She rolls her eyes and tosses a few singles on the counter. But I’m not fooled; I can see the little curve at the corner of her mouth.

After squeezing her hand, I let go to pull out my own wallet.

“How many ounces are in your small cups?” I try to approach my order as directly as Holly did hers, but apparently, my question confuses the young guy behind the counter. Or maybe he’s still rattled from our verbal sparring session.

“Oh, um, I’m not sure. I’ll go ask—”

“Small is twelve, medium is sixteen, and large is twenty.”

Of course Holly knows. And she doesn’t deliver this information like she’s exasperated with the barista. Instead, she uses a teacher’s tone, pleasant and informative. I smile at her, but she’s fixated on the pastries in the glass display case.

“I’ll take a small jasmine green tea. No honey or sweetener.”

She glances up at me then, returning the smile, and then walks off to grab a table while I pay my part of the bill.

“You like green tea, too?” she asks when I sit down across from her.

“Haven’t given it much of a shot. But I figure, someone who comes here all the time knows what’s good.”

“I’d love to come here every day, but I only treat myself on special occasions. Or when I’m badly in need of a pick-me-up.”

“Why?”

“Money.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Can’t really budget for fancy teas and gourmet pastries on my salary.”

I’m not sure how to respond, but luckily, our teas and food arrive before I have to.

For the next few minutes, I get to watch Holly slowly pick off pieces of flaky croissant and place them in her mouth. Each time, she closes her eyes and hums to herself. The precise way she eats her pastry shouldn’t turn me on, but goddamn, it does. I’m focused on her mouth and her slim fingers, wanting both to be worshipping me the same way she is a piece of bread.