Sweet and Sour Love

The sky opened up just as Emma Carter reached the intersection of 5th and Maple. One moment the autumn air carried nothing more threatening than the scent of fallen leaves, the next a deluge poured down as if the clouds had been holding their breath all day. Cold rain needled her skin through the thin material of her blouse, and she cursed herself for the third time that week for forgetting her umbrella.

"Damn it," she muttered, ducking her head as she broke into a run. Her ballet flats slapped against wet pavement, sending up tiny sprays of water that darkened the hem of her trousers. The strap of her overstuffed work bag dug into her shoulder as it bounced against her hip with each hurried step.

A glowing sign ahead promised salvation: The Honeycomb Café. Emma lunged for the door handle just as another pedestrian approached from the opposite direction. Their shoulders bumped in the narrow entryway.

"Excuse you," snapped a crisp male voice.

Emma blinked rainwater from her lashes to see a tall figure shaking droplets from a leather messenger bag. The man - early thirties, dark hair already curling with damp, a sharp jawline that could probably cut glass - glared at her with startling green eyes.

"Excuse me," Emma shot back, pushing damp strands of hair from her forehead. "I was here first."

His gaze flicked to the space between them, then back to her face. "Physics would disagree. You're still outside."

A shiver ran down Emma's spine that had nothing to do with being wet. "Are you always this pleasant, or am I just lucky?"

"Today must be your lucky day." He stepped aside with exaggerated courtesy, holding the door open just enough for her to squeeze through. "After you."

Emma clenched her jaw and edged past him, acutely aware of the heat radiating from his body despite the chill in the air. The café's warmth enveloped her as she stepped inside, the rich aromas of coffee and baked goods momentarily distracting her from her irritation.

She joined the short queue, shrugging off her soaked cardigan and draping it over her arm. The cashier, a young woman with a purple streak in her hair, gave her a sympathetic smile.

"Rough day to be without an umbrella."

"You have no idea," Emma sighed, digging through her bag for her wallet. Her fingers brushed against loose pens, crumpled receipts, and the inevitable collection of forgotten mints at the bottom. "Just a large black coffee, please."

Behind her, she heard an impatient sigh. The green-eyed man was practically breathing down her neck, his expensive cologne cutting through the café's earthy scents. Emma deliberately slowed her movements, taking her time to extract exact change.

As she handed the money to the cashier, a strong forearm reached past her to tap a sleek credit card against the counter.

"Double espresso. To go."

Emma's head snapped around. "I wasn't finished."

"You were moving with all the urgency of a sedated sloth," he said, those striking eyes glinting with challenge.

Heat flooded Emma's cheeks. She opened her mouth to retort when her phone buzzed violently in her bag. Work. Of course. She fumbled to answer it, juggling her wallet and damp cardigan in the process.

"Emma Carter," she answered breathlessly, shooting daggers at the man now smirking at her predicament.

"Emma, it's Sarah. The Morrison presentation got moved to tomorrow morning. I need those mockups by end of day."

Emma's stomach dropped. "But I thought we had until-"

"I know, I know. Client changed their mind. Can you make it happen?"

She swallowed hard, already mentally rearranging her evening. "Of course. I'll get started right after my meeting."

As she hung up, the barista called out, "Large black coffee for Emma!"

Emma reached for the cup at the same moment Mr. "Rude" stepped forward to grab his espresso. Their arms collided, sending her purse tumbling to the tiled floor with a clatter that turned several heads. Her wallet burst open, coins rolling in every direction, while lipsticks, tampons, and half a pack of gum scattered across the floor.

For a heartbeat, the cafe fell silent except for the hiss of the espresso machine.

Then the man crouched down, gathering items with surprising efficiency. "You carry an entire pharmacy in here," he muttered, holding up a travel-sized bottle of ibuprofen.

Emma dropped to her knees, her face burning. "And you clearly missed kindergarten lessons about personal space."

He paused, a tube of her favorite cherry lip balm in his hand. Their fingers brushed as she snatched it back, sending an unwelcome jolt up her arm. When she looked up, she found him studying her with an expression she couldn't quite decipher.

"Here." He handed her a business card that had skidded near his shoe. "Before you accuse me of stealing your identity."

Emma stuffed it in her pocket without looking, too flustered to care. She grabbed the last of her belongings and stood, smoothing her damp slacks. The barista, bless her, had placed her coffee safely on the counter.

"Have a nice day," Emma said through gritted teeth, snatching up her cup.

"Likewise," he replied, that infuriating smirk still in place. "Try not to assault any more innocent bystanders on your way out."

Emma's grip tightened on her coffee. For one glorious second, she considered "accidentally" spilling it down his pristine white shirt. Instead, she turned on her heel and marched to the farthest corner table, where she collapsed into a chair with enough force to slosh hot liquid over her fingers.

"Ow! Damn it!" She sucked at the scalded skin, glaring at the man now exiting the café without a backward glance. Through the rain-streaked window, she watched him raise a black umbrella and disappear down the street.

Emma exhaled sharply and pulled out her laptop. As it booted up, she reached into her pocket for the business card, curious despite herself. The thick cardstock felt expensive between her fingers. She turned it over.

Liam Bennett. Senior Designer. Crestwood Marketing.

Her stomach dropped. The same Crestwood Marketing where she started her new job on Monday.

Emma groaned and dropped her head to the table with a thunk. Of all the cafés in all the city, she'd had to walk into his. And of all the designers at Crestwood, she'd have to work with him.

The universe, she decided as she took a bitter sip of coffee, had a truly terrible sense of humor.