"One vanilla latte."

"One americano. I'll pay for her coffee."

Fiona turned to me. Her gaze was cold, and her face showed irritation.

"You don't have to bother. I have money. I can pay for my own coffee."

"I know you have money. But let me pay."

I handed the barista my card. She seemed unconcerned with whatever business we had. She focused on the payment process and went to prepare our order.

“Are you following me?”

“Maybe. In case you forgot, that’s my style.”

If she looked so hot ...