“That’s absolutely ridiculous.” I shake my head.
“Why?” she questions. “You’re literally glowing, like you swallowed the Andromeda Galaxy. Neither of you is in a position to commit. Why not have fun until he leaves in six weeks?”
I exhale. “I don’t think he’s attracted to me, and it would complicate things. We’re trying to be friends.”
Blaire refills the brown sugar at the end of the counter. “I vote for friends who fuck. It’s just sex. That’s the point. Leave yourfeelings at the foot of the bed, have an orgasm, then continue on with your day. New besties.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“It is,” she says, like there is no other answer.
Before we open the doors for the morning rush, Blaire spends some time making us each a latte with extra shots of espresso.
“Maybe you can help each other with your relationship issues,” Blaire says, handing me the first one. “Regardless, I’m happy for you because one of us needs some excitement in their life this season.”
My phone buzzes. We both freeze, staring at it like it might explode. It’s another delivery confirmation.
“You’re disappointed that it wasn’t him even though he’s never texted you,” Blaire says.
After Nick left in January, I told Blaire everything. I needed to vent, and she usually has sound advice, even if it’s sometimes sprinkled with a tarot card pull or a crystal being shoved in my pocket.
“Pretty please, get out of my head,” I tell her as she moves to unlock the door.
“No can do, babe. I’m reading all your thoughts!” she says, and I toss a rag at her that she easily catches.
The morning rush saves me from my thoughts, but Blaire’s words stick to me like honey. An autumn hookup would be fun, and it would have an expiration date. But I know the type of women Nick has had flings with. His list includes models, actresses, tennis players, and pop stars. I don’t see coffee barista being added anytime soon, which is welcome. Honestly.
I lose count of how many shots of espresso I make, and I’m surprised Mrs. Galloway hasn’t come in and called me out for being with Nick.
We work nonstop, barely able to take bathroom breaks until the afternoon rush has moved to just a few lingering customers. At 2:47, I start counting down the seconds until it’s time to leave. Theevening crew is here and restocking supplies while Blaire and I clean. The night manager, Tracy, has already switched the cash registers and updated the deposit logs.
I move into the dining room and sweep the croissant crumbs from under the tables, then rearrange the autumn flower basket and sparkly pumpkin decorations on the mantel of the fireplace.
When the bell above the door rings, I glance back to offer a welcome and see Craig. I have to hold back a groan.
He immediately smiles.
I breathe out because he looks good. But that’s not new. I’ve always found him to be attractive with his sandy-brown hair and hazel eyes.
As he moves toward me, I notice he’s carrying a bouquet of yellow roses, and it takes all my strength not to shake my head. We were together for three years, and he never cared that my favorite roses were pink or white. This is proof that I can’t let him weasel himself between my sheets ever again. It’s over.
His hunter-green collared shirt fits tight around him, and I can tell he’s been working out and taking care of himself.
“Jules.” He says my name like it’s sacred as he approaches me with that confidence that used to make me feel special. Now, after realizing he uses it as armor in relationships, it exhausts me.
“Craig,” I say, returning to the mantel to rearrange the Halloween town buildings, just to stay busy. “What do you want?”
“To talk.” He sets the roses on the mantel. “You look beautiful.”
I give him a pointed look, and his grin widens.
This is the charming man I fell in love with, but it’s a mask, one he removes when the newness of the relationship wears off.
Over my shoulder, I know there are two tables of ladies trying to listen to every word we’re saying. To my right, Mrs. Caldwell sits with a cup of tea while she does a crossword puzzle in the newspaper.
The Fairy Godmothers are everywhere. This conversation isn’t safe unless I want rumors started.
“You should go.”
