The riddle on the front door is different than it was last time I was here. I need to ask her how often they change it, because I might end up coming here every day just to test my brain power.
The more you take, the more you leave behind.
I grab a slip of the notebook paper, and quickly write my answer on it, sliding it into the drop box. I can hear the quietdingwhen it passes by the bell.
Shifting my stance, I glance around me to see if anyone else is as interested in this restaurant as I am.
The door opens wide, and Angie is standing there with her graying hair pulled tight in a braid and a bright smile on her face.
“Hunter! Back again so soon?” She steps to the side, letting me in, and securely locks the door behind us.
The café is silent, except for the rhythmic clack of metal against metal as the cook in the back practices his egg tricks. He waves at me through the open partition.
“Come, come, darling.” Angie shows me to a booth, grabbing two glasses and a pitcher of water on the way, then sitting down across from me while I get situated, like we’ve known each other for years instead of a week.
“How was your first week of class?” she asks, filling the cup almost to the brim before handing it to me.
“It was okay,” I offer, taking a small sip. She blows out a raspberry, waving her hand.
“I know that’s a lie, the first week is always the worst. Did you make any friends? Like all of your teachers?” No and no, but I can’t tell her that. I’m working on being happy, being sunshine personified, so I can make it through.
“Yeah, I did make a few friends. They’re older.” My mind automatically flits to Zoey and her messages asking me to hang out. Each one has been answered with a cop-out excuse. Because every time I think about agreeing, I remember how Brittany acted when Zoey asked, and I’m not desperate enough to force myself into their fold. No matter how badly I wanted to say yes.
Then, the two girls morph into a guy with dark hair. Blue eyes lined with dark eyelashes and a straight nose that leads to a perfectly pouty mouth, two full lips that haunt my dreams.
He’s straight, I convince myself, and I can’t ignore the impatience from our first encounter, or the way he blew me off the second time. I thought he would be a little more welcoming to the freshman, but that’s wishful thinking on my part.
“Good, good. Bring them with you next time. But they have to figure out the riddle themselves. We want to keep this place set apart from the other places around here. Only smart people.”I laugh, feeling joyous. Knowing that even when it feels like my life is going downhill, I can still rely on this practical stranger to be nice to me.
The bell dings and Angie stares at me wide-eyed. She places her finger in front of her mouth in ashhhsignal. Even Patrick, in the back, stops working on his fancy tricks.
Angie reaches into the box and pulls out the small piece of paper. She looks at me and nods her head. She’s about to let someone in, I’m assuming. But I don’t know why she would feel the need to let me know, I’m not the owner, so it’s not like she needs my approval.
She unlocks the door and stands off to the side to let the other person in. I’m not sure about the etiquette of being the only patron in a restaurant, so I wait until they look my way.
My hand raises in a wave, and the moment blue eyes catch mine, I have to force my face not to drop.
The one person that I should not be thinking about just walked in the door, and with how Angie’s fawning over him now, I feel like an intruder.
8
ADAM
Damnit. Why did I do this to myself? As soon as I saw him walking into the café, I should have turned around and gone right back to my room. It’s not bad enough that I picture him every time I close my eyes, but now I’ve resorted to following him?
Granted, I’ve been coming here since before I started college. Angie’s fucking cool, and her son is an amazing cook. I was first drawn in by the riddles on the door, written in paint marker, washed off, and replaced every day with something new. I made my driver stop by every day after school, hellbent on getting the riddle right. Day after day, I would drop my piece of paper in the drop box and wait for the lock to click. It never happened, and months went by with the same schedule. I thought, surely, if people are taking the time to do this, then they’re inside. They just don’t want me in there.
I continually got pissed, my patience wearing thin, until one day I threatened that I would have my father buy the building so they would have to let me in there. Childish, sure. But I heard the lock click, after all that time. The lady inside scowled at me, her gray hair pulled back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck.
“Go cry to your daddy, then,” she snapped, slamming the door in my face. Feeling victorious, because now I know there was someone in there. I kept coming back.
Finally, the riddle on the door made sense to me.
The 22nd and 24th presidents of the United States of America had the same parents but were not brothers. How can this be possible?
Grover fucking Cleveland.
I scribbled the answer quickly, my excitement getting the best of me, and I spelled Cleveland wrong, so I scratched it out and fixed it before dropping it in the box. Hearing the lightding,I waited impatiently for the woman to open the door.
