“Hmm.” I nodded without looking up, desperately trying to maintain invisible boundaries.
The smell of fresh coffee filled my nostrils, making me think of my mom. She loved her morning coffee. Every day, she made a big pot and drink her first mug on the wraparound porch, sometimes wrapped in a flannel blanket.
“You okay?” Another interruption.
Looking up, I found the black-haired beauty who’d run into me earlier. “Yeah, why?” Slapping my worn book on the table, I suddenly had beef with the pixie extrovert.
“You were reading, and all of a sudden looked really sad. Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just ...”
I swallowed, wondering how the hell I looked sad, and then I remembered I was thinking of my mom.So I miss her. I’m no less of a man. It doesn’t make me a mama’s boy.
“I’m cool,” I said, rather than explaining the truth.
“We just saw each other.” She paused, obviously wanting to chat more, and I nodded.
“You go to school here?” I finally asked.
“No. It’s nice, though. I was just looking for someone in that building. Didn’t find her.” She whispered the last part to herself. Only listless for a second, she brightened back up. “Are you a grad student?”
“Ha,” I barked. “What? I look too old to play the part of undergrad?”
I was on the bench seat of my booth, my feet kicked out in front of me; she sat opposite me, on the chair side of her table. I wondered if her feet even touched the floor. Compared to my six-foot-two-inch frame, she’d barely hit my chest when we collided earlier.
“Um ...” She looked away, pink rising in her cheeks.
Leaning forward, I ran my palm over my scruff, trying to remember when I last shaved. “Returning adult student is what I think they call it. School wasn’t really in my cards before, and now it is. So here I am.”
Sitting quietly, she didn’t respond, just raised her brows as if waiting for more of an explanation.
I didn’t give her anything more. My story wasn’t all that interesting, anyway.
Finally, she gave me an embarrassed smile. “Sorry ... God, that’s all I seem to say to you. I moonlight as a bartender. People just usually seem to want to tell me their troubles. I thought you might.”
“Nope, not this person. I don’t.”
“It’s just, you look a little older than the average undergrad. That’s all,” she said, still pecking at me.
“Anyone ever mention you look a little younger than the average bartender?”
“I’ll have you know, you only have to be eighteen to legally tend bar in New York State. Ask my boss if you don’t believe me.”
Eighteen. I had to keep myself from laughing out loud. Covering my amusement with a smirk, I said, “Does that mean you tend bar illegally?”
“Not here. But sometimes back at home, I’d run the bar at Smithy’s Seafood, during the off season ... which, come to think of it,” she rambled, clearly on a roll, “it makes it all the funnier that my dad wouldn’t let me spend the night with my boyfriend, yet I was responsible for serving alcohol at Smithy’s.” She laughed quietly at herself.
“Sounds like you’re the one in need of someone to tell their problems to. Maybe you should sit on the other side of the bar.” I raised a brow. “Oh, maybe you can’t? Not old enough, right?”
Seeming unfazed, she waved her hand in front of her face, faint freckles peppering her perfectly shaped nose—although she looked far from all Miss Fancy Pants. “Never mind. I don’t know what’s got into me, chatting to a stranger about my problems. Not really problems. I’m fixing it all.”
Without another word, she picked up her phone and began tapping away at the screen.
Something about this firecracker with a long mane of black hair got to me. “I’m not really a stranger. This is the second time we’ve met.”
“I don’t think so.” She shook her head. “Don’t think you’ve found yourself some desperate little hussy willing to get with the first man who lays eyes on her in this big, bad city. I may be young, but I’m not dumb.”
“Whoa.” I got up and slid into her booth, sitting directly across from her. “All I meant was ... it seemed like you needed an ear, and I’d be willing to lend one. Since you can’t go to a bar and all that. I’m not even from this big, bad, piece-of-shit city, so maybe that helps.”
“Well, I’m good. All good. It was a momentary lapse in judgment. You can go back to your own table.”
