“Could I get Ms. Hale to make me my mocha, please?” asked a southeast Asian man in a shiny black jacket, walking up to the head of the line.
I took a quick look over my shoulder as I herded the coffee machine technician to the café, recognizing the man in the shiny jacket as a regular. He looked like he was in his mid-twenties, had an olive skin tone, and expressive brown eyes. He had a lean build, carrying himself with confidence, and wore a jacket with gold stripes down the sides. In the past, he’d always had a friendly smile for me whenever we interacted.
“She’s busy at the moment, my dear,” Carolyn said, putting her glasses back on and squinting at the man while I waved my apology and turned to the technician. “You’ll have to put up with my mocha, though I did get Ava to show me how she made them, so perhaps it’ll be more to your liking this time.”
The man looked like he wanted to reconsider having a mocha at all but nodded politely at Carolyn.
“It’s this machine,” I said as the lanky technician looked at the machine doubtfully. I seriously hoped this wasn’t his first gig at fixing things. I was this close to losing my meeting with Desmond if we were going to be here late.
“I could give it a try,” he began hesitantly. “Let me grab my toolbox. I’ll be right back.”
He disappeared back out the doors of the lobby just as I checked the time and tapped my foot.
Carolyn called out, “Mocha’s here,” and slid the coffee cup on the counter.
The man in the shiny jacket waved to us as he grabbed his cup and walked away.
Carolyn turned to me and tapped her watch. “You take your break,” she said, shepherding me away from the counter and to the wall where my coat and purse hung.
“Are you sure?” I asked, picking up my purse and looking unsure.
The technician would have a ton of questions, I’d bet.
“I’ll take care of the technician now, and the customers will just have to wait a little longer for their coffee—that’s all.” She nodded, shooing me out. “Besides, two of our departments are out, attending conferences, so we don’t have a crowd like we usually do.”
So, a little before noon, I slipped out of the building lobby, my cardboard box in hand. Returning the clothes was going to be uncomfortable, but it needed to be done.
I walked out onto the footpath, looking around before I walked down the block, waiting for a call from Desmond. Cars drove by with the nonstop urgency that only New York drivers could claim, other folks walked past on their way to the subway station or the parking lot, and lines of people grew outside popular delis down the street.
Still no sign of Desmond.
My phone beeped.
Desmond:I see you. Stop by the magnolia at the end of the curb, and we’ll pick you up.
I saw the tree in the distance, but before I could briskly walk up to it, a sleek black Bentley slid to a stop next to me. I blinked twice before the window rolled down in the back seat, and I saw Desmond grinning at me. That expression changed when he saw the box in my hands.
“No way. You are not returning that, Ava.”
“Des—” I bit my tongue. “Mr. McKinley,” I began again, still standing on the curb while he stared back at me from the car, his jaw set. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. Idohave winter coats of my own.” I gestured to the one I was wearing. A coral-colored thermal jacket that I’d owned for almost five years now. It was still in good shape, and I hadn’t had the heart to throw it away.
He got out of the car and reached for my fingers. Clasping them for a second, he let go and said, “Your fingers tell a different story, Ava. The one you’re wearing isn’t doing you any good. Please, keep this.”
I wanted to argue some more, but Desmond added, “I’m not giving up this time, Ava. I’m going to argue with you for hours, if needed. But I do know that the longer we stand out here, arguing, the later we’re going to be when we get to the lawyer’s offices. And I know how much you dislike being late.”
I stared at him, fighting a battle between wanting to return his gifts and also wanting to get to the lawyer’s on time. This was my only chance at getting some closure on the man who had swindled from Mom’s restaurant.
My shoulders sank. “Okay,” I said finally. “I’d like to get to the lawyer’s office on time, please.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “Thank heavens for that,” he said.
I got into the car, box and all. He walked around and got in next to me.
“So, you’re still the punctual woman I remember you being,” he said when he shut his door and the car moved along. “And I’m still terrible at arriving on time.”
I remembered that little detail about him. “Among other things,” I said before I could help myself.
He raised an eyebrow. “What other things am I terrible at?” he asked just as I bit my lip.
