The cool air and nutty, slightly bitter aroma of French roast swarmed her senses, and she felt herself begin to relax. Joe Mama’s was a charming shop, with books, high-end lotions, and artsy collectibles stacked neatly on the shelves. A few metal tables were scattered around the room, one taken by the town’s sole hipster pastor, a goateed twenty-something guy who wore a massive woodencross, surf shorts, and flip flops and pored through the Bible like he was searching for the meaning of life. Two older ladies sat at another table, discussing a book and laughing like sisters.
“I don’t know about you, but their lattes are my favorite,” Erik said as they approached the counter. “After the day I’ve had, I can use a pick-me-up.”
“Sounds good to me.” It really did. She smiled at him.
“Two lattes,” he said. “With whipped cream.”
Minutes later, they’d taken a seat at one of the cute bistro tables and he was regaling her with tales of his day. She found herself laughing like she hadn’t in days.
“The kicker came when I called on this one shop and accidentally asked for the owner—who’d died the month before.”
“No!” Rebecca covered her mouth with her hand.
“Oh, yes.” Erik shook his head ruefully. “Like I said, one of those days.”
“I’m all too familiar with those days.”
“Oh!” He reached into his leather satchel, pulled out today’s paper. She glanced at his hand as he did. No wedding ring. “I loved your story on the camp, by the way. I bet you’ve gotten a million calls about it.”
“Thanks.” She flushed.
“Seriously, you’re an incredible writer.” He looked straight into her eyes, and her stomach gave a flip-flop. “I mean it.”
She gave a shake of her head, glanced at her watch. I’ve got to get out of here.
“Got to run.” She downed the last of her coffee. He’d been right—the lattes were amazing. “I promised I’d help my Granny with something. Oh, and hey—thanks for the ad partnership. I’m really grateful you’re on board with us.”
“I feel the same.” His smile lingered again, and suddenly she felt uncomfortably nervous. Almost date-like.
Which was the last thing she should have been feeling, at least per her therapist. Note to self: “Just coffee” is never “just coffee.”
“See you later.” She stood, gave a little wave.
And fled Joe Mama’s as fast as she could possibly maneuver.
As she got to her car, she glanced across the street and saw a familiar form. She squinted. Devon Robinson, peddling slowly along First Street, shoulders hunched and backpack on.
She turned left instead of right when she pulled out onto the street, rolled her window down, and tooted the horn.
Devon looked startled, stopped the bike.
“Hey, Devon. Thanks again for the story the other day.” Rebecca smiled, gradually realizing it was her real smile.
“No problem, Miss Becca. I hope it helps.” He straddled the bike.
“I’ll bring some by maybe tomorrow. Papers, I mean, to the school. Is that okay?”
“Sure.” He shrugged but smiled, and Rebecca motioned to the bike.
“You’re a long way from your neighborhood. Want a lift?”
“No, um—I’m visiting a friend. Thanks, though.”
“Okey doke. See you around.”
“See you.”
She drove off, watching him get smaller and smaller in her rearview mirror as the distance between them grew.
