Maisy turns her big blue eyes on me. “What’s that drink you always used to get?”
“Mulled cider?”
She snaps her fingers. “Yes! That’s the one.”
“But that has alc—” I pause, remembering that she drinks now. “Make that two mulled ciders, please,” I say, pulling my wallet out.
“Is that for here or to go?” the redhead asks nervously.
Why is she nervous?
“Uhm…” I glance around, my eyes landing on a booth in the back corner of the café. “Let’s do here.”
The redhead freezes as she follows my gaze to the booth. Then she takes a deep breath, turns her attention back to me, and pins me with knitted brows.
“Alright, but no funny business back there, okay?”
I rear my head back, my brows furrowing. “What does that mean?”
She lets out another deep breath, looking between Maisy and me before leaning forward, making sure no one else can hear what she’s saying.
“Just over a year ago, I had a couple sit in that very booth and they…they did stuff that you shouldn’t do in public.”
Maisy gasps, eating up the smalltown gossip.
I, on the other hand, roll my eyes as I pay and take my mulled cider from her. “Like what, making out?”
I bring the cup to my lips and take a sip as she shakes her head. “No, the guy was fingering his girl right in that booth!”
I choke on my drink, sputtering as I cough, my eyes going round. “The hell?”
“I know!” she exclaims. “And what makes it worse is he paid me off before leaving to make sure I didn’t tell the local paper. Apparently, he’s some big hot-shot surfer from Saltwater Springs.”
Maisy’s eyes instantly snap to mine and I mirror her shocked expression as the redhead taps her chin deep in thought.
“I think his name was Gerald,” she says before frowning. “Or was it Pipin?”
“You don’t mean Griffin, do you?” I ask slowly.
She snaps her fingers together. “That’s the name!”
“You know him?” Maisy asks.
I look between the two women, disturbed with this new knowledge and not wanting to continue this conversation any longer.
“No. I just heard the name before,” I say abruptly, handing Maisy her drink before grabbing the bag of brie bites. “On second thought, I think we’ll actually just take everything to-go. Thanks again.”
I rush out of there, Maisy in tow, and as soon as the café door closes behind us, Maisy turns to look at me.
“You definitely know Griffin,” she says, narrowing her eyes as she studies me.
“Take a sip of your drink,” I deflect, trying to distract her.
The last thing I want to be talking about is Griffin Jones fingering his girlfriend, Eliana Ward.
I’m still not used to the idea of Maisy drinking. She was always so strict with her diet because of all the hard work she was putting in to get into the Olympics. But I guess now that that’s done with, it makes sense she’d want to try all the things she missed out on back then.
I watch as she slowly lifts the cup to her lips. She blows on it carefully, then takes a sip, closing her eyes like she’s savoring it.
