“She’s already at work,” a deep voice calls from across the street.
“What?” I ask, turning to face the middle-aged man poking his head out of the pickup idling on the driveway across the street.
“Izzy Harper,” he says, waving a hand at her house. “She goes to work early.”
“Oh, thank you,” I reply, heading back to Nash and the car.
I stop, throwing a hand in the air to catch the guy’s attention as he starts to pull away from his house.
“Wait! Where does she work?”
“Main Street. You should be able to see her through the window as you walk by.”
“Thanks!” I yell, shuffling my peace offerings to one hand so I can climb in next to Nash.
“Izzy should be concerned with how willing people in town are to give away her location,” Nash says as he puts the car in reverseto back out of the driveway. “Especially considering they know how mad she is at you.”
“How much she hates me, you mean,” I reply.
Nash considers it. “I’m not sure if she hates you or not. Everyone goes out of their way not to mention you to her, but I’m not sure how much of that is her trying to avoid the bad memories of everything that happened, or how much of it is just an old habit from when she was eighteen and her family and friends were trying to protect her.” He shrugs. “But as I didn’t grow up here, this is all just hearsay.
“Here we are,” Nash says as we pull up to a building on the opposite side of Main Street as the coffee shop.
“Wait, you knew where she worked the whole time?” I ask, staring at the brick building in front of me. Sure enough, if you know where to look, you can see Izzy working through the large windows in front.
“Yes.”
I wait, assuming Nash has more to say, but apparently that’s all I’m getting.
“Did you know she was here when we went to her house?” I ask.
“I thought it might be possible. I do live here when I’m not on assignment, you know. I’ve seen her in early a few times before.”
I bite back my annoyance. “You couldn’t have told me that before we drove all the way to her house?” I ask. “I could’ve just walked across the street with hot coffees ten minutes ago.”
He shrugs. “Nope. I will certainly jump in front of a bullet for you, but in case there is any confusion, I’m Team Izzy.”
Well, I can’t fault him for that. I’m Team Izzy too.
And with that thought, I take a deep breath, trying to ease the tension coiling in my body as my nerves start to get the best of me.
No time like the present.
“Knock, knock,” I say as I pull open the glass doors into Flatroads Consulting, according to the sign hanging above the door.
“Hey!” Izzy says, her voice the warm hug that I remember from our youth. “Oh, it’s you,” she says, the warmth draining from her tone when she sees me.
I hold up the drinks and pastry bag like the sacrificial offering they are. “I brought you coffee. Or chai. And a variety of snacks.”
Izzy tucks the corner of her lower lip between her teeth in contemplation, and I feel a sliver of hope that she might take me up on my offer.
“Oh, well, that was…nice of you,” she says. It’s like she’s unsure how to act around me. “I’ve already got coffee, though,” she says, holding up a light pink travel mug.
“Sure,” I say, setting everything down on the desk in front of hers. Maybe I need to treat this like a barn cat situation, just leave the offering there and slowly back away. “I got them for you, though, so I’m just going to leave them here. You can choose to drink them or eat them or not, but I just wanted to let you know I was thinking about you this morning.”
She taps at her keyboard like she’s not paying attention to me, so I turn to leave. It’s fine. This was just attempt one.
“Coffee isn’t going to make me forgive you,” she says as I reach the door.
