He easily swerved, turning at the last second, and went in that direction. He pulled through the drive through. The Main Bean had the best coffee in town. Atta and I loved their lemon drink—it was seasonal. Only in the summer. I had made it in time! I gave Mariano my order, and he turned toward me, thick eyebrows drawn down. I had to resist the urge to reach over and smooth them out.
“What the fuck. Two pumps?” His shoulders shook with his raspy laughter. “Nothing good comes from anything that’s done with two fucking pumps.”
I hit his shoulder and climbed over him, giving the barista my order. His hand was dangerously low on my back. Almost to myculo.
He stopped laughing abruptly when I had climbed over him, though, and his hand curled around my tank top, holding on. I stored the reaction away for later and continued my order. Atta and I liked to personalize the drink. We even asked for two lemon loaves on the side. We crumbled them on top. I ordered Mariano one.
“Two fucking pumps.” He sighed as he paid, then handed me the two drinks.
My eyes were stuck on the barista. She was fixing her hair, but it was almost as if she was too nervous to hand him the receipt. Or perhaps she was prolonging her time with him. I sighed. I sighed even harder when three women surrounded her, bumping into each other, smiling.
I crushed the cakes in the bags, sprinkled some of the crumbs on top of the whipped cream, and handed one to him. “For you.”
“For me?” He almost looked affronted. “No, baby, those are all yours.”
“Annie,” I corrected, shivering at the way he called me that. It was the equivalent ofbaby. “Only one sip?Per favore.” I fluttered my lashes at him, holding the straw out.
“Fuck me sideways.” He moved his face to the side and opened his mouth.
I held the straw closer to his mouth.
He looked down at it, dubious to say the least. “Only because your mouth was here.” He took a tentative sip. His eyebrows went up in a subtle move and his face went blank.
I exploded with laughter, knowing he liked it, but would not say so.
“Pretty good, ah?”
“Ah,” he said, pulling into a parking spot in the quaint downtown area.
I sipped on my drink while he shut the truck off and smoothly got out, the keyring looping around his finger as he came to my door. He opened it, stuck the keys in his pocket, and took my hand in his.
“Is it time to tell me what we are doing here?” I asked, looking around.
I loved this area of town. It had western-themed boutiques, restaurants, art galleries, a jewelry store, and further in, ahospital, grocery store, and two feed stores. Hatfield and McCoy.Sì,they were rivals. These same two families also owned two barbeque restaurants. The town seemed to take one side or the other. Since I was Italian, I considered myself neutral territory and shopped at whichever store had what I needed.
“You need something,” he said.
“What do I need?” I asked almost absentmindedly, biting my straw while I looked around town—what was the same and what was different.
During my absences, some businesses closed, and new ones had opened. I spotted a new restaurant and a new boutique, even though the other businesses were still going strong. Business was good then. I took a deep breath, breathing out in a slow push, smelling lemon on my breath. I never wanted this town to go under. It was a second home to me.
We entered a boutique with sunflower-shaped pinwheels in the window, and I blinked when Mariano said one word to the woman running the store. “Swimsuits.”
“For ladies or gents?” the woman asked.
“Ladies.”
“Right this way.” She winked at him.
“Ah,” I breathed out, gazing over at the racks of clothes. It was all, ah, for what seemed like middle-aged women perhaps. I took a sip of my drink and shivered. The drink was cold.
The woman, Daisy the owner, as she introduced herself, spun a rack around and stopped it at what she thought was my size. She held a few up to me, and without giving me a chance to look, she told Mariano to have a seat and then led me to the changing rooms. A closet with a fabric curtain shielded me from the world.
She left me with her picks. I looked through them, and when I caught sight of my face in the full-length mirror, my lips were set in a frown. But perhaps Atta was right. I had to try these on to see if they fit me. I was not giving them a fair chance.
“Ah,” I breathed out, setting my hair to the side, checking myself from left to right.
All these “suits” were mid-calf falling dresses—swim dresses.
