“Fine.” Kendra goes to her register and writes out a slip for one half-price haircut and a bottle of dry shampoo. “Best I can do for you right now,” she says, turning her back as soon as I take it. She couldn’t hide how light her till was.
I thank her and wish everyone a good day before leaving. I pocket the paper and check my list. Kendra was one of only two businesses I was able to convince to pitch in, and even so,convinceis a strong word. The owner of the auto-body shop only gave me the free oil change and tire rotation slip because one of his mechanics nearly backed over me with a wayward Camry. My last name rang no bells for him, and the gala wasn’t on his radar. He only cared that I could’ve been crushed on his watch, and that my outfit screamsI’ll sue!
Everyone else came back withnot this yearormaybe later.
I won’t hold my breath.
A caffeine headache zaps across my eyebrow line. The sight of the neon Moon Beans sign across the street is a godsend. I don’t even look both ways before I cross, checking my watch for the time. I have fifteen minutes before I need to meet Hector, so I can swipe a latte before our meeting. I’ll need it.
Maybe Noelle will feel generous and can make an at-home coffee basket to donate.
The welcome bell to the café takes a different tone today.
There in the back corner where I’d talked to Mom only a few days ago sit Hector and some girl with curly brunette hair almost down to her hips. I’ve walked in on something I shouldn’t have. Neither of them looks in my direction, so I stand there inspecting the situation like a documentary filmmaker trying to examine his subject. Should I interject or leave myself out of the narrative?
The Hector holding court over his latte is not the Hector from the house. His chest is puffed out and his hair hangs down in shiny, well-groomed tendrils. This girl’s hand dances dangerously close to his fisted one on the table, and for the second time I think about leaving.
“Hey, Matthew!” Noelle calls, coming out from the back kitchen, doors still swinging behind her.
Crap.I try to ignore the eyes that land on me that aren’t Noelle’s. Maybe I can pass it off like I hadn’t seen them at all. But who am I kidding? My walk-in closet is bigger than this place. We’re practically on top of each other.
“Whathalf-decentcoffee can I get you today?” Noelle’s right eyebrow is arched so high.
“I see we’re still not over that.” I smile cordially. “Sorry, again. I’ll take something—anything—strong and hot.”
I’m hit with flashes of Hector chopping that wood. This is my punishment for letting my imagination get away from me with those damn snoring strips.
I should heed Bentley’s criticisms more closely. Not for her reputation, but for my own emotions. If I didn’t know if he was into me before, it seems like I have my answer now. He’s clearly on a date, by the way he hasn’t yet verbally acknowledged me. Crushing hard on a taken man is like being crushed by a boulder: inevitable if you put yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Noelle smirks as she starts making me a drink. I claim a stool and take off my gloves. I make sure my back is to the lovebirds in the corner, even though I want to break out a pair of binoculars and dissect every micro-movement they make. I might be a teensy bit obsessive.
The counter is sticky, probably from the morning rush, so Noelle half apologizes before wiping down the space in front of me. A steaming cup of something sweet gets placed before me with a winning smile.
“Here, I’m giving you a chance to redeem yourself. Tread lightly. I’m trying my hand at foam art,” she squeaks. “What do you think?”
I glance down into my mug at what largely looks like a giant white circle amid the rippling brown liquid.
“Is it…a Christmas ornament?”
“Try again.”
“A snowball?”
“You’re even colder now. Literally. You guessed a colder object,” she says. “One last try.”
“The…moon?”
“It’s supposed to be a heart!” she shouts dejectedly. “You try to class up the joint and this is what you get. There’s a whole lot of velocity involved in this. I thought I was a barista, not a physicist! Whatever. Most of our orders are to-go, anyway. Can’t see my sad hearts under the lids. I’ll keep trying.”
After a beat, I ask, “Could you turn the music up a little?” Some Bing Crosby. She furrows her brow as if this is an odd request, but grabs the relic iPod Touch from the charging dock and does it anyway.
“Really like this song or something?” She rests her elbows on the display case with stale-looking croissants inside. I spot that she’s wearing different holiday earrings. These are wrapped presents dangling from gold hoops. Her commitment to this season is intense.
“No, I wanted to ask you something, but I didn’t want them to hear us.” I nod behind me. She tilts her head as if to sayProceed. “Who’s that girl with Hector?”
“You mean Natalia?” Noelle’s on the brink of telling me something I already know: Dean Graft’s adult daughter. “She’s a beautifully trained opera singer. She studies music at Havensmith. She probably could’ve gone to a top conservatory, but free tuition can’t be beat.”
“Was she out of town recently?”
