“Fucking bastard,” Britney suddenly seethed, standing straight and placing her palms on the counter.
“Xavier isn’t a bastard,” I defended.
“I wasn’t talking about him,” she said.
Immediately my body identified the bastard she referred to.
My stomach curled to the point where if it hadn’t been Britney who served the latte, I would have demanded a refund. Something hot and sticky and full of anger paraded its way into my chest. It was like sharing a space with the guy who cheated on me had my organs on the brink of dysfunction.
Part of working as a columnist in the same industry as my influencer ex-boyfriend meant I’d have to see him on occasion, but I shouldn’t have to see him like this. When I was already at a rough and raw moment, stressed about things that didn’t involve him.
It took only a second to realize without a shadow of a doubt that the man who’d just walked into The Burrow Café was Kyle Arnold. Famous, pretentious local influencer. Also my ex-boyfriend.
What the hell? This was strictly my territory.
“Do you want me to beat him up?” Britney asked as Kyle headed for the counter. She was serious.
“It’s fine,” I said, distracted. My heart poundedfight, fight, fight. “I got this.”
As usual, Kyle was dressed in his finest athleisure. He was a little tanner than the last time I saw him, like he’d spent the entire week sunbathing instead of trying to be in the background of every other influencer’s picture.
Kyle hadn’t changed at all. Not physically, at least. Although he was a few years older than me, he was very boyish in appearance. Light brown hair with small curls, like he had attempted to style them but failed. Tall and lanky, yet his movements were very poised.
I usually avoided contact with him. The last time we talked was at a world showcase event at the Bean last year, during which he teased me, claiming, “You’re probably going to write something ridiculous about this event, like a beyond the plate segment.”
And then I wrote it to spite him.
Ironically, the conversation before that included him begging me to take him back after I saw him in bed with another woman. I had laughed in his face, and days later overheard him telling people that I was a “lucky nobody” he had been with, along with a multitude of other insults.
Now I realized those insults came from his true fears: that I was a talented woman who climbed her way from the bottom and had the potential to surpass him.
We weren’t even in a competition, but he saw everyone as a competitor.
That’s what happened when you viewed life in terms of a competition: you had to wave to everyone you saw on the way up when you came crashing down. And for the people he crushed, like me, all I offered him in response was a middle finger.
There was nothing I wanted from him. Any opportunity for a meaningful apology was long gone.
Britney was busy with another customer when Kyle sat on the stool next to mine. Unsurprised to see me.
“What do you want?” I cut right to it.
He frowned, the mole on his chin moving with the movement. “Why do you assume I want something?”
“Because you’re in The Burrow, my territory. So you must want something from me.”
Kyle had the special ability to maintain an arrogant demeanor at all times. Even now, he leaned his elbows on the counter, the picture of poise.
“All I want is a cappuccino,” he said dryly. “But since you are here, let me offer my congratulations.”
Every hair on my arms stood up straight. “On what?”
“Hitting half a million followers,” he said.
Could I believe him? Obviously not. The man didn’t like any form of espresso, yet claimed he wanted a cappuccino. I rushedto check my phone. Yep. There it was—500,000 followers.Holy shit.
It was a great milestone to reach, but I didn’t feel any flood of joy at the realization. All it brought me was questions of where to go from here. As if I needed more of those.
“I underestimated you, Macey,” Kyle said casually. His eyes refused to meet mine, too concerned with observing the box of pastries near the register.
