I leaned over while starting her usual vanilla latte, trying to focus on the screen being shoved in my face. The photo showed a man in his early thirties wearing a suit, that generic handsome look of every guy who peaked in his fraternity days and never quite moved on.
“David at his promotion dinner last week,” Mrs. Callahan gushed. “Did I mention he’s regional manager now? Youngest one in the company’s history!”
“That’s nice, Mrs. C.” I focused on the milk steamer, hoping she’d take the hint.
She did not take the hint.
“Very handsome in a suit, don’t you think?” She tilted the phone to catch the light, as if a different angle would suddenly make me interested in her son.
“Still working on myself, Mrs. C,” I said, falling back on my standard response.
“Working on yourself.” She huffed out a breath that could have powered a small wind turbine. “That’s what you said Tuesday. And Monday. And last Thursday. How much working does one person need?”
From his corner table, Matthias set his book down. The sound was subtle but deliberate, as if the paperback had personally offended him. He’d been there since his usual time, and I’d been hyperaware of his presence all this time while trying to pretend everything was normal after our almost-kiss during the storm.
“You can work on yourself WITH someone,” Mrs. Callahan continued, apparently taking my distraction as an invitation to press harder. “Preferably someone with good benefits and a company car. David just got a BMW, did I mention that?”
“Several times.” I finished her latte and slid it across the counter, hoping she’d take it and go.
Instead, she planted herself more firmly against the counter. “I just worry about you, sweetheart. All alone up there above the shop. It’s not natural for a pretty girl your age.”
“I’m hardly alone. I have Mika and Vivi, Sarah checks on me daily, and half the town seems invested in my personal life.” I tried to keep my tone light, but exhaustion crept in around the edges.
“That’s not the same as having a man, dear.” Mrs. Callahan’s voice had taken on that particular tone of mothers everywhere who’d decided they knew best. “Someone to take care of you.”
“I take care of myself just fine.”
“But wouldn’t it be nice to not have to? David makes six figures now, you know. You could sell this little shop, be a proper wife.”
“I love my shop.” The words came out harder than I intended.
Mrs. Callahan blinked at my tone but rallied quickly. “Of course you do, dear. But hobbies are different from careers. David could give you security. Stability. Children before it’s too late.”
“I’m twenty-three, not approaching menopause.”
“Time flies faster than you think. And good men don’t stay single forever.” She leaned across the counter conspiratorially. “Actually, David’s stopping by later to pick me up. You two can chat! No pressure, just a friendly conversation.”
“Mrs. C, I appreciate the thought, but I’m really not-”
“Nonsense!” She straightened up, voice carrying across the entire shop. “You’re too pretty to be single! Too pretty to be wasting away behind a coffee counter!”
She turned to scan the shop, her gaze landing on Matthias. “Don’t you think? Sir? Don’t you think our Lina here is too pretty to be wasting her youth on coffee beans and dusty books?”
The temperature in the shop plummeted about ten degrees.
Matthias stood slowly, his movements deliberate as he approached the counter. His gray eyes had gone dark, storm clouds gathering before the lightning strike. When he set his empty cup down, the control in that simple gesture made my skin prickle.
“I think,” he said, his voice carefully level but with an edge that could cut glass, “she’s exactly where she wants to be.”
Mrs. Callahan blinked rapidly, thrown by his tone. “Well. I was only trying to…”
“Help?” He tilted his head slightly, and there was nothing friendly in that gesture. “By suggesting she give up the business she’s built? By implying she’s wasting her life because she’s not married to some...” his gaze flicked to the phone still in her hand, “corporate middle manager with a leased BMW?”
“Now see here-”
“I see perfectly.” He placed both hands flat on the counter, and I noticed his knuckles were white with tension. “I see a woman who runs a successful business, who provides a gathering place for her community, who clearly loves what she does. And I see someone trying to diminish that because it doesn’t fit their narrow definition of success.”
The shop had gone completely silent. Even the espresso machine seemed to be holding its breath.
