Hopefully.
Taking a deep, shaky breath that does nothing to calm the fluttering in my chest, my thumb darts out and presses SEND.
The message whisks away into the ether.
My stomach immediately ties itself into a tight, anxious knot.I lock the screen and shove the phone back into my pocket, my hands clammy.
Now comes the worst part.
Waiting.
Minutes stretch.Agonizingly slow.The knot in my stomach doesn’t ease; it tightens with every passing moment that my phone remains stubbornly silent.
I throw myself back into work.Wiping the steam wand with unnecessary force.Restocking sugar packets.Taking an order for an iced tea.
All on autopilot.
Beneath the surface, every nerve ending is hyper-focused on that small rectangle in my pocket, waiting for a vibration, a sound.
Every time my fingers brush against the smooth case, a jolt of hope shoots through me, only to fade.I steal furtive glances at the screen whenever Helen ducks into the back or lingers with a customer.
Nothing.
The screen stays dark.
Did he even get it?Is he deliberately ignoring it?Is he angrier now?
Or worse…
Does he simply not care anymore?
THIRTY THREE
ANOTHER TORTUROUS LULL, stripping away the noise I need to drown out the silence of my phone.
My gaze lands on Lou, settled comfortably at his table by the window.As usual, his glasses are perched on his nose, but this time he is engrossed in reading a book.Next to his coffee mug sits a cream-colored manila envelope, bulging with sheets.
He glances up, as if sensing my attention.He meets my eyes over the rim of his glasses, offering a warm smile and a gentle nod towards the envelope.
Guilt surges through me.
This loving man spent his weekend gathering those signatures to save me.And here I am, paralyzed by my drama, obsessively waiting for a text like a lovesick teenager.But just the thought of plastering on enthusiastic gratitude while my insides are churning with dread about Matthew’s silence feels utterly exhausting and impossible to pull off.
My phone feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.
Maybe he replied while I was looking at Lou?
The urge to check again is overpowering.
No.
Enough.
Shaking my head, I force down the anxiety.
Inhaling a deep, steadying breath that only partially works, I muster what I hope passes for a genuine smile and weave through the few occupied tables towards Lou’s corner.
“Hey, Lou,” I say, forcing cheerful warmth into my voice.
