I just stare at her craziness. My eye twitches. “Planet Pancakes. I went to see Odette.”
She nods. “Okay, better. Now keep going, and don’t leave anything out.”
I roll my eyes. “Fine. So like I was saying, I was at the diner, and when I was leaving, this kid dropped her crayon, and I bent to pick it up and hand it back to her. You should have seen her, Savannah. She was so adorable. She had these bright blue eyes, and then when I turned to look at the guy sitting there—” Savannah cutsme off again.
“The tall, dark, and handsome alpha-hole?” She nods eagerly.
“Are you going to let me finish?” I throw my hands outward.
“Sorry, sorry. Yes, finish, please.”
“Yeah, him. But he looked at me like he hated me or found me annoying, to say the least. I guess I saw him getting into the truck with his daughter when I returned from the library. I mean, I don’t know if it was his daughter, but they both have the same blue eyes, so I assumed…” I trail off. “Then, I saw him at the bar while you were eye-fucking Gage or whatever his name was.”
“Stop, you’re not getting out of this by trying to redirect the conversation to Gage. We can talk about him later. So that was him again at the bar—the guy I saw whispering in your ear last night?”
I smile, but it drops from my lips as quickly as it comes—my brows furrow. “Yeah, that’s him. I ran into him, and he leaned over to tell me, ‘You should be careful where you’re going, mi cariño.’ I try to make my voice sound like his, but it just makes me sound like I smoked way too many cigarettes over too many years.
Her eyes widen. “Are you for real right now?” She squeaks into her hand. “Shut up.” I look at her.
“What? He told me to watch out, so yeah, alpha hole, right?” She shakes her head, disagreeing. She places her hands on my shoulders and gives me a little shake.
“He called you ‘mi cariño.’” My expression must show my confusion because she asks, “You don’t know what that means?” Her eyes search mine.
“Nope, no clue. But I wish I knew some Spanish right now. It was Spanish, right?”
“Yes, it was, and my roommate had a Hispanic boyfriend. I think he was Mexican. Anyway, that’s not important, but what is important is that he would call her mi cariño all the time, among other things. She married him, ya know. So devoted. Such a keeper.” She lets out a dreamy sigh. I snap my fingers in front of her buzzed face.
“Savannah, focus.” She lets out a hiccupped laugh. “Are you going to tell me what it means?” I beg her, now super intrigued.
The little vixen smiles, showing every molar in her mouth,drawing this out excruciatingly slowly. “It means sweetheart. More specifically, my sweetheart or my love. Either way, I always heard my dormmate’s boyfriend use it as a term of endearment toward her, usually before I chose to leave and give them some privacy.”
“Huh. That’s weird. Why would he look at me like he hates me and then call me his love?” I rub my finger against my lip, contemplating the rationale, but decide I have no idea what to think.
“Do you think you’ll see him again? Maybe you should ask him what his problem is with you?”
I shrug. “It doesn’t matter, and I don’t know. He must live here, and I live here, too. Considering I ran into him twice today, I think the probability is likely.”
She waves it off. “So about Gage.” She clasps her hands together. “Isn’t he hot?” But all I can think of is the stranger with eyes I want to get lost in. The way his body felt against mine, the hard planes of his torso that looked more like the result of manual labor than hours spent at the gym, but I could just be speculating. I wish I could feel his hands clasped against mine. I bet there are calluses. Savannah goes on and on about the bartender, but I only hear his voice over and over in my head whispering, “Mi cariño.”
I wake up to the light beating through the window pane. I didn’t close the curtains last night, and as I sit up, I notice that I didn’t even make it to the bedroom. The stiff neck I’m sporting is another reason. I know I slept on the couch at an awkward angle. I look around and see Savannah strewn across the carpet with a faux fur throw from the sofa and a sequin pillow at her head. I laugh as I envision her waking up with the butterfly pattern’s imprint on her cheek.
I bet that can’t feel good right now, but I doubt she feels anything after all those margaritas. Speaking of the neon green liquid, I see our two empty glasses on the table. I grab them and carry them, placing them in the sink with a clink. I twist my hair into a loose bun instead of the ponytail I was sporting earlier last night, then brew a pot of coffee. While it brews, I wander into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my dragon breath away. Back in my room, I pull on a tank and shorts, ready to face the day.
When I return to the kitchen, Savannah sits on the island with a mug of black coffee. I burst into a laugh when I read the inscription.When I think about books, I touch my shelf.She lifts one eyebrow in the freakishly cool way only she can pull off. I sure as hell can’t do that.
“Girl, your mom sure did have some pretty cool cups.” She cackles. I smile, but it quickly fades when I realize she won’t use that mug ever again. I have plenty of fond memories with her, particularly her passion for collecting obscure phrases on coffee mugs. “So, what’s up for today?” she asks, trying to steer the subject away from my mom.
I go to the coffee pot and pour myself a mug that resembles a soup bowl, which I was told was popular in the 1990s. I pour some sweet oat milk creamer into a jar and froth it with a whisk before adding it to the top of my mug, sprinkling a little bit of local maple sugar onto the froth. She holds out her mug for me, and I repeat the same process, making her one similar to mine. “Here you go.” I hand it over, and she lets out a sigh of contentment.
“So good,” she remarks.
To answer her question, “I think I am going to get that application in and see if I can get the job at the Big Lake Tavern.”
“Oh, that’s good.” She blows on her coffee, and I don’t know if she’s talking about the coffee or my job search. “Any nannying jobs here?”
“I’m not sure.” I gulp my coffee, enjoying the dark roast mixed with the sweet creamer. “Ideally, if I could do both, that would be great.”
“Do you need the money?” she asks, concern clear in her eyes.
