jolt is howhedrinks it, and now I'm even copying his coffee preferences, which is a new low—and I take it to the front counter.
Jolie’s already there, like always. She’s a daily fixture at this point, and she even helps out whenever we’re understaffed. Her family’s pretty well-off, albeit not quite like the Foxes. Even so, you wouldn’t be able to tell with her. She’s just so wonderfully down-to-earth—
“You have bags under your eyes,” Jolie declares impishly. “Dare I guess why?”
—but at the same time, so not-wonderfully-persistent as well.
“Don’t start,” I warn her.
“I gave him your number.”
I freeze mid-sip. “You didwhat?”
Jolie’s grinning now, leaning against the counter withWuthering Heightssitting next to the register.
“How did you—”
“Another secret.”
Argh.
“Why would you give him my number? Did he ask for it?”
“Sorry, that’s another secret.”
Seriously?
“That’s not funny—”
“Ask him if you want, but for now—” Jolie looks at me eagerly. “What did you talk about?”
“Tires.”
Jolie blinks. “Tires.”
She follows me inside the locker room, and I tell her everything as I change into my uniform.
“That’s so sweet of him,” Jolie remarks. “And very telling, don’t you think?”
I know a bait when I see one, and Jolie laughs when I just hold my silence.
“Even if you don’t say it out loud, we both know what he did means something.”
I shrug.
“Have you thought about what you’re going to say to him when he comes?”
“Ifhe comes.”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
It’s a really good question, and one I unfortunately don’t have an answer to come seven-thirty...and his booth remains painfully empty.
By eight o'clock, I've refilled the napkin dispensers twice, wiped down the same counter three times, and started to accept the possibility that he's not coming.
Maybe he's done. Maybe the tire text was his way of saying ‘fix your life, I'm out.’ Maybe he realized that following a waitress home was weird and now he's embarrassed and he's found a new café, one where the staff don't drop coffee pots and stare at customers for thirty-six
days straight.
