“I’m so glad to bump into you. I’ve been meaning to ask—that new guy at your café.
The one who comes in every morning?"
My stomach drops.
"I'm just curious. He's been around for a while, right? Do you know anything about him?"
“I’ve never asked for his name.” At least I can say that truthfully.
"Right. Of course." Her smile widens. "It's just—I feel like I've seen him somewhere before. Can't quite place where." I hate to think this, but it’s pretty easy to tell that she’s lying. “Anyway—” She checks her phone, makes a show of looking at the time. "I should get going. But it was great seeing you guys!"
"You too," Jolie says.
Kimberly walks away, and we stand there in silence for a moment.
"That was weird," I say finally.
"Not really." Jolie watches Kimberly disappear around the corner. "She’s after him, and now she’s checking if either of us is competition.”
“That’s—” Crazy? Overkill? I’m still trying to make up my mind on how to take it all in when Jolie suddenly elbows my side, and that’s when I see...him.
Santino.
He's standing outside a store I don't recognize, and he's looking at his phone, and he's wearing the same charcoal sweater from this morning, and even from this distance I can see the strong line of his shoulders, the careful way he holds himself.
Kimberly hasn't seen him yet. She's walking in the opposite direction, already halfway down the block.
But he looks up.
And he sees us.
Sees me.
And for a second, the world goes quiet in that way it does sometimes when you lock eyes with someone and everything else fades into background noise.
Then Kimberly turns around.
She sees him.
Her whole face lights up—that bright, glossy smile that I recognize from commercials and Instagram posts, the kind of smile that knows exactly how beautiful it is.
She waves.
Big, enthusiastic, the kind of wave that demands acknowledgment.
He doesn't wave back.
He's still looking at me.
And I'm still looking at him, and I can feel Jolie tense beside me, and I can see Kimberly's arm slowly lowering as she realizes he's not looking at her, he's looking past her, at—
At me.
Kimberly follows his gaze.
Sees me standing there on the sidewalk with my secondhand coat and my
coffee-stained hands and my entire life written on my face.
