Santino isn’t for you. You’re like a new toy to him. He knows you’re not good enough for the real things.
Those words had me tossing and turning at night, but even until now, I’m still not quite sure about what Kimberly means by real. Is something only real to her when it’s glamorous and expensive?
A part of me just wants to do exactly as she says.
Spare myself more heartbreak by forgetting he ever existed.
But there’s a part of me that’s still counting.
Because he asked for two weeks, and we’re down to thirteen days now.
Until then...
I make sure that my voice is perfectly polite as I reach his table and ask if he wants more coffee.
“Please.”
My hands are remarkably steady as I pour, and I know I can only thank God for that. Whoever believes in Him will not be put to shame. It’s not about pride. It’s about finding strength and assurance in knowing that you’re not doing anything wrong.
And I want to believe that this isn’t wrong.
Santino asked me to believe him, and so that’s what I’m doing.
Believing in him.
"Anything else I can get you?"
But even so...
"Thea—"
It still hurts.
"I'll put your order in."
And that’s why I end up walking away before he can finish.
Because I sense him wanting to explain, and I’m just...I’m just not ready to hear it right now for some reason.
Jolie corners me by the espresso machine. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"The invisible thing." She says it gently, but it still lands hard. “Is this about Kimberly again?”
It is...and it isn’t.
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Thea. And I know what I’m seeing is the truth.”
That’s another thing I want to believe in. But it’s just so hard when everything hurts.
DAY THREE STARTS THEsame way.
Seven-twenty-three. Corner booth. Coffee, black, no sugar. Omelet.
I serve him without meeting his eyes. Without saying anything beyond the basics. And he lets me. Doesn't push. Just watches me with that unreadable expression while I count sugar packets and wipe down tables that are already clean.
I'm refilling the napkin dispensers—for the third time, not that anyone's counting except me—when I hear a familiar voice.
