“Since when do you come here?”I asked.Albert was a Folgers at home kind of guy.
“Can a man not get a damn cold brew without being ambushed?”
I held my hands up.“Sorry.After you.”I motioned toward the register.Albert didn’t hesitate.Michael, one of the owners waved to me before spinning around and grabbing another cup.
Rose’s and my usual spot was open, so I made my way over, sliding onto the chair with a deep sigh.It was seven am, and I was already exhausted.I should have offered to meet Rose at our place.Her place.Whoever’s place it was.Hell, my name was still on the mortgage, so for now it was still ours.
But I didn’t want to pressure her.I figured the public was safe, neutral ground.No arguing, no crying, no spontaneous declarations of love.Not that I was planning one.I had zero plans, but sometimes my mouth had a mind of its own.This morning, we were just two people getting coffee, celebrating a huge career win.Totally normal.Totally fine.
I reached for the napkin dispenser, taking a napkin and attempting to fold it into a football.Albert dropped into the chair across from me.
“Your girl's not here yet?”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.“She’s not my girl.”The statement hurt more than I expected them to.They were just words; they shouldn’t have been capable of punching me in the gut and knocking the damn wind out of me.
I flicked the paper football at him.It bounced off his wide chest and landed in his lap.He didn’t even bother to look down.
“No offense, Albert, I appreciate you defending me to Odette, but most of our exchanges comprise me joking around, pissing you off, and you saying something rude as fuck before walking away, so excuse me if I’m wondering what the hell you want right now.”
“Don’t fuck it up,” he said, as blunt as ever.
“Gee, thanks, but I think we’re past that.”
“Then unfuck it.”
“It’s easier said than done.”
“Take it from someone who fucked it up.You don’t want to look back in forty years and wish you could have gotten over yourself.”
The warning hit like a brick freaking wall.I had so many questions.
“Did you love—?”
He held his hand up.“We’re not playing twenty fucking questions.I said what I had to say.Take my advice or not.I don’t give a shit.”He took his cold brew and limped off, muttering something about cinnamon scones and nosy, ungrateful bastards.
I grabbed a napkin, ready to make another football, when she floated in like the most beautiful creature to grace the world with her presence.She was so damn beautiful.But as she got closer, I could see the bags under her eyes, see the slight paleness of her complexion.
I pushed from the table and met her halfway.I lifted my arms to hug her, but then stepped back, arms still in the air, unsure what the hell to do.
She gave me a quick hug, and we took our seats.“Are you okay?”I asked.“You look—”
“Like hell?”
“You could never look like hell.Seriously, you could take makeup lessons from Odette and roll in mud and still look beautiful.”
“We both know that’s a damn lie.”
“You know I can’t lie.”
“That’s true.”She smiled, and I swear the entire room lit up.“It’s your one tragic flaw.”
I leaned in my chair, hand to my chest.“Harsh.I personally prefer endearing, but sure, let’s go with tragic.”
That earned me the tiniest curve of her lips, and I wanted to jump up and throw my arms in the air.It was a minor victory, but it was the small things that built up to the big ones.
“Did you order yet?”she asked, looking toward the register.
I was so focused on getting inside and getting our table, I completely forgot.“I know your stomach’s been a little messy, so I wasn’t sure what you wanted.How is that, by the way?Have you seen a doctor yet?”
