I spent the weekend practicing imaginary retorts like, “Really? Is that so? Then explain how I was so worth your time that I didn’t hear a thing from you for the past four years.”
But he walks in midway through my shift, and what I actually say is, “Hey, um, do you think we could move my overtime hours to tomorrow, by chance?” He looks up, green eyes finding mine, and I feel a click. I have to look back down at the cappuccino I’m preparing to neutralize how aggressively I flinch.
“If the reason is good enough, I think the boss can make that work,” he replies in a dry voice. Was he really being sarcastic right now?
“Right. Well, the reason is tonight is the only time the real estate agent can look at Lottie’s cottage with me.”
He sidles up next to me behind the bar as I finish pouring the cappuccino into a mug, relaxing against the counter in a way that makes it hard for me to focus. I call out over his shoulder, “One cappuccino for—” I look down at the receipt but there’s no name, so I leave it on the bar.
A man with the curliest mop of blond hair I’ve ever seen comes bouncing up to the counter and takes it with a warm smile. Declan nods in recognition at the man and then crosses his arms, clearing his throat while pinning his focus back on me. “And you have to look at it with a real estate agent why?”
I check the screen for the next order and start pouring beans into a grinder while I say, “Because I’m leaving soon, and I need to figure out what to do with an entire house that was left in my name,” I explain. Albeit a bit defensively.
He just nods like he’s deep in thought.
The silence stretches as I prepare the next latte. Declan stays perched against the countertop, arms crossed, eyes down, lips pursed, like he’s solving a difficult equation.
I glance at him. “Are you trying to figure out your new plans for tonight or what?”
Declan releases a breathy chuckle, dropping his folded arms and then turning to rest his forearms on the bar. “Yeah, something like that. Can’t leave this area taped off forever.” He motions to the section of unstained wood surrounded by blue painter’s tape.
My eyes follow and, in that moment, a thought prickles the back of my mind. It bubbles to the surface like it had beenboiling ever since my mom said, “You could ask Declan for help checking this place out. You could get some good advice from him.”
I could sit here and pretend it was his impressive woodworking skills that made me crave his advice, but I wasn’t gullible to my own lies anymore. I wanted to be near him ever since his mysterious comment at Jonny’s. His words made me feel seventeen again, wondering why he made his mom turn me away on his doorstep when he got home from the hospital.
“Speaking of… building,” I start, as unsmooth as a pothole-ridden road. “Would you… maybe… like, want to stop by and help me figure out if the house is in terrible condition?”
He stares at me from under raised eyebrows. Either he couldn’t decipher the words through my choppy way of delivering them, or maybe he was trying to figure out how to let me down gently.
“I mean,” I start babbling again. “Because you live across the street and I figured maybe you could pop in, but if you had other plans then just forget—”
“Blair,” he interrupts. “What time?”
“Um.” I pour milk over the side of the ocean-themed cup at his question. “Like five thirty?”
“I’ll see you there.” He nods, throws me a rag to clean up the spilled milk, and then moves past me, disappearing into the back room.
The dash of my car reads 5:10. I’m about to back out of the parking lot when my passenger door opens.
“Oh my gosh!” I squeal, my heart rate skyrocketing as I slam on the brakes.
Declan’s tall frame bends into view, an unreadable expression on his face. “Sorry.”
“I could have run you over,” I yell, exasperated.
He presses his lips together like he’s holding back a laugh. “Just thought we’d ride together since I walked to work today.”
He makes it sound like obvious logic, so I don’t bother resisting. “Oh, sure. That’s fine, get in.”
My eyes don’t see the road the entire sixteen-minute drive to the cottage. Every part of my body is buzzing with the awareness of Declan being in my car for the first time since high school. I still find everything with him novel. He could cough, and my brain would inform me it was the first time I’d heard him cough in four years.
Finally, we pull up to the cottage, and I park in front of the sprawling lavender sprinkling the grass like a watercolor painting. “You walked to the coffee shop from here?” I ask, glancing at his house across the street.
“Mm-hmm,” he replies, stretching his arms behind him like my car cramped each of his long limbs. “Had a lot on my mind,” I hear him mumble.
“The real estate agent should be here any second,” I inform him.
He’s standing in front of the gravel path like a statue. The sun is hitting him like a spotlight, his hair and dimple gleaming like a cartoon sparkle.
