When the time reads 10:13 a.m., I grow anxious. She doesn’t live far from here, and I haven’t received a text to tell me she’s running late. Is she okay? Sick?
As if my racing thoughts summon her, the bell above the door chimes, and Harriet materializes. I stand, knocking my knee into the wooden table and sending the saltshaker toppling over. A bad omen. Fucking perfect.
Wrapped head to toe in wool, she spies me and smiles. A smile I’m far from deserving, but fuck, if it isn’t the prettiest, framed with flushed cheeks and sparkling blue eyes. She stops in front of me, unraveling her scarf from around her neck, slightly breathless.
Rather than ask how she is or tell her she looks nice, like a normal person, I blurt the first thing that springs to mind.
“You’re late.” I wince and go to retract my blunt statement, but Harriet raises a mittened hand.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious. If you must know, my jeans didn’t fit, which caused me to spiral and hate everything in my wardrobe.” She plucks at the collar of her cable knit dress with a defeated look in her eyes. “This was the only thing that passed.”
If I despised myself earlier, I want to climb into the pits ofhell and make my eternal bed now. This happens when you don’t socialize outside of colleagues and family. Anything I say now will come across as a pity compliment, so I keep quiet.
She shrugs out of her coat and drags her mittens off with her teeth. “Do you want a coffee?”
“I’ve already ordered. I hope that’s okay.” Just then, my name is called. “Sit, get comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
She taps a slender finger to her lips, the movement distracting. “That’s very presumptuous of you. How do you know what I like?”
She won’t be teasing me when she finds I’ve ordered half the menu in my moment of panic. “Sit.”
She smirks, my prickly welcome forgotten. “Yes, sir.”
Yeah, she needs to not say that. Ever. I ignore the blood shooting south, and collect our drinks. With the tray in hand, I glance over at our table, and my hackles shoot skyward.
A suit-clad man with perfectly coiffed blond hair stands far too close to Harriet, looming over her while wearing a smug smile. From her body language, the visitor isn’t welcome, and he isn’t getting the hint.
I march over, white-knuckling the tray, and stop on Harriet’s other side, making it clear she isn’t alone. I’ve no right to be furious. She isn’t mine. This isn’t a pissing contest, yet the protective surge racing through my veins is overwhelming.
Harriet’s shoulders relax when she meets my gaze.
“Babe, c’mon, one drink. It’ll be good to catch up.” The man ignores my arrival, his attention still on Harriet. Even his voice is grating. What really irks me is the familiar way he addresses her.
“And I said no, Peter. N-O.” She narrows her eyes in annoyance. “Which part do you not understand?”
His arrogant smirk grows more irritating. “Always with the snappy comebacks. This is why it didn’t work out.”
This is her ex?
She scoffs. “It didn’t work out because you’re a liar and a cheater.”
“Liar? I told you, it’s business. It isn’t my fault you failed to listen.”
I’m done standing idly by and resist the urge to slam the drinks onto the table.
“Ah, good. I’ll take an Americano to go. A splash of oat milk.” He flicks a credit card from the front pocket of his suit and holds it out to me. “No sugar.”
I scowl at his hand. “Do I look like a fucking barista?”
Harriet squeaks a laugh.
“Excuse me?” His tiny eyes bug out of his head.
The chair legs scrape across the hardwood floor as I drag it closer to Harriet and slowly lower myself. I’ve got at least seven-inches and eighty pounds on this guy, and even with him standing over us, he’s hardly intimidating.
“You’re excused. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, we’re in the middle of something.”
His mouth snaps open and closed like an idiotic goldfish before he scampers away, muttering to himself until he disappears out of the front door.
