Parking the car behind LuKo Juice—a play on our initials—I slip inside the back door. The store has an industrial feel with a large counter at the front. A soft pink wall separates the back. Large refrigerators, where we store our fresh fruit and vegetables, span the left wall. Five industrial juicers line up on the right side.
I move toward the counter, which features a steel sink and ample space for cutting. Above it, a row of cabinets holds our stock of superfoods. Through the sliding glass door, I have a clear view of what happens in front of the shop.
Shortly after I arrive, Mark and Nancy step through the back entrance. After exchanging brief greetings, they get to work, preparing the juice drinks for the day. It’s not long until the shop opens and I see the first customers coming in, ordering some shots. Stevie, our cashier, swiftly takes the orders.
Once the morning rush subsides, in the back corner of the kitchen, I try a new recipe. I call the space my “testing spot,” which has its own juicer and prep station. The menu features ten basic flavors, each with a specific health benefit, but we also offer a special every week. This week’s is made with pomegranate and banana.
My best friend bustles through the door, and I give her a taste.
“Love the combo,” she says, then adds, humming in appreciation, “and whatever you sprinkled in there rounds out the flavor.”
“It’s the lemongrass powder,” I say dreamily, exhilarated by her reaction.
She props her hip against the counter, arching a brow and she makes a rotating hand gesture in expectation. “Anything new on the Ian front?”
I sigh, crossing my arms over my chest. “We met at the elevator this morning and guess what? Hedoesremember me.”
Her eyes sparkle at the prospect of more. “I knew it. I knew it.”
Even though she has been in a steady relationship for years, she makes it her mission for me to have a personal life.
Would I want a relationship? Yes, but after the last one, I am better off alone than with the wrong guy. My one-night stand had a more positive impact on me than all my other experiences combined. Maybe there is something wrong with me.
She takes my hands in hers and eyes me with a serious expression. “Tough love time. This is your chance. Grab it. It’s not healthy to only fantasize about a guy when you could have him. Take a chance.”
I chew on my lip, avoiding eye contact. “Ian’s changed. It’s been four years. And you forgot a vital detail. My dad is his head coach.”
She waves my point off, unbothered by the forbidden aspect. “He won’t play for the same team forever. Every team wants that guy. He’s Ian Weston. He and Levi Kingston are what the sports world will talk about for decades to come.”
I sigh, sadness weighing me down. “No. I mean, he doesn’t seem to like me very much anymore.”
“If that’s as true as him not remembering you, then I don’t believe it.”
I wish I had her confidence.
“I’m happy being single.” It’s not a lie, firmly believing that if you don’t like your own company, then no one else can fill the gaps.
She offers me an understanding smile. “I know, babe. And that’s important, but?—”
“No buts, and I have to finish this up,” I say, putting a stop to this conversation.
Ian and I won’t happen. Period. Plus, he has heartbreak written all over him. Shaking my head, I try to clear it and focus on my work.
After closing the shop and the staff leave for the day, I find Kat in the office, glaring at the laptop. Brows knotted together, she peruses something before lifting her gaze to me.
She raises her hands, frustration thick in her voice. “I swear these reports are going to give me a migraine.”
Slamming the lid shut, she stands up and grabs her purse. We check the shop one more time, locking the front and back doors.
“It’s Theo’s turn to cook. Wanna come over?” she asks.
That’s an appealing offer, considering I am a terrible cook, but I shake my head, needing some alone time to sulk in peace.
“Maybe another time. I’m beat.”
Hugging, we wave goodbye, and I hop in my car, driving home.
His Range Rover is not in the lot, and I park just a bit over the line. I don’t even know why I do this, but it gives me immense satisfaction. He’ll have to think about me. It would be only fair. He has no right to consume so much of my headspace.
