I should know.
Unfortunately for her, she’s dealing with me today.
I laugh, a cold, humorless sound as I watch the coffee drip over the counter and onto her ugly, two-seasons-past, shoes.
“Your inability to regulate your emotions is not my responsibility.” I smile.
The shock on her face feeds my inner rage, making me feel momentarily better about my shitty situation until Ainsley’s voice chimes in, panicked from behind me.
“Oh, sweet tea!” She rushes over with towels, quickly cleaning up the mess, and profusely apologizes to the customer with promises to make it right.
When the lady gives me a smug grin, I roll my eyes.
After the customer was out of earshot, Ainsley gave me a crash course oncustomer serviceand decided that the register might not be the best fit for me. Looking back, I’m not sure how she ever thought it would be. Anywhere else would be a better idea, but I didn’t expect to also be horrible at everything, too.
I burnt the pastries, couldn’t remember what went on any of the sandwiches, the coffee I brewed tasted like dirt, and don’t even get me started on those ridiculous machines for the cappuccinos and specialty drinks. After I spilled an entire tray of food, Ainsley taught me how to sweep the floor. Literally, I had to betaught.
“Yeah, look at me,” I mutter sarcastically, remembering all of this as I sweep the mess and the last shreds of my dignity into said dustpan. “So glad I get to waste away here.”
I’m sweeping the last pile when I look up and notice Ainsley’s brows tilt down before she turns to wipe the rest of the counter.
Shit.
My stomach drops, and a sinking feeling of guilt hits me. This has always been my approach. I say whatever is on my mind, blunt, direct, and sometimes a little spicy. It used to not be a problem, mostly because I didn’t care how people felt about it. But now? Another fun skill I’ve been learning here is empathy, and what a bitch it is. Now I actually sort of care when I hurt people’s feelings—eh. I mean, some people. At least the ones I like. The rest? Well, baby steps.
“I’m sorry, Ainsley. I didn’t mean it like that.” I put the broom away and join her behind the counter. “I don’t know what I’d do without this place,” I quietly admit. It’s a sad truth, but the truth nonetheless.
Her soft smile returns.
“See, look at you. Still doin’ good,” she says, surprising me and placing her hand on my arm. “I know you don’t like how yougot here, but sometimes you reach the best destinations when life throws you a detour.”
“Ainsley, I swear.” A small smile, full of amusement, forms on my lips. “I never have any idea what you’re talking about.”
She laughs, her long, dirty blonde hair cascading forward as the braids she put in this morning start to fall, and with it, the wildflowers that adorn her hair. “That’s okay. Hopefully one day you will.”
We finish closing, making sure all the tables are clean and the chairs are tucked in nicely under the black walnut-topped tables. Ainsley happily skips about watering the plants and flowers that breathe life into this place. After hanging our aprons on their hooks, our day is finally done, and we lock up. Tomorrow is Saturday, which means the cafe is going to get swamped with tourists pretending they’re “outdoorsy,” locals who want their usuals to start their day, and the weekend regulars who camp out with laptops like we’re their personal office. I make a mental note to double-check the pastry case first thing when I clock in. If we run out of croissants again, Ainsley might actually cry.
When I step outside, a sharp, needling chill cuts straight through my coat like I’m wearing a light cardigan instead of something that claims to be “winter-rated.” April in Turtle Bay is still basically late February with trust issues. I zip up to my chin, yank my coat tighter, and start toward my duplex.
God, I miss Mexico this time of year. The sun kissing my skin. The warm sand. The ocean breeze that, compared to this frigid wind, doesn’t feel like it’s trying to exfoliate my face off. And the cabana boys,especiallythe cabana boys, who made sure every single one of my needs, emotional or otherwise, was taken care of.
I miss all of it.
Ugh.
“Are you fixin’ to go to Callie’s event tonight?” Ainsley calls out from her parked car, jarring me from my inner turmoil and daydreams of yummy drinks with umbrellas in them, served by hand via coconut. “I could drive us there.”
It’s the first time she’s asked me to hang out outside of work, and a part of mewantsto say yes. If only to not be left alone for yet another night with no one to talk to and nothing to do. But the idea of being surrounded by people who basically watched my life crash and burn? Yeah... no. Not tonight. I’m too wrung out for that kind of emotional circus.
“I appreciate the invite, Ainsley, but I think I’ll sit this one out.”
She nods her head, a look on her face like she figured that would be my answer, and for some reason, it pisses me off. I’m not angry with her, but with myself for being so damn unapproachable that good people assume I don’t want to hang out with them. I’ve burned so many bridges over the years, not ever thinking I’d someday want to cross them. Now here I am fighting my way upstream without a freakin’ paddle.
“But maybe,” I say softly, tripping over my words like I’m out of practice being gentle. I tuck a piece of my short, ash blonde hair behind my ear. “Maybe we could do something another time?”
Her smile is slow but bright. Even from across the street, her blue-green eyes light up.
“You betcha’,” she says.
