The back door of the coffee shop groans with a loud creak, and she pops her head out. “Is he here yet?”
“He’ll probably be here any minute,” I say, all upbeat and chipper, like my attitude will help him appear faster.
She flashes an eager smile. “Excellent. Just let me know. Then we’ll bring out the vegan marshmallows and the graham crackers and the chocolate.”
“Can’t wait.”
I planned for us to make s’mores. It seemed like the perfect Christmas date in a string of perfect Christmas dates. He’s planned so many magical ones for me. I wanted to be able to do something for him.
I’m sure he’ll be here any second.
I know! I’ll check my playlist. I picked some Christmas songs that he’s started to like. “Candy Cane Lane,”“It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year,”“Jingle Bells,” and of course, “White Christmas.”
But as I confirm the songs are queued up, nerves flutter through me, racing faster—and faster still—with every passing second when there’s still no Rowan.
Rudy pops out one more time. “Is he here yet?”
I gulp, embarrassment bubbling up inside me as I shake my head.
This has shades of JD all over again. The times when he just wouldn’t show. When he would send me an excuse. Say he was running late at work. That something came up. But in reality, he was with his wife.
I wish I’d seen it sooner. I wish I hadn’t been so foolish. So trusting.
I just smile and say, “Any second,” like I mean it.
Only I’m lying. I’m lying and I’m covering for him, andmy gut twists with worry as the next few minutes pass interminably until footfalls echo from the alley, growing louder, heavier.
They sound like his.
I should be happy, but the dread doesn’t vacate the premises when Rowan appears on the steps to the patio and says my name. “Isla.”
He soundsempty.
He looks devastated. Jaw set. Eyes sad. This is not the Rowan I’ve come to know. This isn’t even the Rowan I first started working with—grumpy, full of walls, but brimming with sarcasm and humor.
This is a side of Rowan I’ve never seen.
I swallow past my fear, trying to stay strong. I don’t want to assume. I move closer to him. We’re a few feet apart now. “You’re here. I was worried. I’m glad you’re okay,” I say, trying to make the best of things.
He works his jaw a few times. His forehead is tight, lines digging in. “I’m sorry,” he says, but it sounds like he’s biting off something bitter.
My heart lurches in worry. But now’s not the time to retreat. Communication is key. I didn’t have it with JD. I want to have it with Rowan.
“I was worried when you didn’t text,” I say.
With a sigh, he scratches his beard. “I…should have. Everything kind of hit me at once.”
My stomach plummets, like an amusement park ride. “What hit you?” I ask carefully.
He winces, like something physically hurts. “Mia couldn’t find her apron, and I forgot to get her special sprinkles, and then she found a photo of Regina, her, and me.”
“Oh,” I say, heavily, my heart aching for her…and him. “That must have been hard.”
“I didn’t even see it coming,” he says, that hollow sound hitting me right in the heart.
“What did you say?”
“It’s not what I said—it’s whatshesaid.”
