But if I do, I’ll be ready.
“You’ll see him again,” Mari says, reading my mind with that uncanny ability of hers.
I roll my eyes. “What makes you so sure?”
“Because that’s how these stories go.” She starts rearranging a stack of vintage plates. “Men who don’t get offended by sharp-tongued women tend to come back for more punishment.”
“That’s not—” I stop myself. “This isn’t a story, Mari. And I’m not punishment.”
She gives me a look that could wither houseplants. “Everyone’s a story, honey. And you’re absolutely punishment, but only the best kind.”
“I don’t see why he would,” I counter, but even to my own ears it sounds defensive. “Portland’s a big city.”
“Mmhmm,” Mari hums. “And yet, in all my years of experience, when a woman thinks she absolutely won’t see a man again, the universe conspires to make it happen within three days.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It’s absolutely a thing. It’s like saying ‘what could go wrong’ before something inevitably goes wrong.”
“Well, then I’m not saying I won’t see him again. I’ll just say I don’t care either way.” I zip up my jacket.
Mari laughs. “That’s even worse! Now it’ll be tomorrow!”
I laugh with her and head for the door. “I’ve got to get this cup home and then get to work.”
“Bring me back any football players you find!” she calls after me. “I’ve got a cousin who collects them!”
I flip her off affectionately as I leave, the bell jingling behind me, and head back to my apartment. The sky is threatening rain—because it’s Portland and that’s what it does—so I hurry my steps, pulling my jacket tighter.
My shift doesn’t start until four, which gives me the whole rest of the day to not think about Shepherd Haynes.
I’m doing great so far.
Really.
Once in my apartment, I unwrap the cup with the care of someone handling a bomb. I place it with the others on my open kitchen shelf, a mismatched family of castoffs that somehow look right together. The new addition sits between a faded blue mug with a chip in the handle and one with a cartoon character whose face has worn almost completely away.
There’s something comforting about broken things that still work.
I spend the next hour cleaning, paying bills, and scrolling through job postings that require skills I don’t have for money that wouldn’t even cover rent. It’s a ritual more than a real search. A way to feel like I’m doing something about my situation without having to actually change anything.
Change is overrated anyway.
By the time I reach the Alley Tap for my shift, I’ve successfully buried thoughts of Shepherd under more pressing concerns like whether I can stretch my phone plan another month and if I remembered to lock my apartment. The familiar weight of the keys in my pocket says yes.
“Look who decided to grace us with her presence,” Cal says as I duck under the bar. He’s arranging glasses with the precise attention of someone who thinks bartending is a personality trait. “Thought maybe you’d quit after scaring off Shepherd Haynes.”
“Scared him off? Doubtful. If he’s that easily scared, he wouldn’t have made it through a single football season,” I mutter, tying my apron with more force than necessary.
“Yeah I know. He’s definitely not scared,” Cal says, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Came in this morning asking about you.”
I freeze in the middle of reaching for a clean rag. “What?”
“Yep. Asked when you’d be working next.” Cal’s smile grows wider. “I told him you’d be here tonight.”
“You did what?” My voice rises enough that a few early customers glance our way. I lower it to a hiss. “Why would you do that? He could be a stalker or…or…a murderer or something and you just told him where I’ll be at any given moment? Come on, Cal. You’re smarter than that.”
Cal shrugs. “Because he tipped fifty bucks on a glass of water and wasn’t a dick about it? Because he’s famous and having famous people in here is good for business? Because watching you get all flustered is literally the highlight of my week?”
