“And you,” he countered, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the table. “What happened to your hair?”
“My hair?” I echoed, gesturing at him with a forkful of quiche. “What aboutyours? Since when were you so interested in styling?”
“When were you?” he tossed back easily, eyes raking over my hair that I flat-ironed pin straight and tied back from my face so neatly that not a strand fell out of place. “The last time we were together, you looked so different.”
“Stones. Glass houses.”
“You used to hate havinganythingin your hair. I remember when your mom put your hair up for school picture day. You were somad. You pulled every single clip out while we were in line and I hid them in my pockets for you.”
“Well, I remember when you were the only kid in our class who didn’t have long hair, because you hated locks falling into your eyes when you read sheet music. Guess you overcame that.”
“Yeah, okay, but you always had these wild, wavy princess curls that—”
“We were different people in middle school. There’s no—” I stopped abruptly. “What did you say?”
Jake blinked at me, like he hadn’t meant to let that thought of his slip. If past me had ever heard Jake refer to her hair as princess curls, she’d have died and gone to heaven.
“Princess curls?” I repeated, the shock doing nothing to dull my smirk.
“Yeah. Well, uh, uh...” Jake stuttered for a moment, his floundering at odds with his cool-guy image. “You were wearing some kind of girly, poofy pink dress when I first met you. I thought you looked like Princess Peach or something.”
“Interesting. I didn’t think you were Mario.”
“Well, thank God for that.”
“I mean, you could still grow a mustache.”
“That’s true.”
“And put on some overalls.”
“Yeah, no chance.”
Sitting across from Jake as we traded comebacks felt familiar. Conversation always flowed when we were together—we used to never run out of things to say.
Until, apparently, we did.
A crack had formed in the wall between us, but I felt the urge to seal it up tight with cement.Jake’s not staying, I reminded myself.He was never going to stay, he’s just here for PR. He’ll go back to his life and won’t be in yours again, unless you press Play on your phone.
History couldn’t repeat itself. Jake was just going to leave again and go back to being as unreachable as before. But thistime, I refused to be blindsided when it happened—or let myself get close to him and hurt all over again.
“I emailed you because the café needs help getting more visitors,” I said, getting back on track to discuss why Jake really came back. Or, why Jake’smanagermade him come back and bury his latest scandal.
“Because it’s summer, right? Didn’t you always say summer was slow?”
I eyed him with surprise. “You remember that?”
He shrugged my question off. “I remember the café being empty when school was out. You and I had the café to ourselves a lot.”
“Oh, well, yeah, summer’s part of it. But there’s more. And Mom’s trusting me to keep the café open.” I didn’t know how else to do it. “I know you told me you’re here because your manager sent you down to take some photos...”
“But you’ve come up with another plan.”
Well, yeah, I’d been planning to pitch him the idea I came up with last night. But how didheknow that?
Jake gestured toward me, making circles around my face in the air with his spoon. “That’s your I’ve Got a Plan face. You always get it when you scheme.”
That’s ridiculous. Mom had no idea anything was going on when I saved for weeks and surprised her with a spa certificate last year.
