Page 5 of Okay, Cupid

No.

Nope, no. I can’t do this. I’m going to combust, right here, right now, in front of this entire café. That will be my lasting legacy. I need to end this; I need to get away from him. Because my heart can’t take this. Half a year ago, I felt like I knew this boy better than I knew myself. We shared music and touches and truths—well, all truths but the big one. Right now, looking at him hurts. And part of me can’t help but wonder if he recognizes me at all. Am I a phantom to him? Does he even remember those precious awkward seconds after our kiss, after I lost him? My hair was shorter, and I didn’t wear makeup because of the heat. But … am I still in there? Deep down?

“Sorry, I’m too much of a flirt,” he says. “My moms say it’ll get me in trouble one day.”

“No, it’s fine. I, uh …” My mouth has gone dry. “I’m sorry, what was it that you ordered?”

He laughs, that soft sound that became music to my ears. “Iced Americano, remember?”

“Yes! Right!”

God, I should never work in customer service.

Ever again.

I grab the cup and my marker, putting the order into the computer.

“What’s your name?” I have to ask so I don’t raise suspicion.

“Leo.”

“Like the constellation.” It just slips out. Just like it did the first time he told me his name.

“More like the astrological sign. My moms set me up to be self-centered.”

“Yeah …” The computer flashes, prompting me to finish the transaction. “Oh, do you need a receipt?”

“Only if it has your number on it.”

I understand that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, that every word he says to me is torture. None of it was his fault, not an ounce of it. He didn’t know; he didn’t realize what would happen, that we couldn’t love each other.

“I, uh … uh … um …” I stammer for a bit. Every word I’ve ever known has suddenly left my brain.

“You okay?” he asks me, his voice slow. I can’t tell if it’s his actual accent or if I just can’t process anything right now.

“Jude! Get it moving!” Ray shouts from the entrance to the back kitchen.

“Sorry,” I spurt out to Leo, writing his name on the cup and finishing the transaction, printing out the receipt and handing it to him in record time before I have to step away from the register, grabbing the cup I’ve prepared. “I can’t do this.”

He looks at me in confusion for a moment before I walk away from him. Ray calls out my name, but I don’t turn. I just pull the hat off my curls and untie the apron, everything forgotten. Claire, Henry, Ray, Leo. I can’t do this. I’m not prepared.

Whatever is going on, I can’t deal with it.

“Jude, get the cash register!” Ray shouts over the rush one last time. I feel bad leaving my coworkers here to deal with the slammed line alone.

But I have to leave.

I walk back through the kitchen where my coworkers are racing around. I’m not fit to be a barista anyway. I remember I’m still holding Leo’s cup and I drop it like it’s burning me. I untie the apron, leaving everything behind for Gary and his shift tomorrow. When I close my eyes, I can still remember the confusion on Leo’s face that night, the way his brows knitted together, the blacks of his eyes blown out.

And here I am, six months later, doing the exact same thing I did that night.

Leaving.

Abandoning my post, leaving a job undone. Leah’s going to be so pissed at me, and I can imagine the disappointment on Richard’s face so easily.

I just … I can’t.

I stand behind the café, and with a series of gestures, everyone who dared enter that café in the last hour has forgotten about me. It’s not necessarily a full erasure of the mind—what good would that do any of us, if we erased the minds of the humans we’d just gotten to fall in love? Instead, the spell works on their memories of me, casting me as a shadow, filling in the spaces where I might’ve been present.