Page 10 of Tailored for You

I was running through the last items on my to-do list because I was on schedule, if not a little ahead, which was right where I needed to be. It gave me breathing room and a night off to spend all my time with Harper without the nagging worry of everything still on my plate.

There was so much I wanted to give Harper, but it was impossible for one person, especially with my limited means. If I thought Charles would support any of the things Harper wanted, I would’ve asked him. He was so unreliable it wasn't worth hearing the word yes, only for him to find an excuse not to pull through or forget altogether.

Right. There it was. For a second, I thought I beat the mom guilt that seemed to hover over me like a big gray cloud, but I should’ve known it was only waiting for the right time to pop up and make me feel like I wasn’t doing enough for Harper.

Ignoring the feeling, I focused on the sweets in the case, trying to decide which one I wanted.

“Aren’t you in the wrong neighborhood?” said an all-to-familiar voice beside me.

My stomach dropped. My hand tightened its hold on my headphones, and my jaw clenched on instinct.

I just wanted a coffee from my favorite place, unbothered. Was that too much to ask for? Apparently, the universe thought so.

Stepping out of line, because in no way would I stay here longer than I needed to, I looked at Charles.

He had the quintessential All-American boy look down. His dark brown hair was perfectly coifed, with enough stubble on his jaw to give impression he forgot to shave, and his suit was well-tailored.

He could be in a magazine, with the added charm of his smile. I wanted to slap the smile off his face, wrap my hands around his throat, and squeeze.

How could he be so relaxed and nonchalant when his daughter asked about where he was this morning? How could he be anything but in misery for never being for our daughter?

Not for the first time

There was no one I hated more than Charles. Everything he put me through, and everything he no doubt would put Harper through in the coming years, no matter what I did to protect her, sometimes sent me spiraling.

I loved Harper with everything that I was. If there was one thing I was most proud of, it was being her mom. It sucked that she had him for a father, and there was nothing I could do to change that.

Behind him, his friends took up one table each, like they needed room for their egos. They wore matching vests, smug looks on their faces, and a superiority complex that flowed off them.

I gave a tight smile. “Hi. I didn’t think you came below 40th Street.” My tone was snarkier than I meant it to be, but it was hard to look at his smug face and not want to punch it after he left Harper high and dry, again.

During our divorce, he tried to add a clause that said I couldn’t travel beyond 40th Street in Manhattan, knowing most of my clients lived on either the Upper East or Upper West sides.

I was able to fight that particular clause, but Charles still tried to enforce it, as if it was something he could control.

“Working?” He ignored my comments. My stomach twisted. I tried not to hate him, but he made it so easy.

I could take not liking him, but I couldn’t stand the way he treated Harper. It took everything in me not to snap at him. It would lead to a fight I wasn’t prepared to have.

“Yep.” I needed to make my exit.

“Serena.” The barista called my name, and I whipped my head around. I hadn’t ordered anything. I blinked, then blinked again.

Enzo was at the other end, grabbing a small to-go bag and two coffees. He walked toward me, hands full. I stood frozen, still trying to process if this was real.

Then he shoved an iced coffee into my hand, my name written on the side with the correct order.

“Passion fruit thing,” he said, holding the little bag out. “It’s not pistachio, but it will do.” His Italian accent, usually faint, was more pronounced as he stared down at me, a glint to his eyes I didn’t understand.

I tilted my head, heart racing. How was he here and I didn’t notice? How did he know what I liked? We’d seen each other outside my studio only a handful of times in the last year.

He handed over the bag. Wordlessly, I took it, not bothering to open it.

“Who are you?” Charles’s nasally voice grated on my nerves and helped me realize I wasn’t dreaming. Enzo was here, in this coffee shop, handing me coffee and food like he’d been waiting for me the whole time.

Enzo took a step, so he was slightly in front of me, blocking my view of Charles. I tried to step around him, because I knew Charles would take whatever Enzo was doing as a threat. It wouldn’t be hard–Charles was easily intimidated and felt like he had to show people he was ‘top dog’, as he liked to put it, when he was anything but that. Cheers to nepotism.

Charles adjusted his stance, pushing his shoulders back and tipping his chin up. Enzo stood where he was, a hand in his pocket, the picture of nonchalance as we watched Charles try match Enzo’s physicality.