Page 4 of The Moment I Knew

“Or maybe he just doesn’t enjoy being baptized in coffee,” I said dryly.

“Fair. But still,” Ainsley went on, lowering her voice again, “people are saying to stay away from him. Like he’s trouble.”

“Well, good thing I’ve already decided I’m never going anywhere near that coffee shop again.”

To my surprise, Ainsley pouted at that. “But I never got to meet him!”

I stared at her. “You just spent the last five minutes trying to convince me this boy is a hardened criminal and now you want to meet him?”

“Well…” She picked at the tassels on her pillowcase. “Yeah.”

“Convince Clementine or Nora to go with you then, because I can never set foot in that establishment again.”

“Oh, that reminds me!” Ainsley jumped up and went over to her desk. She dug around for a moment before spinning back around with a yellow piece of paper in her hand which she held out proudly. “I hope you don’t already have plans for tonight.”

I squinted at the paper as I took another sip. It seemed like it was a flyer for a live music night at The Corner Cup. I choked on my coffee.

“No,” I said immediately between coughs. I shook my head. “No, no, no, no, no!”

Ainsley clasped her hands together. “Please, Imogen? Everyone has been talking about this guy and I feel like I’m the only one who hasn’t seen him yet!”

“And you’re probably better off that way if he really has been to juvie.”

She dropped back onto the bed, hands still clasped together like a prayer. “What if I promise to buy you as many drinks as you want tonight?”

“I don’t drink coffee at eight p.m.”

“As many desserts as you want then,” she amended. “Please? You missed our Vampire Diaries marathon last night so you owe me.”

That gave me pause. I wanted to say no again, I really did, but the point about me missing our weekly TV show night stabbed a hole in my heart, because Ainsley didn’t know where I was last night. And the guilt of lying to her about me talking to Dad was enough for me to say, “Fine. But we’re not staying for long.”

Ainsley squealed and threw her arms around me in a tight hug. I hugged her back, happy to keep my face pressed against her shoulder so she couldn’t see the guilt on my face.

three

The Corner Cup was packed by the time we got there.

Not packed in a someone-call-the-fire-department way, but busy enough that every couch and mismatched chair was claimed and clusters of people stood wherever there was space, drinks balanced in their hands. The place looked completely different at night, lit by strings of warm bulbs along the walls instead of the overhead lights and a small stage set up at the back where there was currently a girl singing something while playing a guitar.

If I hadn’t completely embarrassed myself here this morning, I might have found the whole arrangement cute.

Ainsley let out a breathy, excited laugh beside me.

“Oh my gosh,” she whispered, gripping my sleeve. “I didn’t think it would be this busy.”

Her eyes were already darting around the café like she was afraid she might miss something important if she blinked too slowly. She’d changed outfits twice before we left the house, finally settling on ripped jeans and an off-the-shoulder sweater that brought out the blue in her eyes. If anyone had told me this morning who would be dragging who to a crowded live-music night, I would’ve laughed in their face. This was usually my territory—new places, noise, people. Ainsley preferred predictability. Assigned seats. Exit strategies.

But even though this hadn’t been my first choice of where to be tonight, I tried to make the most of it. I’d changed into a black skirt that made my legs look longer than they actually were, sheer tights, and a cropped sweater that felt just edgy enough without being obvious.

“Do you think he’s here?” Ainsley whispered, her eyes raking across the room. She wasn’t even looking toward the actual coffee bar, so I wasn’t sure what she was trying to look for.

The bar area was to the left, though the counter had been cleared of most of its usual clutter to make room for a tip jar and a small handwritten sign that read LIVE MUSIC NIGHT—PLEASE ORDER AT THE REGISTER. A few employees moved behind the counter, pulling shots of espresso and calling out names over the noise. I scanned the faces automatically, telling myself I was just checking to see how long the line was.

That was when I saw him.

The barista stood behind the counter with his sleeves rolled up exactly the same way they had been that morning. The café lights caught on his dark hair, and he was leaning slightly forward as he spoke to a girl on the other side of the register. He wasn’t smiling.

Honestly, it made me feel a little better that he seemed to just be annoyed at people all around and it wasn’t because he’d hated me on sight.