Honestly, he didn’t care if I missed a day or two. Before I started school, he would make me take days off, which sucked. Back then, I didn’t have anywhere else to go.
“Yes,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’ll be there in twenty.”
“Okay, darling,” he replied, sounding relieved. “I’ll inform the others.”
“Sounds good, boss man.”
I didn’t give him a chance to respond before I hung the phone back on the receiver, enjoying the nostalgic sound of it. It gave me a sense of comfort I couldn’t explain.
“And the world kept spinning,” I murmured, pulling my hair over my shoulder, braiding it. I was halfway through the braid when I entered my living room and stopped dead, staring at my couch.
Though his jacket was gone, my pile of towels, which had taken up residence on the left side of my couch for at least a week, had all been folded. Each one was stacked on top of the other, neat and tight, folded so perfectly that they looked like something out of a magazine. A perfect prop to manifest the perfect lie.
“So Top Gun can fuck me, sleep in my bed, and fold my towels,” I scoffed, anger sparking inside my chest, “but he can’t leave a note?”
I marched over to the towels and yanked the stack off the couch with a scream, scattering them all over my wooden floor. My chest heaved as I stood over them, his ruined perfection, a shattered illusion.
“Hayes Mitchell is a fucking asshole,” I declared to my empty home.
Then I padded into my bedroom as I wiped my tears away to get ready for work.
****
“Here’s your lavender latte, Cardinal,” I called before turning back to the espresso machine, prepping the next order.
“Thanks, Margo,” she chirped happily as I locked in the portafilter. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see her snow-blond curls bouncing as she made her way to the counter. Instead of grabbing the to-go cup and walking away like I needed her to, she did the opposite. The one thing I’d been dreading since I arrived nearly five hours ago: she perched herself on one of the stools, settling in for conversation.
“How are mid-terms going?” she asked, taking a sip.
I pressed the brew button on the machine, grabbed my hand towel from my shoulder, and waited for her to moan at the taste of my latte.
She did, her eyes closing before she sighed with bliss. “God, that’s good.”
“Cardinal, you have three of them a day,” I deadpanned. “And every time you act like it’s your first time tasting it.”
I still remember when she wandered into Rossy’s two years ago, wearing her bright red St. Louis Cardinals hoodie. She’d been in trouble then, running from her past. Still, she put on a brave face with me, and when I gave her that very first lavender latte, I watched as she stared at the foam art I’d done like it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Then she’d taken her first sip, and it was all over there.
“Because it’s the best coffee I’ve ever tasted, hands down,” she laughed. “But don’t tell Jake that. He’ll get offended.”
I stiffened at the mention of one of the Red Snake boys. Cardinal’s fiancé, Grayson, was the owner of Red Snake Investigations, where Jake, the resident computer hacker genius, worked. It was also where Hayes worked. Actually, he was second in command over there. Grayson’s right hand. Which made having a one-night stand with him all the morecomplicated. I added this to my mental list of reasons why no one could ever know about the events that took place last night.
“Margo?”
I snapped out of it, tucked the stray hair that always managed to pop out of my braid behind my ear, and poured a fresh espresso shot into the next mug. “Right.” I cleared my throat, starting to froth the milk. “Wonder boy genius is getting into the art of being a barista. I forgot.”
“He’s trying,” she amended with a soft giggle, her diamond ring sparkling in the afternoon sunlight.
“Is there anything he can’t do?” I mumbled, just for the sake of appearances. If she caught even a whiff of my rage toward the Red Snake team, she’d pry.
I didn’t need anyone to pry, least of all her. Because with her, after everything we’d been through together, I would tell her the truth.
“Ash said that Jake can’t bake bread to save his life,” Cardinal noted as I finished the next order. I turned and gave the customer a smile as I set down their coffee.
“To be fair,” the customer interjected, “bread is very hard to master. If you don’t get the yeast just right, it’ll be a disaster.”
Carrie grinned at the man. “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
I turned, giving them my back as I wiped down the custom-built espresso machine. The rich wine color was shining by the time I was done, and because I couldn’t help myself, I stepped back to admire my work, twisting the towel in my hands. I’d been working at Rossy’s for a few years now, having started during the darkest time of my life. The busy morning and slow afternoons helped me in more ways than one. People counted on me to be here on time to make their coffee. The way I saw it, if the townspeople of Astoria didn’t get their coffee before heading into work, someone would have burned it to the groundby lunch. It was an extreme thought, but it forced me to pull my head out of my own ass and take the first steps to getting my life together.