Alma put her phone in her purse and strolled by the bay.
Caffé Acri was located adjacent to Alma’s tequilería. Alma studied the glass case filled with freshly baked pastries.
Joy, the barista, greeted her with a big smile.
“Hey, Alma! What can I get you today?”
“Hi, Joy. I’ll have a hot mocha, a vanilla latte, a breakfast burrito, and the Italian sausage omelet.” Her eyes lingered over the sweet treats. “And can you add in a chocolate croissant please? Thank you.” Her normal cappuccino and grain bowl weren’t going to cut it today. She needed some comfort food.
“Coming right up.”
What she really needed was a drink, but one of the rules she had for herself now that she was in the liquor industry was that she would never day drink unless she had an event.
Or a crisis.
Seeing Jaime last night qualified as a crisis, didn’t it?
Nope, it didn’t.
But having a bad post from a critic definitely did.
She had to have some boundaries. Boundaries she wished she’d had when she was dating Jaime. But she had been so young and stupid then.
She exhaled—she needed to give herself grace. She closed her eyes, an image of herself weeping on the sofa after he’d dumped herpopping into her mind. Her stomach churned—she had been so pathetic.
But now, pathetic was the last word she would ever use to describe herself.
Once she received their food and beverages, she led Tequila out to a bench overlooking the ocean. The usual Marin County crowd gathered outside the café. A group of female cyclists proudly strutted around after securing their rides to the rack, a young mother fed her toddler a muffin, and a few tech bros huddled in a corner.
People living, loving, experiencing.
A calmness swept over her. She doused her omelet in a few of the Tapatío hot sauce packets she always kept in her purse and took a warm, gooey bite. Pure peace, bliss, and contentment in her life. Living in a charming waterfront downtown that was walkable to her work and cool restaurants and shops was a dream.
So why did she feel so restless? Was it just because Jaime surprised her?
What the fuck did he really want from her, anyway?
He couldn’t possibly want her back.
It didn’t matter what he wanted. She didn’t want him back.
Hopefully, she would never find out why he showed up.
She gobbled down another bite of the omelet and finally turned her attention back to her phone. Where was Zoila?
Zoila’s message popped up on her screen.
Zoila:Here! Parking.
Alma:I’m outside on a bench.
A few minutes later, Zoila strolled over, looking as cool as ever. With her dyed purple hair cut in a short dramatic bob, heavy eyeliner, tight black T-shirt, long black pencil skirt, and leather knee-high Docs that covered up her fishnet stockings, Zoila’s Mexican goth girl look was always on point.
They embraced, Tequila licked Zoila’s face, which surprisingly didn’t disturb her makeup, and then Zoila sat down next to Alma, who was taking a swig of her mocha.
Zoila’s eyes narrowed at Alma.
“Bitch, spill. Did you see Jaime last night? He posted a video on TikTok that he was at Sam’s with Santi. Did they stop by your bar?”
