Page 24 of And Now, Back to You

“Wow.” I press the back of my hand to his cheek, the same way my grandpa used to do when I was nine and trying to weasel my way out of going to school. “Are you coming down with something? Was that painful for you?”

He reaches up and grips my wrist, pulling my hand away from his face. “I regret saying anything.”

I laugh. “No, you don’t.”

He squeezes my wrist. “I do. I think I like it better when we’re arguing.”

“Well, the day is young. I’m sure we’ll find something else to disagree on.”

I tap my hands on the counter and study our surroundings. A cozy dining space fills the bottom floor of the café. Booths against the wall and a long counter along the back. Heavy wooden beams stretch across the ceiling and an empty fireplace anchors one wall. There’s no fire, the grate filled instead with stacked books and empty mugs, the ceramic handles scribbled with handwritten names of the regulars. Mismatched love seats slot together in front of it, paired with upcycled coffee tables. A narrow staircase on the left leads to a loft up above, overflowing with used books. Little pirate flags peek out above the shelves, labeled with genres. Fantasy. Mystery. Romance. A surprisingly robust Self-Help section and two entire shelves dedicated to Baltimore Lore.

“I didn’t realize they had an upstairs.”

Jackson nods. “It’s usually too crowded to get up there. If you come on a weekday around eleven, you can get a good spot. The owner, Patty, is usually taking fresh stuff out of the oven to restock from the morning, and the lunch rush hasn’t hit yet.”

I was wondering why he chose such a specific time. Incredible, how he approaches every aspect of his life with such detail. “So you’re always this fun, then.”

His back goes rigid. “I guess so,” he says, defensive again.

I exhale a deep sigh. I didn’t come here to fight with Jackson. I came to figure out how in the hell we’re going to work together to cover this snowstorm. After our nightmare of a meeting the other day, Keith made it clear that Jackson’s agreement to the plan is now my responsibility. If I can’t get him to agree, I’ve got a feeling there will be more turtle coverage in my future.

“All right, I’ve got two cinnamon bun lattes. One with oat milk just a hair short of scalding, brown sugar instead of white, and the cinnamon crumble on the side.” Our server gives Jackson a stern look as she slides the drinks on the counter in front of us. “The other as god intended.”

“Thanks, Patty.”

She sets her hands on her hips. “You’re lucky I like you, Jackson. I don’t do special orders.”

“I’ve seen you do three special orders just this morning,” he says with a quirk of his brow.

“Well, I don’t like doing special orders.”

“Noted.” He drops his spoon into his mug and stirs. “It’s appreciated as always, Patty.”

Patty’s eyes slant in my direction. Her mouth pops open in delight. It’s a look I’m familiar with, and the warm burst that comes with being recognized by my community pops like a champagne bubble in the middle of my chest.

“Delilah Stewart!”

“That’s me!” I beam at her. “Hi!”

“What are you doing here?” She drops one elbow on the counter, immediately leaning into my space like we’re old friends. It’s my very favorite thing. I love when people feel like they know me. I put so much of myself into my job, it’s a treat to have those pieces held safe in the hands of the people watching. To be seen. To be known. To be welcomed into their worlds, even if it’s just for ten minutes every morning and every night.

Patty drops her chin into her hand. “I watched your segment the other day. The one with—what was it? Oh! It was the one about Mr. Trash Wheel. I can’t believe you actually got in there and poked through some of the trash. You’re a brave woman.”

I flinch. Mr. Trash Wheel is a semiautonomous trash interceptor in the harbor that’s been humanized by the city of Baltimore. Keith thought it would be fun if I tried to find the most interesting thing Mr. Trash Wheel scooped out of the harbor that day. I had genuine concerns for the first six minutes of that segment that I was about to discover a python while picking through the trash. Luckily, all I found in the rubble was one of those portable scooters that have been terrorizing the city. And a cardboard cutout of Pedro Pascal.

I gave it to Gianna.

“I learned a lot about the people of Baltimore that day.”

Patty barks out a laugh. Her honey blond hair is tied back with a bandana, and she has a cute little pale pink nose ring. “I bet you did.” She pushes off the counter. “What are you doing here with my favorite radio man?”

“Oh, um.” I glance at Jackson, hoping for an assist. But he’s busy staring at his latte like it holds the answers to life’s great mysteries. “Jackson and I might be collaborating on a work project.”

“Oh?”

“I’m still trying to wrestle him into a commitment,” I say, bright and cheery. Like his continued lack of enthusiasm about working with me doesn’t feel like another wobbly brick on my half-leaning tower of self-consciousness. “Maybe your coffee will loosen him up.”

Jackson finally deigns to join the conversation. “I’m loose,” he defends.