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“Nice. Congrats to you,” Beau says, somehow missing the stress steam pouring from me. He picks up his coffees that have been called. “Thanks for this. See you around.”
Then he leaves me one-on-one with Molly. My gut churns.
He’s eyeing me like he’s trying to work out whether it’s true or not, but every second we stand there looking at each other, his face falls that bit more.
He swallows and turns around, pretty lips turned down. “You have a boyfriend.”
“Yeah. It’s still new, so …”
“You said.”
“Right.”
The sound of my name being called for my coffee almost makes me sag with relief. I hurry to pick it up and tilt it in Molly’s direction, playing that this is all totally fine and cool and there’s no tension at all. “I better be—”
The lid isn’t on properly. And when I tilt the cup in a goodbye, the lid jumps off, and hot coffee pours over Molly.
My mouth drops. “Holy fuck.”
He jumps back, hissing in pain, and I switch over to autopilot mode. I yank his drenched shirt over his head, then grab a handful of napkins and dab at his chest with them. His skin is bright red and painful-looking.
“What the hell?” his friend Will calls, hurrying across the cafe. “Did you throw your coffee at him?”
“What, n—”
“Here’s some cold water,” the barista says, rushing over with a cup. She looks flustered and panicked.
I immediately dunk the napkins into it and press them against Molly’s burn. He hisses at the contact, but I hold him steady, one hand planted on his lean shoulder.
“What’s your deal, Ford?” Will snaps.
“No, it’s fine,” Molly hurries to say. “I … I …”
“The lid wasn’t on properly,” I try to explain, and the barista’s eyes go wide.
“Oh my god, I’m so,sosorry. I’ve got so many orders, and I thought I did and—”
Molly shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. It’s fine. Just an accident.” His voice is strained, and it’s clear he’s trying to hold it together.
“The lid wouldn’t matter if you hadn’t … hadn’t …” Will can’t seem to find the words.
“It’sfine, Will,” Molly says.
“It’s not fine. He burned you with his coffee—”
“By accident.” I try to block Will out. “I’m sorry, Mols. Can I drive you home or …”
“I’ve got it.” Will tugs Molly away from me.
Molly holds out a hand and practically whispers, “Can I please have my shirt back?”
It’s then I realize I still have it crushed in my hand. And the entire cafe is staring at us.
I stiffly hand it back, and Molly disappears as quickly as he can, Will sending a glare back my way for good measure.
“I’ll replace your coffee,” the barista says, but I stop her.
“No, I’m good.” I grab another pile of napkins and duck down to dry the floor; then, I grab the half-full cup of coffee and hightail it out of there.
