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Like maybe he’s still out here.
Watching.
Waiting.
For me.
CHAPTER8
Payton
My ride towork is short and uneventful, and the driver is thankfully quiet as he navigates the empty streets of Minneapolis.
It’s nice being so close to everything, but I’d love to live in a house again someday. One that’s clean. In a safe neighborhood. Somewhere with a yard big enough for a garden, and a couple of chairs. Maybe a fenced-in yard so I could get a dog.
I bet if I had a dog, he would’ve barked his head off when that guy walked into my apartment last night. I bet my dog would’ve been so protective the guy would’ve turned around and left the way he came.
The fantasy is nice, but I can’t get a dog. No matter how much I might want one.
I work too much. I have a tiny apartment. I don’t actually know how to take care of one. And none of that even matters because mostly, I can’t afford a dog. I mean maybe if it was small, and only ate a little bit, and never ever got sick…
An ache starts to form in my chest at the thought of that sort of companionship, but I shove the feeling down just as the driver pulls to a stop right in front of Twin’s Cafe. I thank him before stepping out onto the sidewalk.
Just in time.
My cheeks puff out with a sigh as I use my key to enter through the front door and walk into the brightly lit establishment.
I stuff my purse into the cupboard under the register, and I almost laugh as thoughts wander back to the dog idea.
I may only have a high school diploma, but I’m smart enough to know it’s naïve to hope. I mean in general, it’s a bad idea. Especially about this. If my past luck is any indication, I’d wind up getting a pet with a never-ending appetite who gets sick with every change of season.
“Morning,” Jean, one of the owners, greets me distractedly as she carries a tray of scones up to the bakery display.
“Morning,” I reply, shrugging my jacket off and swapping it for a plain white apron.
“Miss the bus?”
Her question surprises me since I didn’t think she noticed me through the windows.
“Yeah.” I nod.
It’s easier to just say I missed the bus rather than saying I spent the money on an Uber on purpose. And there’s no way I’m telling her, or anyone, about what happened last night. At least not yet.
Jean makes a sound that might be construed as understanding, then goes back to straightening the items in the display case.
On autopilot, I go through the motions with her––brewing coffee, counting the till, and removing the cling wrap covering the deli salads in the cooler case.
Twin’s Café is a small, but consistently busy, breakfast and brunch spot. We open at six a.m. and close at four p.m., serving coffee, deli salads, soup, and sandwiches. There’s a kitchen in the back where Tamara, Jean’s twin sister, does most of the cooking, along with Tommy. He’s an older guy that doesn’t talk much. But he’s never been mean, or grabby, so he’s basically my best friend.
“First customer!” Jean calls out loud enough to make me jump.
She does this every morning, like we all need some sort of heads up to prepare ourselves. But today I was so in my own head that I didn’t even notice her unlock the front door.
“Okay!” Tamara’s cigarette-scratched voice shouts from the back.
As always, Tommy stays silent.
When I ring up my first cup of to-go coffee, I let the normalcy pull me in. And by the time 10:00 rolls around, I’ve almost tricked myself into forgetting about last night.
