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Before I left Sunday, I wanted to give Anderson the lowdown on all the weird things that have been happening at Java and Teas Me. The odd social media messages. The spray-painted vandalism with zero traces of who did it. The change in traffic and revenue. But time got away from us and there never seemed like a good time to bring it up.
Now, there are hundreds of horrendous reviews online. Some target specific employees with vile, untrue opinions, while others are juvenile in nature and complain about the taste of the coffee or the art on the walls.
Until this whole debacle came about, she said there had never been such hostility pointed her way or the business. Going from zero to hundreds… Alessandra is being targeted. But why?
I explain all the strange occurrences over the past couple of months. With each one, Anderson’s eyes widen further. Alessandra hasn’t ignored each occurrence. She dealt with them as they happened. But it is more than that. Each incident taints her business, and her. Each event is a puzzle piece to a much bigger picture.
The issues happened weeks apart, all seemingly unrelated, but they are all connected. I just haven’t put the pieces in the right places to figure out who and why. Which domino fell first?
“Ales, he’s right. All these mishaps, they’re tied together.” Anderson sets his fork down and rubs the back of his neck. “But who the hell would do this? I know I haven’t been around much, but no one in this town would ever be so callous. We look out for each other here. But this…” He flattens his palms on the table, takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “This is personal. No one goes to such lengths to hurt someone without it being personal.”
Eyes downcast, Alessandra dunks a tortilla chip in guacamole over and over. At the center of all this hate, she has to want to pull her hair out. Scream at the top of her lungs. Hit something, hard. She earned the name firecracker for a reason. She is a force to be reckoned with.
With each new incident and the stress it tacks on, Alessandra has become a shell of herself. The light in her eyes just a flicker. The fire in her spirit slowly extinguishing.
And fuck, it makes me angry. Ready to rattle the person at the helm of this torment.
Under the table, I lay my hand over hers. Weave our fingers and pass every ounce of strength—mental and physical—through the connection.
“We’ll figure this out, firecracker. No matter what it takes, we’ll find out who’s doing this.”
Beneath my hand, Alessandra stiffens. Then she yanks her hand from mine, shoves the uneaten plate of food to the middle of the table, and tosses her napkin beside it.
“Really?” Her tone is harsh and a contrast to the shaky, sobbing woman I witnessed when I arrived. “I don’t see how.” The grating of chair legs against the floor has me wincing as she scoots back and stands. “When did you get your detective badge? Hmm?” Planting her hands on her hips, she tips her head back and stares at the ceiling. One, two, three breaths pass before she drops her gaze and audibly exhales. “Thanks for dinner, but I’m no longer hungry.”
Her feet assault the floor as she plods off toward the bedroom and out of sight.
She is upset, frustrated, annoyed by the events of the past two months. Can’t say I blame her. But her walking off, angry with me as I console her… it hurts.
Yes, she is hurting too. Redirecting the pain elsewhere grants her temporary relief. Lightens the turmoil festering in her bones. Eases the ache in her soul, the one that whispers someone is out to get her. Lifts the shadow clouding her heart, even if just for a fleeting moment, and gives her an inkling of solace.
But damn, it stings to be the target of her pain.
Hands on the edge of the table, I push up to stand. But before I get the chance to step away, a hand wraps around my forearm and locks me in place. My gaze falls to his hold before meeting his eyes.
“If you crowd her, she’ll pull away.”
True as that may be, if I give her too much space, she may think I don’t care. Which is worse? Her thinking I care too much or not enough?
“Yeah.” I nod and he releases my arm. “But if I do nothing… I might as well grab my duffel and walk out the door.”
For minute-long seconds Anderson studies my expression. Faint lines appear at the corners of his mouth and eyes as he gives me a sad smile. “Be there for her, but give her space too.”
I pat his shoulder. “Will do,” I say and mirror his smile. “Thanks, man. Glad you’re here when I can’t be.”
With that, I pad across the living room, down the short hall, and slip into the bedroom. The sound of running water filters through the closed bathroom door. Badly as I want to knock and ask if everything is okay, I steer clear of the door and opt to turn down the bed. I light candles and set her current book near her pillow. Pick up the dirty clothes and carry the basket to the washer.
I gift her with solitude but leave small reminders that say I am here and always will be. Whenever she needs me, my arms will be open and ready.
And then I join Anderson on the couch for mindless television and thought-provoking conversation. We have spent less than a week around each other, but Anderson feels like a friend I have known my entire life. With similar interests and viewpoints on life, our talks flow effortlessly.
Maybe having him here while the madness ensues is kismet. Perfect timing. The extra support Alessandra needs and the buffer to stop me from overstepping.
After the wholeI love youdrop, I’d be an idiot to not notice the crack dividing us. The timing of my confession sucks, but I refuse to take it back. The emotional wall I erected when Gabby left? Alessandra knocked it to the ground. Every rule I instituted to protect myself from heartache again, Alessandra tore in two.
Falling in love with Alessandra had been effortless. Like taking my next breath. And without saying as much, I know she reciprocates the sentiment.
But if the twinge in my gut is any indication of what is to come, I may lose her. Not because she doesn’t love me. The exact opposite, actually.
