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I pace in front of the TV, blocking his view ofAntiques Roadshow. “She wants to meet with me. To talk about my song.”
“Who?”
“Mindy Fox.”
“The homewrecker from the other week?”
“She’s not a homewrecker.”
“Fine, fine.” He takes off his glasses and squints at me. “Is that what you’re wearing?”
I glance down at my jeans and flannel. “Yeah?”
“Don’t you own a suit?”
“We’re meeting at a coffee shop. I’m not wearing a suit.”
He grumbles something about kids these days. “You better get in the bathroom before the couple in 2B wakes up. Yesterday they were in there for two hours.”
I give him a thumbs-up and make haste toward the communal bathroom.
Even after taking extra care to shave, putting on double the deodorant, and taming my wayward hair, I make it to Think Coffee twenty minutes early.
Pushing open the glass door, the scent of coffee hitting my senses like I’ve run into a wall of it.
I glance over at the ordering counter, curving off to one side, and consider whether I should order something or wait for Mindy.
After a few seconds of hesitating near the door, an incoming family forces my hand and I take a seat in a dark booth near the front where light streams in through the windows.
And then I wait and try to remember to breathe.
Seven minutes later, Mindy pushes open the front door, dressed in gray slacks and a black peacoat.
She spots me immediately and a relieved smile crosses her face. “You’re early.” She stands behind the chair across from me, setting her briefcase on the marble-topped table.
I stand up to shake her hand. “You are, too.”
Her grip is firm in mine. “Better three hours too soon than a minute too late.”
The words are familiar. I search my memory bank. “Shakespeare?”
Her eyes widen slightly with surprise. “Yes. My dad used to say it. He was big on respecting people’s time. He wouldn’t work with contractors who showed up late, even if it was only ten minutes.”
“What did he do?”
She takes her coat off, draping it over the back of her chair. “He owned a rental cabin business upstate, in Whitby. We still own the property. My sister and brother are still there along with my sister’s boyfriend. They’ve turned it into a nonprofit camp for kids.”
Now it’s my turn to be surprised. “That sounds amazing.”
“It is.” She glances behind her, toward the ordering counter. “Did you want some coffee or something?”
“Yeah, sure. I haven’t ordered yet because I wasn’t sure what you preferred.” And I didn’t want to down a coffee and have to pee as soon as she arrived or get too jittery since my anxiety levels are through the roof.
“That’s fine. I’ll get us something.”
I take a step, and she puts out a hand. “It’s my treat, I insist.”
An argument rises to my lips, but the tension in her shoulders and the way she’s gripping the back of the chair hint at her own nerves. Maybe she needs a minute. Maybe she needs the control. “An Americano is fine.”
