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Then I went through the motions of getting things ready for the day, crying the entire time.
Because… what the hell else could I do?
Run?
My gut said to run.
But run where? How far? With what money? I’d sunk every bit of money I had into Deja Brew. And the place was barely staying afloat. There was no extra cash. I was barely paying all my bills.
I mean, yeah, I guess if I really wanted to, I could grab my old camping tent, everything that would fit into my trunk, and go… disappear into the wilderness somewhere. But what kind of life was that? Always on the run? Always trying to survive? No money to do anything.
I didn’t believe there was anywhere I could go in the continental United States where the long arm of the cartel couldn’t reach me.
There was overseas.
But that took planning and money too.
Which was why I was wiping my tears away and trying to cold compress my eyes in the bathroom before opening up.
This was what I knew, what I could do to keep myself from just dissolving into hysterics or depression.
I put on a brave face for the morning ‘rush,’ which consisted of fifteen people.
Then there was nothing and no one, allowing the thoughts to come rushing back.
By the time the door jangled open again, I was in a bit of an existential crisis, sitting on the counter, disassociating.
“Shale, what the fuck?” a voice said, making me jolt so hard that I fell off of the counter, just barely managing to keep myself on my feet as I landed.
I looked up, and there he was.
Junior.
His stupidly handsome face filled with concern.
“You scared me,” I said, shaking myself out of it. “Sorry, I was… somewhere else,” I said. “I’m surprised you need more coffee after all you had yesterday,” I said, going over to dump the pot of hot coffee on the burner since I couldn’t remember when I brewed it, and I didn’t want it to taste stale.
“Shale,” he called as I emptied the spent grounds, placed a new filter, then filled it with fresh ground coffee.
“Yeah?” I asked, putting a little too much pep into the word. Overcompensating. But, I figured, when were men ever listening closely enough to notice a slight change in tone?
“Look at me,” he demanded.
It was absurd, but the forcefulness in his tone had a weird little shiver of desire moving through me.
I glanced over, brows raised, playing the innocent card.
Apparently, though, Junior was one of those one-in-a-million guys. The ones who didn’t take you at your word or at face value.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I assured him as the rich scent of coffee started to fill the air. But, for once, the smell was turning my stomach.Probably because I had nothing but caffeine in my stomach, and it was objecting to that.
“Bullshit. You were weird last night. You’re weird today. And you’ve been crying.”
“You’re being a little nosy, don’t you think?” I asked, vulnerability making me snippy. “Even if something was wrong, why would I tell you?” I added, waving it off as I grabbed him a large travel cup.
He said nothing as I poured his cup then slipped the cap on.
