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It wasn’t until I was passing it to him that I realized he wasn’t going to let it go.
Because his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Nothing,” I insisted, but even I heard the false note in my voice.
“Listen, you could make this easy and just tell me,” he said.
“Or?” I asked, jerking my chin up.
“Or I sit right over there,” he told me, nodding his chin toward his usual spot, “hacking into all your socials, reading all your messages, learning all your secrets you thought no one would ever come across. Where you shop, what you buy, who you like and can’t stand, tearing apart every corner of your life to find out what is going on.”
“That is so incredibly invasive and creepy. Do you have any idea how creepy a threat like that is?”
“Yes,” he said, face impassive. “Which is why I think you should just tell me. Because it’s none of my fucking business how many guys or girls you’ve fucked and what your favorite junk food is or when you’re on your damn period. But I will figure that all out if I have to.”
“Why do you care?” I shot back.
“The selfish reason? I like this coffee shop. It would piss me off not having this place to come to sometimes. The unselfishreason? I was raised to give a fuck when a woman looks like she’s in distress. And I’m catching the vibe that this isn’t about a boyfriend or bills or shit like that. This is something more than that.”
He paused, waiting for me to say something.
But what was there to say?
“Tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll let it drop,” he said.
Speaking of letting things drop, his hand was still holding my wrist. But now, his thumb was absentmindedly teasing back and forth over the underside of it, creating little shivers.
“I’m not, am I?” he asked, voice a little softer. “Something big is up.”
“I—“ I started to speak, but then the door flew open, making Junior drop my wrist. I was so surprised that my hand fell heavy to the counter top as I looked over to see a group of women coming in, all pulsing energy, smiles, and little praises about the cafe’s interior.
Junior passed me cash, and I took it without saying anything, looking at him, or even giving him his change.
He moved away like we hadn’t just been having a moment, going to take his usual table, making me worry that he was going to be doing all that digging into my personal life.
There wasn’t a lot of time to worry about that, though, as the group of middle-to-later-aged women came bustling up to the counter, all bundled up in their winter coats and scarves, and carrying big purses.
“Well, honey!” the first woman said, all short black hair, and dramatic eye makeup, with an easy smile, like we were the oldest of friends. “I’m so glad Margie here noticed your sign the other day!” she said, waving toward a gray-haired woman with a brilliantly colored granny square scarf. “Or we never would have known you existed! You need a bigger sign or something!” she said.
“She didn’t ask for your advice, Barb,” one of the other women said, giving me an apologetic head shake.
“Anyway, we have been racking our brains trying to figure out a place to have our weekly book club meeting since it’s impossible to get a table at that other coffee place anymore. And we’d be so happy to give you some business if your coffee is as good as it smells!”
With that, I was taking eight separate very intricate drink orders, and passing out plates of pastries.
The women took all their drinks over to the seating area, pushing several tables together just a few feet away from Junior.
I could tell from the women’s eyebrow wiggles and wicked smiles that whatever book they’d chosen this week was of the hot-and-heavy sort.
Junior’s pained look only confirmed this while they got louder as their conversation went on.
“Hey, Barb,” I said as the woman came back up. “Can I get you a refill?”
“Yes, please,” she said, passing me her cup. “Honey, that man over there, does he come in regularly?” she asked.
“Pretty regularly, yeah.”
