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Talk to me.
In my place of work.
The magnitude of him beingherefinally hits me. Nero is here, in Twin’s Café.
He didn’t look surprised to see me. I mean, maybe it’s a coincidence. Maybe he works around here? Or was walking past and wanted a coffee.
Unlikely, but possible.
Except the way he was walking right to me… The way he was staring at me… It felt intentional.
“Nero, my boy!” The voice comes again, and I turn my head to follow Nero as he stops across from an older overweight man in a blue suit.
How does he know—
“Mr. Mayor,” Nero greets him, taking the extended hand of the Mayor of Minneapolis.
“What an unexpected visitor to my little slice of heaven.” The mayor spreads his arms wide. “Have you eaten here before?”
Nero glances at the glass displays next to me. “I have not.”
“Of course not. Twin’s opens about the time you’re going to bed, I’d imagine.” The other man laughs. “And they close long before your night starts.”
“Indeed.” Nero’s tone is bland.
What does that mean?
Does Nero work some sort of night shift? In a suit?
The mayor gestures toward the empty seat at his table. “Come, come. Go order some lunch, then sit with me. I insist.”
Not wanting to get caught eavesdropping, I quickly avert my eyes. Though it’s hardly a private conversation, given how loud the mayor talks and the fact that the dining room is rather small.
“Alright.” Nero’s voice is followed by his footsteps, and I busy my hands, straightening a stack of napkins.
When I can no longer pretend I don’t hear him approaching, I look up.
My mouth is suddenly so dry, I have to wet my lips before I can speak.
I’m not sure what to say. He’s acting like we don’t know each other.
Do we know each other?
“I’ll take the turkey and bacon panini.” He holds my gaze while he says it, but that’s it. There’s no hello. No recognition or acting like I’m anything other than some girl taking his lunch order.
A lump builds in my throat, and I try so hard to keep the pain off my face.
I let my gaze drop and focus all my attention on typing his order onto the small screen in front of me.
When he doesn’t ask for more, I force myself to speak. “Would you like something to drink?”
There’s a beat before he replies. “Coconut honey latte.”
Hearing him repeat my favorite drink almost shocks me into looking up, but I force my eyes to stay lowered.
That can’t really be what he likes. Ordering it must be just another way to mess with me.
But… there’s no way for him to know that.
