I shake my head. “No, Storm. You’ve done enough for me already. Please, just help me get a taxi.
“Evelyn, stop. Let’s have breakfast, and I’ll take you home, okay?”
I look down at my lap. I can’t believe Michael isn’t even home. It’s like he wasn’t even worried about me. He just left the state. He could have told his boss what happened to me and asked to not have to go. I fight back the tears that are threatening to fall.
“He’s a douchenozzle,” Storm announces.
“Storm, don’t.” My voice quivers. I don’t need him pointing out all the things I’m thinking right now.
“Fuck this. Stay here.”
He slams the door and disappears into the cafe. I sit there and try not to cry. I don’t know if I’m more worried about Halo or more pissed at Michael right now. How could he leave like that? I could never just leave if I didn’t know he was okay.
A few minutes later, Storm comes back with two coffees and a white bag.
“White mocha?” He hands it to me. Oh, my God, he remembered. I smile weakly at him.
“I can’t believe you remembered.” He winks at me and hands me the bag.
“Cinnamon bagel with cream cheese. I guessed on that one. It seemed like a girly bagel.
“Thank you. That’s perfect. Very girly.” I smile at him because sometimes he can just be really cute.
“I figured we could eat on the way to your house since there’s no way you were going to sit through breakfast while you’re worried about your cat.”
I take a bite of my bagel and nod. “Thank you,” is all I can say.
“I don’t think I’m ever going to get rid of your ass,” he teases as he pulls out onto the main road.
Chapter Seven
Storm is familiar with the area so I don’t need to give him detailed directions all the way to my house, which I am grateful for because I really don’t feel like talking at all. Maybe I shouldn’t be upset about Michael, and I am just being overly sensitive. After all, it’s his job. It’s not like he purposely made plans so he wouldn’t be around when I finally got home from my adventure.
I slowly sip on my white mocha, which is one of the best I’ve ever had. It’s creamy, sweet¸ and smooth. If the cafe weren’t so damn far away, I wouldn’t mind the drive up there every Saturday just to have one of these lattes. I wonder if Storm eats breakfast there on the weekends.
Storm is puffing on a cigarette and fiddling with the radio. I don’t recall seeing him smoke at his house, which is kind of odd. Maybe it’s his non-smoking zone.
“A quiet Evelyn is a scary Evelyn,” he says with a sideways glance at me.