relaxing. The window behind the counter is open, and I can hear wind chimes and birds chirping, the soft lull of conversation from people seated outside. It's cold out there, but the sun is out, and it's beautiful anyway.
“Since I graduated,” he says, handing me what's clearly a handmade mug with a little chip in the corner. I smile as I curl my hands around it, and Jeff pulls out a tart and hands it over to me. “Assuming you like lemon?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, and I grin.
“Love it,” I say, picking up the tiny fork and carving out a bite for myself. “So, what else do you do when you're not hawking coffee and books?”
Jeff grins, and leans his elbow against the counter, watching as I put the lemon tart on my tongue and shiver with the sour-sweet taste. Oh god, it's so freaking good. I swallow, and Jeff raises an eyebrow.
“It's delicious,” I tell him, and he nods, standing up straight.
“My parents own this place. I've got a business degree, so I decided to come back here and help them figure out a way to make this place profitable.”
“Like giving away free tarts and coffee?” I ask, and Jeff laughs.
“Only to our best customers,” he adds, and I realize we're sort of flirting. Not good. Flushing, I focus back on my tart and start cutting tiny pieces off with my fork. The front door opens, bells tingling, but I'm too busy trying not to look at Jeff to notice the person coming up on my right side.
“Give me a flat white, please,” a familiar voice says, and I glance up to find Church Montague standing one stool over from me.
Oh. Shit.
Cursing, I spin away, so that by the time he turns toward me, all he can see is my back.
“Well, hello,” he says, all bright and cheerful. Pretty sure that means he's insane. “I haven't seen you around here before.” There's a brief moment there where I consider spinning around and saying hah, I got you! but then the reality of what that would mean hits me.
The whole school would know.
I'd be the second girl ever at that school, and the only one still living.
No thank you.
Sliding off the stool, I cover my face briefly with one hand and glance to the right.
“Bathroom?” I mouth, and Jeff's face crinkles up as he points me in the right direction. Slinking off, I duck through an archway and into a room full of used books. The smell is even better in here, and helps relieve some of my anxiety as I duck into the bathroom, and then lock the door behind me.
I'll just wait in here until Church gets his coffee and leaves, right?
But crap, that was close. So close. Disturbingly close.
Pushing off from the wall, I look at myself in the mirror, and I try to decide if the jerk would even recognize me. Do I look different enough?
“No point in testing that theory,” I mumble, hiking up my dress to pee, and then washing my hands. I figure that's plenty of time to order a simple drink and leave.
Except when I creep up to the arch and peek through it, I find Church sitting at the counter, sipping his drink and … looking through my stack of books. Now I'm just irritated. How dare he put his bullying fingers on my damn book?! I'm just fuming now, but even the assault on my poor, beautiful hardcover won't get me to face him.
“Do you want me to ring up those books for you?” Jeff asks, appearing beside me and making me jump. I glance over at him, putting a hand to my chest. “I'm guessing you don't want to sit next to Church Montague? That's okay. Most people don't.”
“Really? You know him?” I ask, and Jeff nods, his face darkening as a frown creases his full lips. He glances toward the row of books on his left, like he can see straight through them.
“Everyone knows Church Montague. His family owns this entire town, save a few holdouts on Main Street—including this one.” Jeff turns his gaze back to me. “His father's threatened us with all sorts of legal action if we don't sell, but this store is my parents' dream. They've lived in Nutmeg their whole life.”
Nutmeg. Right. I'd forgotten that was the name of this little town. It's sort of … hilarious. From Santa Cruz, California to … Nutmeg, Connecticut. Bleh.
“What a dick move,” I whisper,