I’m confused and flustered, unfamiliar with the layout and not expecting to be confronted with so many people all at once.
As soon as I figure out the flow of the line, I get in place at the back. I don’t have any idea where Richard might be—or if he’s even here—and I don’t want to go wandering around, calling his name. Better to stand in line like I’m a regular customer so I can scope things out. I could use something to drink anyway.
The woman in front of me glances back in an automatic assessment—the kind of thing everyone does occasionally to see who’s standing behind them. When she sees that I see her, she smiles.
“Crowded in here,” I say.
“It usually is. Have you been here before?”
I shake my head. “Maybe, but not in a long time. Not that I remember.”
“Oh. Well, the Americano is top-notch. And wait until you get a look at the guy behind the counter.” She fans herself in a playful gesture.
I laugh because she’s being nice and probably expects me to respond to her comment. But I know immediately she’s talking about Richard, and I have the most ridiculous response to it.
Something inside me riles up at her words. Something possessive. As if no other woman is allowed to think about him that way. Only me.
Which is ridiculous. We’re not together anymore. I’m the one who ended the relationship. And even if we were still together, I wouldn’t have any right to control someone else’s thoughts about him.
I never knew that side of myself even existed. It startles me so much I’m distracted as the line moves forward.
My distraction ends when my latest move allows me to see toward the counter. There’s a young woman behind a cash register, ringing up orders. Beyond her is Richard. I only see his back since he’s fixing some sort of complicated coffee drink, but he’s unmistakable from any angle.
His hair is a little longer than I remember it. Mussed like he hasn’t had the chance to smooth it down in a while. He’s wearing a pair of tailored trousers—the kind he often wore—a blue Oxford, and a canvas apron around his waist.
It’s so strange to see him in this context, but really not strange at all. He’s always been good at everything he’s done, and he’s good at this too. He moves quickly. Competently. With a relaxed sort of efficiency. Some of the people greet him as he hands them their drinks, so they’re probably regulars who know him and like him.
Next month he’s going to own this place outright (he’s buying it with cash, which is why the deal can go through so quickly), but he’s working behind the counter right now on a busy Saturday morning. He told me in one of his letters that he’s trying to learn all the different jobs in the place so he knows exactly what each one entails.
He’s working constantly and doesn’t have time to look around, so he doesn’t see me as I get closer. But I see him. And I feel this ridiculous bloom in my chest.
Pride, maybe.
Because I’m proud of him.
I’m coming to this realization when he turns around to hand off the drink he just prepared. I’m only two customers from the cash register now. He glances absently toward the line before he completes his turn to the far end of the counter where the customers wait for their drinks.
I see exactly when he sees me, processes my presence here. His whole body jerks very slightly as he places the cup on the counter. The man waiting thanks him. Richard says something back. Then he turns very slowly to look in my direction.
Something happens to his face. It tightens or twists or something. I can’t exactly describe it because it happens so fast.
The young woman behind the cash register says something to him. She has to repeat it because he’s staring at me in a daze. I hear her ask, “You okay, Richard?”
“What? Yeah. Yeah.” He shakes off the stupor and listens to the special instructions the woman in front of me added to her order. Then he nods and turns back to fix the drink.
He glances back toward me as he does. Gives me a searching look. A silent question.
I have no idea what to do—what to feel—so I smile just a little before he turns away.
He’s smiling down at the empty coffee cup as if he doesn’t know what to do with it. Because