I look back at Indie and say, “Pike’s not short for anything. My father loved hiking and my parents named me after Pike’s Peak because they hiked there on their honeymoon.”
“I like that,” she says softly.
“And now we know each other just a little bit better.” I wink at her. “When do you work tomorrow?”
“Um…one in the afternoon to six.”
She puts on a plastic glove and uses a pair of tongs to grab a blueberry muffin from the bakery case before putting it into a paper bag. When she passes me the bag, I take it and slide a ten-dollar bill into the tip cup.
“See you tomorrow,” I say.
Our eyes lock for another electric second, and then she says, “Okay. See you tomorrow.”
Chapter Nine
Indie
* * *
“I can’t even stand how cute Nolan’s little underwear is,” Rue says as I fold laundry at the kitchen island.
I look at the pile of Spider-Man undies and sigh sadly. “He looks like such a little man in them. Before you know it, he’ll be shaving and driving his own car.”
“You’ve still got a ways to go before then.”
I look over at my little boy, eating breakfast in his high chair. He tries to get a spoonful of scrambled eggs onto his blue plastic spoon, but the food falls off halfway to his mouth. Frowning, he tries again. The food doesn’t even make it off the plate this time. He finally gives up on the spoon and grabs a handful of eggs, jamming them in his mouth and grinning happily.
“Do you want more?” I ask him, since most of the eggs ended up on the floor or in the seat of his high chair.
“More,” he says, picking up his plate.
“What’s the magic word?”
“More pease, Mama.”
“I’ll make him more,” Rue offers. “I’m waiting on coffee.”
It’s morning, and she’s heading into the office soon. Nolan recently started going to a day care near the coffee shop, and I’m dropping him off there on my way to work later.
Day care costs more than I’ll make at work today, but since Rue takes care of Nolan when I work weekends, I’m making enough to cover weekday childcare. I have an application pending for childcare assistance, which will be huge if I’m approved.
Rue assures me that, one day, I won’t be so broke that I’ll want to cry forever. A few days ago, Rue’s PI tried to serve Dean with divorce papers. We haven’t heard from him yet letting us know that he was successful, but I’ve had a nervous churning sensation in my stomach since I woke up. Not because I’m uncertain about divorcing him, but because I’m afraid of the fallout. It’s obvious that doing the right thing by me, or his son, means nothing to him.
I want this divorce so I can move on. Hopefully he’s decent enough to at least give me that.
Rue makes Nolan some more eggs, fills her travel mug with freshly brewed coffee, and heads out the front door while waving bye.
After giving Nolan a bath, I put him in his stroller and walk to a nearby park. He makes a friend and they chase each other around the playground for nearly two hours before I put him back in the stroller to head home. As soon as we get there, I feed him a quick lunch, get ready for work, and drop him off at day care.
“Cutting it close,” Virgil says as I walk into the back room of Just Brew It.
I look at the clock. It’s exactly 12:57 p.m. and my shift doesn’t actually start until one. Why is he such an asshole?
Ignoring him, I put my purse in a locker, pull my hair back and put on my visor, then wash my hands and clock in at exactly one o’clock.
“Mindy, you’ll be on the register until six,” Virgil says, adding a check mark to a paper on his clipboard.
Ugh. That’s my entire shift. It’s boring just ringing up orders for hours on end, but Virgil has deemed me unworthy of making drinks. I try to make the best of it, greeting each customer warmly and straightening up the displays when I’m not taking orders.
“Hey, did that hot guy with the nose ring ask you out?” Angie asks me later when she’s on a break.
“Pike? Yeah, he did.”
“You said yes, right?”
I shake my head. “I’m going through a divorce.”
The expression on her face lets me know she thinks I’m downright crazy. “I’d let that guy comfort me any day of the week. He’s crazy hot, and he was wearing Diesel jeans. Those cost a mint.”
Angie is young. She doesn’t even look twenty yet, and part of me wants to sit her down and explain what a terrible idea it is to go out with a man because he’s hot and wears expensive clothes. Something tells me she wouldn’t listen, though. I wouldn’t have at her age.