Before Him

15

Kennedy

PRESENT

CHEW A CACTUS

“Who is that?”

As the doorbell chimes, I find myself thinking that I’ve never heard Annie use that tone before. The hairs on the back of my neck stand like pins, and as I turn and my gaze meets Roman’s, I understand. I understand the tone on a physical level as my body reacts with a familiar little zing. I wonder if he’ll always have this effect on me, if my body will always react to his presence.

“Afternoon,” he calls out cheerfully.

I shouldn’t have told him I worked in the coffee shop. Except he saw me in here yesterday. I mutter something unintelligible in response, swinging around to the beaded curtain as the animal part of my brain advocates that I scurry away. I’m not going to, obviously. Because I’m not an animal, and I’m nobody’s prey. Then I realise I’m staring through the beads at Annie—staring as though she owes me money.

“It’s better you don’t ask,” I tell her, scowl fully engaged.

“Oh, but I did,” she points out. Undeterred, she scoops aside the curtain with the corner of the large baker’s tray she holds in her hands. “And, I have to tell you, my brain is already formulating many, many more questions.”

“Let me put it this way instead. He’s no one you need to know.” Unless you want me to scratch your eyes out. Bad brain, no!

“He’s someone you know.” Her arched eyebrow matches her tone. Not for the first time, I curse my glass face. Holland has always said that it doesn’t matter if I hold my tongue because my face comes with subtitles.

“Don’t you have baked goods to deliver?” I glance pointedly down at the yummies and consider swiping one from the tray because, at this moment, I am all about stress eating. Annie’s baking is one of the reasons we’re sticking it to that corporate beast along the street that shall not be named.

“It looks like you have all the buns you need.”

I twist at her tone, my gaze following hers to find Roman bent at the waist. His hand on the back of Ursula’s chair, he and Betty are chatting like old friends. The late afternoon sun crests his head, casting it in a halo of gold like some fairy-tale prince. If life was fair, he’d at least have the suggestion of a paunch or the beginnings of a balding pate. And how is it he’s making Betty smile? Betty never smiles! I sometimes think that crotchety old devil would rather chew a cactus than smile at me, and I’ve known her my whole life!

“Sorry, I’m late!” Jenner turns sideways and shimmies past Annie and her tray. Dropping his shoulder, he pulls off his backpack. “I broke down on the way in.”

“But you don’t drive,” Annie answers slowly.

“Who mentioned anything about a car?” Shoving his backpack under the counter, he pulls out his flowered apron, wrapping it around the front of his white skinny jeans. Today’s ensemble includes a pink aloha shirt and canvas sneakers, making him look like he’s just escaped from the Club Tropicana music video. “I was listening to a podcast, and oh my heart, was it sad. I had to stop and compose myself.” His hand floats to his face, where he brings his fingers together as though to centre himself. Theatrically. He opens his mouth, and just when I think he’s about to share the sad, he halts and suddenly frowns. “Is Betty stroking out?”

“I believe she’s smiling,” I answer, doing the opposite.

“Is The Rapture coming? Was Andy Griffith resurrected?” He glances back at me but does a double take. “Wait, I know that ass.”

“No. No, you don’t.”

“I might not have had my hands on it, but I’m familiar,” he sasses.

“No, you’re not!”

“She’s been trying to tell me she doesn’t know it, either.” Annie appears by my side, having delivered the tray of buns to the kitchen by the speed of light, afraid to miss out on this hotbed of intrigue known as High Grounds. “He’s a drink of tall, dark, and hot,” she whispers admiringly.

“God, I hate being right sometimes.” Jenner sighs.

“You wouldn’t know right if it jumped out of your closet and slapped you in the face,” I mutter, glancing down at his white jeans.

“What are you right about?” Annie asks as though I’m chopped liver.

“Oh, just that a certain someone was into another certain someone else.” With this, he drags his eyes from the rear version of Roman settling a haughty gaze on me.

“But who exactly is that someone?” Annie persists at the same moment my phone begins to buzz. I pull it from my back pocket and glance down at my sister’s name.

“It’s the baby daddy,” Jenner whispers sotto voce. I shoot him an icy look as I decline Holland’s call. I’m about to type out an apology or an excuse or a promise to call back soon when I’m momentarily confused by his response. Instead of the usual roll of his eyes, they’re open so wide I’m not sure how his eyeballs have managed to stay in his head. He mouths, “Sorry,” and my stomach sinks, my gaze automatically following the direction of his to where Wilder stands.