“Sure?”
“A dozen beignets coming up.” The woman winked and turned to fill a box with the fluffy white donuts.
Maggie, without realizing she moved, had drifted back a few steps. Ryan faced her. “You want a coffee to go?”
“No thanks.” She’d already had some that morning at the cemetery.
The beautiful woman placed the box on the counter. “Anything else?”
“I’ll take a large dark roast and…” He glanced at Maggie again. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“And that’s it.”
The woman scribbled Ry on the side of the cup and quickly made his coffee. “There you go, babe. On the house.” Her smile rivaled the sun in terms of brightness.
“Thanks, love.” He carried the box and coffee outside and Maggie followed.
“You know her?” She wasn’t sure why she suddenly felt so out of place and forgotten, but there had definitely been a shift in her mood. She no longer felt like painting.
“Mariella? Yeah.”
No explanation as to how he knew her. But Ryan was attractive, single, and in his thirties. She should have expected he’d have exes, and in a small town, there were bound to be run-ins.
Maggie never actually thought about the sort of women he’d dated, but seeing that beautiful woman in the café was a bit of a reality check, not that it was any of her business.
Why was she even thinking about this? Ryan was her neighbor. Who he dated was irrelevant.
Plus, it was stupid to let some stranger devalue her own sense of self. But that woman had been so beautiful some might even call her exotic.
Maggie wasn’t blind. She’d stopped wearing makeup and doing her hair and didn’t even bother to shop in the women’s department. Most days she wore old cargo pants and men’s cotton clothes that came in three packs.
“You okay?” Ryan asked as they turned the corner.
“She’s very pretty.” That hadn’t been what she’d meant to say, but it was definitely the conclusion resounding in her mind.
Cocking his head, he shrugged. “I guess. She wears a lot of makeup.”
“You don’t like when women wear too much makeup?” She didn’t know why she cared what he liked.
He glanced at her. “I prefer girls au naturel.”
“But you can’t deny beauty like hers.”
He glanced at her again, this time his brow knit in confusion. “Did I miss something?”
“No.” She stuffed her hands in the front pocket of her hooded sweatshirt.
“No, something’s weird.” He frowned at her, like a math problem he was trying to solve. “You’re, like, pissed off or something?”
She scowled. “No, I’m not.”
“Did you want coffee? I would have gotten it for you.”
“You mean Mariella would have gotten it?”
He laughed. “Does it bother you that I got this stuff on the house? I never pay when I go to the café.”
“How come?” Her snarky tone was completely inappropriate. What was wrong with her?
“Because my aunt and uncle own the café. Mariella’s my cousin.”
Oh, my God. She was such an idiot.
He gave her a smug smirk, as if he knew where her thoughts had led. She scowled. “Is there anyone in this town you’re not related to?”
“Yeah, you and about four other people.”
“No wonder you’re single.” As the words left her mouth and his teasing expression blanked, she wished she could pull them back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
He smiled and pushed out a breath intended to be a laugh, but the sound lacked any jovialness. “It’s cool. If I use that as an excuse it takes some of the blame off my own shoulders.”
She frowned. Why would he be to blame? “I didn’t mean anything by it, Ryan.”
He shrugged and thankfully they were nearing their street. “No worries. I am single. Believe me, it’s not news.”
When they reached his property, he wouldn’t make eye contact. She remained standing on the sidewalk as he handed her the box of donuts and went directly to his truck. “I’m gonna head back and pick up the stuff at the hardware store. I’ll see you…”
His goodbye felt unfinished, as if he didn’t want to make any promises. She shouldn’t have said anything about his personal life. She had no place. And for someone who valued privacy so deeply, she should have known better and been more respectful of his.
He pulled away before she could muster the courage to apologize. An apology might have only made things more uncomfortable. She couldn’t shake the lump in the pit of her stomach.
She changed into an old Cranberries T-shirt and waited by her kitchen window, watching for his truck to return. Worried he might not come back or might make some bogus excuse that something came up, she annihilated her thumb nail, biting it into a short nub.
She needed to think before she spoke. She hardly ever talked to people, which made her the least graceful woman alive when it came to other people’s feelings. It was why her relationship with her sister was strained, why her mother rarely called anymore, and why she preferred to work in a place where no one bothered her with small talk.