10. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
E njoying the familiar feeling of being tired but content after a long run, I nearly fell asleep on the couch late in the afternoon while relaxing with a new book. I looked toward the window, seeing that it was still sunny, blindingly so. My thoughts strayed to a certain gorgeous, toned triathlete and lingered there until my eyes lazily shifted to the dusty, dull greyish blue curtains framing the window.
This would not do. Frowning, I grabbed my phone. I’d never liked these curtains, and they’d only grown more worn and shabbier since I’d moved in. I didn’t even like grey, or even blue, that much. My tastes ran more toward green … maybe purple? Not blue, and definitely not grey.
But when I opened the shopping app, the deals of the day appeared, and I promptly forgot about the curtains.
Yawning as I scrolled through pages and pages of cute running shorts in varying colors and styles, I could no longer remember why I was using the shopping app. I forced myself to stand up and stretch my stiff legs. My stomach growled loudly, yet the idea of cooking or doing anything productive made me grimace, so I decided to visit my favorite local café.
After locking my apartment door, I walked down the hall to knock on Jack’s door out of habit, but he didn’t answer. I shrugged and made my way to the café, just a block away from our apartment building.
Upon entering the Krumkake Café, I smiled slightly while inhaling the scents of their many sweet and savory offerings. While scanning the familiar but enchanting European-style café décor with Scandinavian accents, my eyes landed with surprise on Jack, his back turned, probably waiting for a takeout order.
I tapped him on the shoulder. “Jack?”
He turned with some surprise, briefly saying my name before turning back to the cashier handing him his order. After a moment, he turned to face me fully.
“You came here without me?” Though I tried to keep my expression neutral, I was probably failing miserably. “It’s our thing—we always go together or get takeout for each other.”
“Sorry, I was in a hurry, and I figured you were busy.”
“Busy? Why would I be busy?”
I studied his face, which was unreadable. Exhaling softly, I decided to be cheerful and ignore the slight. “It’s just another Saturday night staying in with Austen, and I have to make the all-important decision: book or movie. Care to join me?” I forced a smile to hide the lingering feeling of disappointment. Or tension. Or something I couldn’t name.
“Sorry, I have a late work call and want to work on a new piece after that.” His eyes shifted away for a moment. “How’s your writing going, by the way?
Ignoring his question, I narrowed my eyes. “A work call on a Saturday night? That seems a little odd.”
“Yeah, but it’s with the boss,” he said, rubbing his temples lightly as though he had a headache. But Jack never had headaches. “So I can’t just cancel. Irene is a bit demanding these days.”
“Oh, how so? I mean, other than Saturday night work calls,” I said, making a face. Irene Pruett was the highly successful managing editor at Randall’s , and her excessive demands on Jack and, presumably, on her other writers were well known. She made my own boss look like a kindergarten teacher. I’d heard about Irene frequently in the last three years since she had become a rising star at the well-known literary magazine.
He averted his gaze, shuffling his feet. Jack was not a shuffler. “I’d rather not get into it. Sorry, Vivi. I wish I could stay and chat, but I need to get back soon.”
“I see. Sorry, I didn’t mean to take up your time. ” My voice sounded irritable and probably childish, but I couldn’t help it.
“You know that’s not what I meant,” he said, throwing one arm around me for a half-hearted hug.
I jerked away as though scalded. Why was I so on edge? I shrugged nonchalantly to conceal my weird reaction. Avoiding his eyes, I turned to scan the bakery display in front of us. “I guess you’d better go then,” I said, adopting a neutral expression while pretending to examine the scone selection. “You probably don’t have enough time to wait so we can walk back together,” I added a bit wistfully.
After a long pause, he finally said, “Right then. I hope you have a good night staying in with Austen, Vivi. I’ll see you Monday for our next run.” His hand rose, in the friendly habit of hugging or patting me on the shoulder when we parted, but he apparently thought better of it and let his hand drop to his side.
“You too. Bye, Jack,” I said, trying to sound as normal as possible as he walked toward the exit.
The cashier walked over then and offered a sympathetic smile, her dark brows scrunched together. “I tried not to overhear,” said Melanie, “but are you all right, dear? I was surprised when the two of you showed up separately. Trouble in lovers’ paradise?”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, Ms. Martinez, you know it’s not like that.”
“I know nothing of the sort,” said the older woman with a grin. “And for goodness sake, call me Mel, or I’ll charge you extra.”
I managed to smile. “You win, Mel.”
“Ready to order, dear?”
Before I could speak, three children came running into the café toward the counter, while a man who must be their father tried valiantly to keep up. “Abuela! Abuela! Happy birthday!”
As Melanie greeted them, the father turned and smiled apologetically at me. “So sorry, they’re a little excited to see Grandma today.” He was tall and handsome, with warm brown eyes, an open smile, and short yet thick brown hair without a trace of silver. He was probably in his mid-30s.
“Jordan, this is Viviana, one of our favorite customers,” Melanie said, gesturing quickly toward me before handing the children some muffins. “Viviana, this is my son. I’ve often thought you two should meet. He’s been single since Christmas, and you’ve been single since, well, I can’t remember, it’s been so long. He is—”
“Mama, stop,” Jordan said, looking embarrassed. “I’m sure Viviana came here for food, not a date.”
I smiled broadly, extending my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Jordan. Have no fear. You’re probably the fiftieth person she’s tried to set me up with. It would’ve been quite strange if she didn’t try. At least this time it’s not a setup with another customer.”
Jordan turned to pick up his youngest son, who was reaching up toward his grandmother. “Good to know. I think.” He laughed again. “It was nice to meet you, but please don’t let us keep you.”
“I’m sure you have plenty of catching up to do, Mel. I’ll wait over there.” I pointed to a nearby seating area. “And happy birthday!”
“She’s fifteen. I mean fifty. Can you believe she’s fifty ?” The oldest child whispered loudly in my direction.
I nodded and smiled at the boy.
As I sat down to wait in one of the café’s large, cushioned armchairs near the wall, my thoughts turned to Jack again. What was going on with him? He was generally so normal , so predictable—in a nice, comfortable, reliable way that I really needed in my life—but he was acting a little peculiar lately. I was fairly certain Irene’s “demands” weren’t limited to Saturday night work calls; in fact, I often suspected something else going on between them. I knew Jack would never admit it, having always been very discreet, even with me. It used to bother me that Jack never confided in me about his love life, but I’d long ago learned to accept it—well, mostly.
More importantly, why hadn’t Jack stopped over to my apartment first to ask if I wanted anything from the café? Melanie was right that something was off with us. But what? Was he trying to avoid me? Was he annoyed that he had to deal with Gregory during our run this morning? Was he somehow jealous?
I nearly laughed out loud as I shook my head.
This is Jack. He is almost certainly none of those things, and I’m almost certainly imagining some dramatic explanation that has no basis in reality.
This silly romantic imagination of mine was the reason I must write. Dreaming up crazy stories was what a good writer did, right?
Interrupting my reverie, Jordan appeared in front of me, holding out his hand with my takeout bag. “I thought I’d bring this over, as my mother’s rather busy with the three hellions at the moment.”
I took the steaming bag from him while rising to stand. “Thank you. Mel looks busy, but please tell her I said thanks. And I hope she has a great day and gets off work early!”
Jordan smiled and ran his hand through his dark hair. “I will pass it along; that’s kind of you. By the way, I—it was nice to meet you.” He opened his mouth to say more but then closed it.
“You too,” I said, flashing a quick but friendly smile and turning to leave.
As I strolled home, forgetting quickly all about the café drama, I wondered what Gregory was doing. Probably working, which was what I should be doing. Shaking my head slightly, I vowed to spend some time writing tonight before popping in an Austen movie.
On second thought, maybe I’d watch something else, maybe a recent rom-com.
I’m not obsessed with Austen. Or Darcy.
Perhaps if I repeated that enough times, it would become true.