13. Leah
13
Leah
D espite the fact that I told Cooper Bailey we weren’t going to be friends, he comes into my shop the next three days. It’s Friday, and Arnold and I are just waiting for him to show up. He’ll buy a pecan roll for Arnold and two for himself. So predictable. He’s tried every single roll I make, and while I have no desire to be friends with Cooper Bailey—nope, I send that man on his way as quick as I can—I have this strange urge to ask him which is his favorite.
Every time he leaves, Andrea says to me, “We need him.”
Every time I tell her, “I’ve got this.”
But the truth is, I don’t. I do not have this.
I don’t know legal mumbo jumbo. I have no idea how to fix this. And I can’t afford a lawyer. Every penny I’ve got is going into the business, and it’s barely allowing me to pay my two employees and my rent each month.
And yet, when Cooper walks into my shop, that senior superlative of best smile shining on his face, I can’t bring myself to ask that man for help .
“There you are,” Arnold says. “You’re late today.”
Cooper glances over at the older gentleman, Arnold’s combover standing on end. “Sorry,” he says. I’m not exactly sure why he’s decided to be Arnold’s cinnamon roll provider, but as long as one of them is paying, I don’t care.
“Three pecan rolls?” I say, standing at the register.
“Um.” Cooper investigates the glass case that I have meticulously arranged. His Dumbo-blue eyes rove over the orange rolls, the raspberry rolls, the classic cinnamon—they pause there.
Is that his favorite? My mouth twitches, but I keep the question buried.
“I’ll take two cinnamon.” He looks at Arnold, though we both know what he’ll order.
“And one pecan.” Arnold nods, his shiny head flashing me with the movement.
I hand over the two boxes and take Cooper’s payment. When he doesn’t move to leave, I swallow, my defenses rising. “Did you want something else?”
Cooper’s perfect brows lower. “Um, you speak Spanish, right?” He swallows, and the nervous twitch of his fingers on the Sweet Swirl box has me intrigued.
“I do.”
He smiles. It’s small and soft, and nothing like that 8x10 photo of him in the yearbook. “I thought so. Can you tell me how to say ‘settle out of court’?”
I narrow my gaze. I could tell him something ridiculous, something bogus, something awful. And he’d never know the difference.
“I don’t trust Google Translate. I’ve been burned by it before,” Cooper says.
I breathe out a smirk. He looks so earnest in this moment. And dang it—it deters me from ruining Cooper Bailey’s life. Besides, it sounds like I’d be ruining someone else’s life in the process. I think about my grandparents. I wouldn’t want anyone to miscommunicate with them.
“llegar a un acuerdo extrajudicial,” I tell him.
“Oo.” Cooper drops his Sweet Swirl box to the counter and pulls out his cell.
Arnold peeks up from his seat at my lone guest table at the noise, half his roll already devoured.
“Can you say that one more time while I record? And maybe a little slower.”
“I thought you knew Spanish. Café con leche and all.” It’s snarky. I can’t help it. Cooper Bailey brings out the snark in me. It’s not me, it’s him.
“Ah. I’m learning. Well, I’m trying to learn. But it’s slow.” He sighs. “A lot slower than my boss had hoped it would be.”
“Imagine that, learning an entirely new language takes time.” I lift my brows, still waiting for the man to pack up his things and go.
“Um, yeah. Do you mind?” He holds out his phone, ready to record my voice.
I clench my jaw and shift from one red tennis shoe to the next, thinking about my grandparents. My abuelo. My abuela. About the way they made life so much sweeter. Then slowly I repeat, “llegar a un acuerdo extrajudicial.”
He taps his phone, shutting off the recording, and grins at me. “Thanks, Leah.”
I have seventeen days left before I have to file a response to PJ’s summons. Seventeen to figure out how to win this case. Seventeen to learn the law.
I lick my lips, my gut churning as I stare at Cooper Bailey, Esquire.
And just as I’m about to open my mouth and do the last thing I ever thought possible–ask my nemesis for help, he says, “See you around.”
I watch him walk away and something—pride or pain, maybe punishment—won’t let me call him back.
That’s right, I’m punishing Cooper Bailey by not allowing him to help me. Because that makes complete sense.
“He is nice to look at,” Cricket says, appearing beside me as if an apparating baker. I jump, hold a hand to my heart, and for the first time in a long time, I can’t find the energy to argue with her.