23. Cooper
23
Cooper
I push open the door to Sweet Swirls and hold it open for Mr. Macias. Being at the office wasn’t working. My Spanish isn’t where I need it to be. Two years in high school and two months of Duolingo isn’t cutting it.
Mr. Macias steps inside, and the left side of his mouth tugs upward. I don’t blame him. Leah’s created a comfortable, warm space. It could raise anyone’s spirits.
“Cricket, do you mind getting Leah for me?” I ask.
Cricket’s pink ponytail lobs to the side. “One day that sentence is going to hurt my feelings. No one asks for Cricket.” She blinks, staring at me for one, then two seconds. “Today is not that day, though.”
“Okay… thanks.” I peer back at Mr. Macias. “My friend, Leah. She owns the shop.”
“Very nice,” Mr. Macias says. The man speaks English. However, his whole case is based on miscommunication. His previous contractor is making him tentative. I just need him to know he can trust me. And if Spanish isn’t going to get us there, then I’m hoping that Leah will.
Leah steps through the swinging door, wiping her hands on a pink dishcloth tucked into her apron strings. “Coop,” she says, her eyes sliding over to my client.
“Hey, hola.” I smile at her, hoping it’s a smile that conveys my silent message.
“Hola?”
Okay, my smile is broken. It conveys nothing. It would have been helpful if I’d thought to tell Leah about my plan—however, it’s a Hail Mary. There was no time to tell the girl. As I was bombing my first face-to-face meeting with Macias, I all at once suggested a cinnamon roll.
“Um, Mr. Macias, feel free to pick out anything you like. I’m buying?—”
“You’re buying?” Leah gives me a glare from behind the counter—I don’t blame her. If I’m buying, that means she’s buying. And while she’s paying me in rolls, she hadn’t exactly planned on me bringing in every Joe off the street.
“Uh, can I talk to you for a second?” Without waiting for a response, I walk around the counter and take Leah by the hand. It’s foreign and new and strangely exhilarating. Leah’s fingers are small and soft and send a spark through my arm and into my chest. I’ve held a lot of hands. This is new.
“Cooper,” she barks. “I’m working. I—” She huffs. “Cricket, go watch the front, please. Help Cooper’s friend.”
“Cricket, here. Cricket, there. Cricket, Cricket, everywhere,” the girl says as she walks through the kitchen doors.
My eyes lock on Leah’s employee. “She’s a little?—
“Yeah, I know,” Leah says. She pulls her hand from mine. “You can’t come to my work and–.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. I’m not trying to take advantage of our arrangement. Mr. Macias is my client. He speaks English. But he’s more comfortable with Spanish. My boss has strongly suggested I make him more comfortable, and I’ve tried?—”
“Ah, café con leche . It’s all coming together now.”
“His case is private, but I can tell you that the defendant is claiming miscommunication and language barrier as his defense. It’s causing some trust issues.”
“That’s wrong.”
“It is. It’s linguistic discrimination—which I’m pressing. We will win.”
“So confident,” she says, crossing her arms and looking at me like she did that first night.
“Hey, same side, remember?”
Her expression softens. “I remember. And I want you to win. If anyone had treated my grandparents that way?—”
“I can win this case, Leah. But I need my client to trust me. Can you help me?”
She stares at me and her arms fall from their fold. “I’ll help you.”
I sigh. “Thank you. And I’ll buy his pastries. You’re paying me with forgiveness, a gender-reveal cake, and rolls for me and only me.”
Her eyes bore into mine, thinking. Swallowing, Leah nods. “You’re sure?”
“It’s more than fair. I’ll pay for my guests.”
We exit the kitchen to find Arnold and Mr. Macias eating pecan rolls and sitting at Leah’s table together.
“I already placed my order,” Arnold tells me, holding up his fork. “José did too.”
“Perfect,” I tell him. If only Betsy from the Cactus Cantina were here to finish out our party.
Leah walks around the counter, a smile on her face, and starts up a conversation with José Macias as if they were old friends. Her Spanish is beautiful; it makes my heart do that lurching thing again. This girl just gets better every time I’m with her. Thanks to Duolingo, I catch two or three of her dozens and dozens of words. Which means I have no clue what they are talking about.
I get my free roll from Cricket, pay for Arnold’s and Mr. Macias’s, and peek at Leah as she easily converses with this man. She motions to me and Mr. Macias laughs. I smile and wish more than ever I were bilingual.
Maybe Macias will tell me later.
Then again, José and I aren’t exactly buddies.
I take my time, attaining a roll for myself, and walk over to the small table—no need to rush them.
“Hey, Arnold,” I say.
“I almost thought you weren’t going to make it today.”
My lips pinch and my brows bounce once with his comment. “I made it.” I’m in too deep with this man. I have no idea how to get out of buying Arnold’s cinnamon rolls at this point. And at the rate we’re going, both Arnold and I are going to need a new size of pants before summer.
“Mr. Macias,” I say after he and Leah’s conversation comes to a lull. “Should we head back to the office? I promise I only have a few more questions.”
Mr. Macias nods. “Sí.” He grins at Leah almost like a doting father would. “I like her.”
My heart thumps like a hammer in my chest. He has no idea. I fear I’m losing my sanity. “Me too.”
Leah’s lashes flutter as her gaze draws up to mine. Mr. Macias passes by me for the exit, and I mouth the words: Thank you .
She nods. “See you, José!”
“Adiós!”
Mr. Macias is finally happy and waiting for me, but I need one more minute with Leah. “Do you want to come by my house tonight? We only have a few more days before we need to respond to PJ’s summons.”
“Yeah, sounds good,” Leah says.
“Here’s my number.” I pass her a Post-it note that may or may not have been in my pants pocket for the last three days. “Text me.”
“ H
e looked happy,” Barney says, watching as José Macias walks down the street to his vehicle.
“He is.” Finally . “I think we’re at a good place.” Thanks to Leah.
“I’m happy to hear it.” Barney picks up the cinnamon roll I’ve brought him and turns for his office. Cool air blows from the vent though it’s only forty degrees outside. The heater has been broken in this office since I arrived. We may not have the air on, but that doesn’t mean it won’t occasionally blow.
I clear my throat, reminding myself I’m a grown-up, I’ve made a decision, and I can do this. “Hey, Barney?” If I’d talked to someone at Bluewave about my Green Timbers case right away, things would have turned out differently.
“Yeah?”
“I need to tell you that I’ve taken on a case–on my own. But it won’t impact my other cases. I know they come first.” Though I won’t be slacking on Leah’s.
Barney turns, facing me straight on. His round belly folds over the front of his pants and he crosses his arms over his chest. “On your own?”
I swallow and mimic his stance. “Yeah. The Sweet Swirls shop owner, Leah Bradford. The place I’ve been getting the cinnamon rolls from. She’s in a lawsuit over the name of her place.”
“Is this a case we can win?”
“Well, I’m still working on that. But I’m doing this on my own,” I say again, attempting to keep Schumacher & Associates out of it because I don’t know how this will go down. I don’t know if Barney has any connections to PJ or Leah or anyone else. And I won’t make the same mistake I did in Seattle. “I’m doing it pro bono.”
Those beasts Barney calls eyebrows rise to the top of his head. “Pro bono?”
I release my arms from their fold and shuffle my feet. “Yes. She can’t afford to pay, and I owe her.”
“You mean you like her.”
I pause and swallow because this isn’t a conversation I’d ever want to have with Barney. And because I do like Leah. I like her more every single time I’m with her.
“She’s a friend,” I tell him.
“A friend that you owe ?”
“Yes.” I leave it at that. I’m pretty sure Barney has no desire to hear about my high school years.
He lets out a grumbly breath but doesn’t object. Good, because I can’t afford to lose another job, and there’s no way I’m going back on my promise to Leah.