Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
K AYLA
The next day, I get to my morning shift at Marina’s a little late.
When I woke up with a puffy face after a whole night of good cleansing crying, I knew I’d have to spend a little time fixing my appearance.
I couldn’t show up looking like that, or I’d have to find murder-charge-grade bail money for Marina, so I called her to say that I got some food poisoning and would be late.
She didn’t believe me, of course, but told me to come in whenever.
I’ve been wiping my face with ice cubes all morning, trying to remove the redness and swelling, but as I look in the mirror, it seems like I only made it worse. So I put some concealer on, my most distractingly large glasses, and go on my not-so-merry way.
Of course, Marina knows right away that something’s wrong.
One look at my face, and she pours me a massive cup of coffee with cream and grabs some Baileys from her stash.
She splashes some into my cup, looks at me, and pours three times more.
Without a word, she pushes the cup over the counter toward me.
I take it with a silent thank you and gulp down half in one go.
“Does your swollen face have anything to do with that asshole?” Her Russian accent is thicker than usual as she says this, nodding toward the door.
I turn my head and freeze. Justin fucking Attleborough.
I grit my teeth and groan. “Want me to get rid of him?” she asks, cracking her knuckles, and I chuckle.
She so could—which is why I waited as long as I did to come in, because I wouldn’t want her to get arrested on my behalf.
I’ve seen this woman make grown men tremble in their boots and cry real tears. I’m glad she’s on my side.
“No, I got it,” I sigh.
“You sure? ’Cause I can’t wait to teach this pretty boy a lesson.” She finds my eyes and holds them. She usually doesn’t show her emotions much, but she’s loyal and fierce when protecting her family. And I got lucky that she considers me hers.
Justin walks inside and looks around. There are twenty tables in the diner, and half are already occupied despite the relatively early hour of nine in the morning.
Marina makes the best breakfast on the coast, I swear, and in a few minutes, everything will be busy, and people will be calling for orders to go.
Justin’s still standing by the door, looking unsure. He never comes here unless he has to, and for a very specific reason: me and his mysterious hatred for me. Now the feeling is mutual, motherfucker. He takes a tentative step toward us.
“The shotgun’s in its usual place, should you need it,” Marina informs me, only half-joking, before grabbing her Baileys and scurrying to the kitchen.
“I’ll get the shovel,” I whisper after her, nearly choking on air.
Justin stops in front of me. His hands are in his back pockets, and he rocks back and forth on his heels.
“Can I have a table?” he asks cautiously, his voice nearly pleading.
My own is curt. “No tables available.”
“I can sit at the bar,” he suggests with a coy smile I’d like to smack off his face.
“It’s full.”
He looks around at the half-empty bar. “Surely there’s a spot for me somewhere….”
“We’re at full capacity.” I move around the counter, stashing my bag away and putting my apron on.
“Kayla,” he murmurs, and I ignore him. “ Kayla .”
“I said… we’re full.” I start a new pot for coffee and begin washing cups.
“Can I have a cup of coffee, then?” He plants his palms on the counter, and I hate myself for noticing how huge his hands are. And how clean his nails are, despite working all day with engine oil and whatever else he uses in cars.
“We’re out,” I snap.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, girl. Give the man his coffee.” Garry, an old Irish guy, yells from his usual table by the window. He can be a little scary in a grumpy-grandpa way. But I know his weak spot.
“Mind your business, Garry, or your next cup will be decaf,” I yell back at him, and he laughs, throwing his hands up in defense.
“I tried, boy. You’re on your own.” He returns to his food with a broad smile on his face .
I get a travel paper cup and go to the machine.
The little thing just started dripping, and it will take minutes— minutes!
—before it’s ready, and then I can be rid of Justin.
Hopefully, he’ll get tired and leave before that.
I’m not built to listen to his insults this early in the morning.
Instead, he takes a seat at the bar and watches me silently…
and stays there… the whole time the coffee’s dripping.
I already washed all the dishes, took two new orders, and the dang thing’s still dripping.
We should have upgraded the coffeemaker like Freya suggested, but no-o-o , Marina’s too proud.
When it’s finally ready, I pour the coffee and drop the cup in front of him.
He takes his wallet out and leaves a five on the counter, then he stands up.
I expect him to go on with his day (preferably far away from here), but he hesitates.
I can see that he has something to say, but he doesn’t know how to. Usually, insults are easy for him.
“Look, Kayla. I’m?—”
“Save it. I don’t want to listen to any more shit from you.” I throw three dollars change on the bar and turn back to the sink.
“That’s not what I’m here for,” he says tentatively.
“Coulda fooled me,” I snort without looking at him.
“Look, I’m sorry.” I hear some shuffling and turn around.
He’s raking his already messy hair with his hand and fidgeting with tingling keys in his pockets.
Worry lines deep between his brows. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s ashamed, but I know better, and shame is an unfamiliar word to Justin. “I was way out of line yesterday.”
“Okay. It’s all good. Now, go.” I don’t mean that; it’s not good, and it’ll never be good. I just want him gone.
He flinches. “We’re going to be in the same space because of Alex and Freya. We should probably find some sort of truce.”
There’s no humor in my laughter. “Yeah, don’t worry about that.” Because I’m done with this town, and I’m done with Justin Attleborough. Done with letting people walk all over me.
“Why?”
“Do you need anything else?” My tone is neutral.
“Why shouldn’t I worry about that?” he presses.
“A truce, as you said,” I answer with a fake smile. Just be gone already.
“Are you planning on leaving?” The accusation in his voice audible.
“If I did, isn’t it what you wanted me to do?”
He clears his throat. “Yeah—” He coughs again. “I mean, I didn’t mean that. I was just mad.”
“See, Justin. That’s the thing.” I throw a towel on the bar in front of me. “I have no idea why you were mad. Or why you took it out on me. And frankly, I don’t care anymore.”
“You know, Kayla.” He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Stop playing.”
Our eyes meet, and his are burning with anger. Again. Almost as livid as yesterday. And mine are burning with resentment. Why did I have to poke the bear? He would have been gone by now, leaving me in blissful peace at this early hour.
“I don’t, Justin. I really don’t,” I sigh, and there is a moment of doubt on his face.
Just for a moment, before it’s replaced with determination.
He takes his coffee and leaves. I’m surprised he isn’t scared I poisoned it—I totally should have.
Or at least, I should have put some salt in it—it would serve him right .
Marina returns from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, her eyes troubled. “That’s new. What was he doing here?”
“He came to apologize.” I cringe. Yeah, it didn’t go so well.
“What for?” A wrinkle appears between her brows.
“He came to my place yesterday and was an asshole.”
“I knew the tiny-whiny was the one to blame for your nonexistent eyes today.” She stares after Justin, probably cursing his next ten generations. “How does he know where you live?”
“That is a very good question. I thought maybe you told him.”
“What?” Now she looks offended. “You think I’d give him any information about you?
” She shakes her head. “I hate that boy for how he treats you and wanna smack him stupid every time he opens his mouth.” My eyes water and I squeeze her arm.
She nods and goes back to the kitchen. “Maybe there’s a reason why he acts the way he does.
” She sees my shocked expression, throwing her hands up in defense.
“All I’m saying is that maybe somebody told him some shit.
That’s all. Good people of Little Hope are known to be nosy fuckers sometimes. ”
My hackles smooth out. She might be right, but it’s not like I haven’t tried to talk to him to figure out the problem so we could resolve it like grown people.
We’re swamped for the next couple of hours, and I forget about Justin’s visit.
Especially after the fire, the diner’s become quite famous, as drama tends to attract people more than a well-built marketing strategy.
We should really thank the psycho who set the place on fire.
I should probably mention all of that to Freya one more time just to be sure that it’s imprinted on her brain because that woman still feels responsible for all the bad days in Little Hope.
At about eleven o’clock, Freya stops by. She floats in on the cloud of happiness of a thoroughly fucked woman, orders her usual Lonely Kurt, and sits at the bar.
“So.” A small smile appears on her face as she tries to hold my gaze, widening every time I look away nervously.
“So?” I parrot, perplexed.
“I heard Justin wanted some breakfast this morning.” She wiggles her eyebrows, smirking at me.
“Fucking small town,” I growl, grimacing, and she laughs.
“Yeah, that’s what I keep saying, but nobody’s listening.” She rolls her eyes, shoulders slumping. “So why did he come?” she asks, suddenly sitting tall in her seat, eyes sparkling with diabolical curiosity.
I look around to make sure nobody’s listening. “He came to apologize.”