Chapter 58 Not Counting （Except I Was）
Not Counting (Except I Was)
Tessa
Nine days. That's how long he'd been gone.
Not that I was counting.
Except I totally was.
When I'd ridden away from him over a week ago, I hadn't thought it would be forever. I'd just figured that both of us needed a breather – some time to cool off and collect ourselves before saying something we'd surely regret.
But breathers were supposed to come with an end point. Weren't they?
Apparently not.
Call me crazy, but somehow I'd expected to see him at the coffee shop the very next day – maybe during my shift, maybe after, maybe even before.
This was Ryder, after all. Until our argument, he'd been popping up all the time.
Not anymore. I hadn't heard from him either. No calls. No texts. No nothing.
I hadn't even run into him on my bike.
Correction – Maisie's bike.
But the point remained. It seemed that Ryder and I were officially over, which really sucked, because other than a few stolen kisses, we hadn't even begun.
And whose fault was that?
Honestly, I didn't even know.
From inside the coffee shop, I stared out through the big front window. The rain was coming down in torrents, and I hadn't had a single customer in at least an hour.
Of course, this wasn't a complete surprise. The place was getting deader every day even in the best of weather, and my income from tips had dwindled accordingly.
So, why was I staying on?
Maybe I still hoped to spot Delaney. Or maybe I was just being stubborn, refusing to quit because that would mean Ryder was right. But mostly, I had nowhere better to be.
Sure, I could find another job, but who except for Skip would forego the usual paperwork? Nobody with a conscience, that's for sure.
The thought had barely crossed my mind when I heard his voice from somewhere behind me asking, "What are you staring at?"
I kept my gaze trained on the window. "Nothing. That's the whole point."
He moved next to me and began staring, too. After a long moment, he said, "But there's nothing but the rain."
I shivered. "Yeah, tell me about it." The last few days had been rainy, but today was something else entirely. It was late afternoon, and the wind had been howling for hours, sending the rain sideways as it pelted the windows and anyone foolish enough to be caught outside.
I just prayed this didn't include my roommate. This morning, Maisie had mentioned having a meeting on the mainland, which meant she would need to take the ferry to Mackinaw City – there and back.
I shuddered to think.
I'd sent her a couple of texts, asking how she was doing, but the weather was wreaking havoc on my cell service, so I couldn't say for sure if those messages had even gone through.
Next to me, Skip asked, "So, how long are you gonna stare?"
I shrugged. "I dunno."
His tone grew peevish. "But you've been doing that all week. Maybe you should do something else."
I turned and gave him a look. "Like what?"
"I dunno." But then he perked up. "You could make me a mocha."
I stared. "So that's your solution? To have me make you a drink?"
"Hey, you asked for ideas."
"And you're asking for trouble. Trust me, I'm not in the mood."
He scoffed. "You're never in the mood."
It sounded almost sexual, and my patience snapped. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He drew back. "Chill, will ya? It means you've been frowning all week. Like now. If you're not careful, your face is gonna freeze that way."
"Oh, yeah? Well, if you're not careful, you're gonna find something extra in that mocha."
He brightened. "So you're gonna make it?"
Talk about missing the point. "No. I was being sarcastic."
His shoulders drooped. "Well, that's disappointing."
I shook my head. "I don't get it. Why do you even own a coffee shop?"
"Hey, it wasn't my idea. I hate this place." He grimaced. "I don't even like coffee."
Seriously? But now that I thought about it, he mostly drank sodas that he brought in from heaven-knows-where. "Then why do you want a mocha?"
"It's sort of like hot chocolate, you know?"
I gave him a perplexed look. "Then why not ask for a hot chocolate?"
He looked confused by the question. "Do we sell those?"
Was he for real? "Yes, actually."
"Oh. So…will you make me one?"
Oh, for God's sake. "No. But I'll show you how to do it."
"Eh, forget it," he said. "I'm not that thirsty." Again, he looked toward the window. "Screw it. I'm outta here."
"So we're closing early?"
"Why not?" he said, pointing to the rain splattering against the glass. "Who'd come out in this mess?"
I couldn't argue with that, which was why twenty minutes later, I was doing exactly what I shouldn't have been, navigating the storm on the borrowed bike.
The rain hit like needles, stinging my cheeks and blurring everything beyond a few feet. Wind shoved at my wheels, gust by gust, turning Main Street into a slippery gauntlet that would've been much safer on foot.
Safer. But longer. At least in terms of time. Plus, there was the matter of Maisie's bike. I couldn't just leave it, could I?
So I pedaled like crazy, as if I could outrun the storm.
I couldn't.
After barely a minute, my jacket was already soaked, sending water creeping down my spine. I hunched lower as the bike gave a dangerous little skid.
I was almost debating turning back when a bright red something came flying from who-knows-where. An umbrella.
The wind flung it straight across my path, and I swerved on instinct.
My tires slid, and suddenly the bike was gone from underneath me.
The world tilted hard and fast as I faceplanted not onto the asphalt – thank God – but onto a patch of landscaping filled with grass and flowers.
I knew this, because I was practically chewing on a tulip – pink, if you're curious.
I groaned. Terrific. Now, on top of everything, I'd ruined a perfectly good flower bed. I lay there for a long moment, afraid to take stock, as rain pelted me from above.
My body hurt like hell, but I wasn't screaming, so the only thing I'd really damaged was my pride.
And then it hit me. Oh, no. Maisie's bike. I jerked upward and looked frantically through the rain. And there it was, maybe fifteen feet away, lying on its side with its front tire still spinning.
My breath caught. Was it damaged?
Oh, God. What if it was?
I flopped onto my back and squeezed my eyes shut – and not only to keep out the rain. The wind howled. The rain splattered. And somewhere in the distance, a crack of thunder ripped through the sky.
But then, cutting through all of it, came a familiar voice, telling me, "Don't move."
It was Ryder.