9. Esperr #2
“Not a word,” I hissed, kicking the door shut.
He lifts his hands in surrender, smirking and stepping back to let me pass. “It’s kind of concerning.”
“Running is healthy,” I mutter, already moving farther into the coffee shop to the counter.
“You’re early,” he says, glancing at the clock, “again.”
“I know.”
Shrugging my coat off, I fold it and replace it with my apron before tying the thing around my waist.
“You don’t get paid extra for it.”
“I know.”
He snorts but doesn’t push before going back into the kitchen.
And then I’m back to doing the same thing I do every morning—fill the coffee beans, grind them, and fill the cups.
Only this time I feel the exhaustion more than before and start a double espresso before filling a cup with ice and then vanilla syrup.
Eli comes out a few minutes later, carrying a tray of cinnamon rolls and cupcakes. “You okay?”
I don’t look at him, adding milk to my cup and then popping the lid on. “I’m fine.”
“That wasn't very convincing.”
I finally glance over, stabbing the cup with my straw and taking a long sip. The cold sweetness steadies something in my chest, and I find myself smiling. “I’m just tired.”
“I don’t think that’s anything new,” he says gently, pushing the tray into the display.
I don’t bother to respond, knowing that I’m tired, but I’m always tired. But saying that is a lot easier than the truth—a truth that kept me up the entire night. I don’t like missing people; missing may not always imply death, but in my opinion, it does.
And I don’t like the feeling that it gives me.
“I’m here if you need anything…you know, if you want to talk,” Eli mumbles before he’s turning on his heel and leaving me alone.
I open my mouth to tell him I’m sorry for coming off mean, but I stop myself. It wasn’t always like this; I wasn’t always cold-hearted, mean, or standoffish—I used to be kind. But when you’re sixteen and in love with someone you had no business being involved with, things can happen.
Bad things, and that can change anyone.
So instead of doing what my heart is screaming at me to do, I set my coffee down and start the register, open the blinds, and do everything I can to pretend like I don’t care.
Because caring has gotten me nothing but heartache and bruises.
There are days when the bell above the door makes me want to rip it down and throw it across the street because every time it goes off, I’m snapping my head toward it, just hoping for a small glimpse of him.
And today is the day I just might do it.
My eye twitches when I hear it again. “Jesus fuck,” I growl as steam milk curls up around me.
“You are not going to believe this,” Taylor says, barreling in, her hair half tied, cheeks flushed, and eyes wide, scanning the room. She skids to a stop at the counter, palms slapping down against it like she’s bracing herself.
I arch a brow, slow and impressed, while I back away from the station. “Try me.”
Taylor blinks at me for a second, like she’s recalibrating, and then she squints, leaning forward. “Okay, first of all, you look like shit.”
My brows crease for half a second before I snort. “Good morning to you too.”
“No, I mean—” She waves a head in my direction. “I’m sorry, you’re beautiful, but you…you look like shit, Esperr."
I roll my eyes, grab a towel, and start wiping down the machine. “Coffee?”
“Yes, please, immediately.”
I smile and grab a cup before getting to work on the same coffee she has every day—a caramel latte with a splash of vanilla.
I’m thankful for the distraction, only it doesn’t last long before I’m sliding the cup across the counter.
She wraps both hands around it like not only warming her hands up but also a confession that’s sitting on the tip of her tongue.
“So,” she starts slowly, drawing my attention toward her. “Did something happen last night?”
I keep my expression neutral, blinking. “Depends. Are we talking about some coffee drama or life drama?’
She narrows her eyes, probably ready to cuss me out. “That’s not a good enough answer.”
“Depending on what you’re about to tell me, it might be my only answer.”
Taylor watches me for a second too long and then sighs, taking a sip of her coffee. “You know you don’t have to do that thing where you act like everything's fine, right?”
I pause, shifting on my feet before I smile. “I know.”
She just doesn’t understand that I do have to, because I’m a short breath away from falling apart.
She opens her mouth and then stops, coming to some conclusion before shaking her head. “Okay,” she says. “We’ll circle back to your mysterious brooding later; I heard from a certain someone about what happened at the bar last night.”
I roll my eyes and internally curse at myself for thinking that the cops coming in asking questions wouldn’t get around. This town is small, and everyone knows everyone.
“Okay, and?” I shrug, filling the grinder with more espresso beans.
“The cops came in last night!” She screeches a little too loudly, causing a few customers to turn their heads in our direction.
I bite my cheek, narrowing my eyes toward her.
“Yeah,” I mutter. “They came in to talk to Stacy.”
Taylor’s brow knit together. “Yeah, and apparently you?”
I shrug, blowing out a breath.
Small fucking towns.
“It wasn’t a big deal,” I partly lied. It’s not unless the police department starts looking into me, and that could raise red flags. I don’t think I can kill the entire police department. Not by myself anyway.
She stares at me for a full thirty seconds, and it makes my skin crawl. “They were asking about that guy—Jackson, you know. The one—” she stops herself, glancing toward the customers sitting nearby. “The one who disappeared.”
I give her a look. “I know.”
“And you’re just what…fine? Dude, isn’t that scary… I mean, someone you know is missing. And the cops are asking you.”
I stop circling the rag into the same spot and finally turn towards her with pinched brows—Taylor’s not being nosy; she’s actually worried, and it’s written all over her face.
“I didn’t do anything,” I tell her. “I told them everything that I knew, okay?”
“Which is?”
I sigh, glancing around. “He came in, he drank, and then he left.” I leave out the part of him asking me out. No one needs to know that.
“With friends,” she says.
I nod. “With friends.”
Taylor exhales, taking a sip of her coffee. “That’s still creepy.” She says after a minute.
“Sure,” I say, going back to wiping down the counter and then over the display case. “But it’s not my problem,” and it’s not.
I can feel her eyes on me, eyes narrowing. “Honey, you’re in a small town; we care about each other; you need to learn that.” She hisses under her breath before taking a rather large sip, eyes scanning the front. “I just…I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Part of my chest breaks open, my heart softening just a tiny bit. Making any type of friend was never easy—not then and certainly not now. “I’m okay.”
She watches me for a long minute, searching for a lie that I’m telling but she won’t be able to tell. “Alright, if you say so.”
I give her a small smile and turn back towards the counter, ready for the next twenty minutes to go by when the bell above the door rings. I hate to admit it, but a familiar motion settles over me as my head snaps up, preparing for disappointment when my eyes widen.
Oh, fuck.