CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE #2
Babies were born in nine months, tops, right?
And that was only if everything went perfectly and according to plan.
I’d been born prematurely by a couple of months.
It was impossible to know if we'd be one of the blessed couples who went the full forty weeks or if my baby’s start would be the same as my own.
And besides, even if we were one of the lucky ones, time flew, man. Look at how fast five years had flown by in the blink of an eye. Before we knew it, that baby would be born. And then that baby would be a year old, then five years old, then ten …
Holy shit.
I need to stop thinking. And I need coffee.
I glanced at my surroundings, in search of somewhere, anywhere I might be able to grab a cup of something, quality unimportant. I was willing to settle for anything at this point.
A few minutes down the road, I came upon a quiet coffee shop.
It was a little hole-in-the-wall place, set at the end of a strip mall containing a medical office that looked to be closed and a flower shop.
The parking lot was next to empty, save for a few scattered cars.
I wrinkled my nose at the thought that it could maybe be an inclination of the quality of their brew, but then again Black & Brewed in River Canyon was a hidden gem in this world, known only to the residents of our little town and nobody else.
Maybe Lisa's Bean Hut could be one too.
Anyway, it didn't matter. This was an emergency, and it was what I'd come across first.
So, I pulled in and parked in the first spot I came to, killed the engine, and headed across the parking lot toward the little shop.
Inside, the place immediately gave me the vibe of a basement from the ‘70s.
Lots of wood paneling on the walls. Mismatched wooden tables and wooden chairs. A wooden countertop.
Wood everywhere. A carpenter's dream.
The tiles beneath my feet were dark in color but clean, and on the walls were framed pictures and a couple of dartboards.
A billiards table was set toward the back of the shop near the restrooms and what looked like a back entrance.
A couple of plaid sofas were positioned around a bookshelf of old, beat-up board games.
The ambiance was like a time machine to a place I'd never been to, and I didn't hate it.
In fact, I liked it, and if I had the time, I would sit on one of those old-as-fuck couches and stay a while.
Behind the counter was a woman I presumed to be Lisa, and she looked to be about twice my age, her brown hair streaked with thick chunks of gray. She wore a permanent scowl, but there was a soft kindness in her eyes as I approached.
Instantly, I knew I liked her too.
“Good morning, Officer,” she said, barely twitching her lips toward a smile.
I stopped in my tracks on the way to pull out my wallet, tipping my head with curiosity. “How did you know I'm a cop?”
“My husband was a cop for forty years,” she explained, pointing toward a picture on the wall behind the counter.
I followed her finger to meet eyes with the frozen image of a man in a police uniform, his face as grumpy as hers but with the same kindness in his eyes.
“You have a certain way of carrying yourselves,” she continued. “It's in the walk or something.”
“I never noticed,” I admitted with a chuckle, resting my hands on the counter.
“What can I get for you?”
“Uh …” I glanced around, in search of a menu, but found none. Helpless, I looked back at her. “What do you have?”
She nudged her chin toward the wall holding the dartboards. “Menu's over there.”
“Ah.” I nodded, feeling stupid. Let's blame the exhaustion. “Missed that. Sorry.”
“Not a problem. Take all the time you need.”
Wandering over to the chalkboard menu, I scanned the handwritten list of offerings.
There wasn't much to choose from, and that only lifted my hopes that what Lisa did make was going to be fucking incredible, and as I decided on the pistachio latte, I fantasized about telling Meg about this place.
Maybe jumping in the car one day and taking a little road trip up here to grab a cup of coffee, spend some time on the couches and play some darts.
Not that I'd ever played darts before, but, hey, first time for every—
“What's good here?”
Startled by another voice other than the one in my head, I turned to face the profile of a man a few inches shorter than me. He wore a black baseball cap and a T-shirt with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
How had I not noticed someone else come in here?
I must be more tired than I thought.
Relaxing, I chuckled. “Honestly, I have no clue.”
The guy grunted with a nod. “Whatcha getting?”
“I'm thinking about the pistachio latte. That sounds good.”
Another grunt.
I turned and headed back toward the counter where Lisa waited. I ordered my latte, and she nodded.
“Anything else?”
“Um …” I glanced toward the small case of pastries on the counter and pursed my lips as I perused the limited selection. “You know what? I'll take a chocolate croissant.”
One side of her mouth lifted in an effort to smile as she nodded. “Good choice. Those are Les's favorite.”
“Your husband?”
“Yep,” she answered, punching the numbers into the register. “That'll be six fifty.”
My eyes widened with surprise. “Seriously? That's all?”
She shrugged in reply.
“How do you make any money?”
“Hon, I'm not in it for the money. I have enough regulars to keep the lights on in this place, and Les takes care of the rest.”
“Huh,” I murmured with a slow nod, bewildered, as my hopes for this latte and croissant grew and grew until I believed this would be the greatest caffeine experience of my life.
I fished a ten out of my wallet, handed it over, and said, “Keep the change.”
She nodded gratefully, punching a button to open the register drawer. “Thank you very much. Just wait a minute, and I'll get this ready for you.”
With a nod and a smile, I let her get to work heating up the croissant and making my latte.
To busy myself, I glanced around at the pictures adorning the walls.
It looked more like a family's photo gallery than coffee-shop art, with all the shots of what looked like kids and grandkids and vacations to the mountains and the beach.
But it was a piece of understanding as to why Lisa enjoyed her work so much, being surrounded by happy memories and the people she loved.
My mouth stretched wide with a yawn. “Oh man,” I murmured to myself, using my hand to block the view of my tonsils.
“Long night?”
With a glance over my shoulder, I caught the eye of the other customer in the shop, my first glimpse of his face head-on.
“More like early morning,” I replied right before something in his eyes struck a memory in my brain that made my heart skip a beat, and I stared, my lips falling open as I tried to place it.
He tipped his head, a look of discomfort blanketing his features. “What?”
I blinked and gave my head a shake. “Um … I … God.” I laughed awkwardly and looked away. “Sorry. It's been a long weekend. I'm losing my mind.”
“All good.”
With a long, shaky exhale, I returned my attention to the counter, where Lisa was placing a coffee cup and a pastry bag.
“Here you go, hon,” she said. “Have a good one.”
“Yeah, you too,” I said with a smile, then collected my things. “Uh, are there napkins anywhere, or …”
She nudged her chin toward the door. “There's a bar over there with napkins, straws. If you need sugar or creamer, that's where it is too. But if you need milk, I keep that back here.”
“I'm good, thanks,” I said, turning away from the counter.
I hurried past the guy behind me and gave him the room to order his drink—a simple black coffee, from what I heard before getting out of earshot. The look on his face, the glare in his eyes … what did he remind me of, and why couldn't I place it?
Seth? I thought, putting my coffee and pastry bag down on the bar to grab some napkins from the dispenser. Then I shook my head. No. Not Seth. Well … maybe?
The guy looked mean. Off somehow, like he wasn't quite right.
He gave me a bad vibe, the kind you wanted to get far away from before he managed to rub off on you.
Or worse. And that was very much the feeling I'd always gotten from the horrible man who'd taken a part in my conception.
Seth had scared me—always had—and something about this dude did too.
What's his deal? I wondered, leaving the bar to exit the door.
But before I had the chance, the guy in question hurried past me quickly, resulting in a collision that caused my pastry bag to fall from my hand and onto the floor.
“Oh, sorry about that,” he said with a hint of pomposity. He continued to stand there, eyeing the bag on the floor, but not doing anything to help me out.
Growing more irritated by the second, I lowered my brows over my eyes as I stuffed the napkins into my pocket, freeing up a hand to grab the bag from the floor.
“Don't worry about it,” I grumbled, awkwardly crouching to avoid spilling my drink.
“Here, man. Let me help you—”
“I got it,” I muttered as I thought, Little too late, pal.
With the bag in my hand once again, I stood just as awkwardly, using the top of the bar to steady myself with my elbow. God, only twenty-six years old, and I was getting off the ground almost as ungracefully as Dad.
How the hell am I gonna chase after a little kid? I thought. I'm too young to be like this. Maybe I'll start doing yoga with Meg or something.
Meg. I sighed, not wanting this creepy, annoying guy to get in the way of the task at hand—getting home to her.
That was all that mattered right now. It was all that would ever matter.
“Have a good day,” I muttered with a trace of bitterness, about to leave, when that look in his eyes caught my attention again.
His thin lips curled into a sneering smile. “Almost like seeing a ghost, huh?”
“What?” I asked, furrowing my brow, certain I hadn't heard him correctly, but … I had.
I knew exactly what he'd said, but I couldn't understand why. I didn't know this guy. I'd never seen him before, apart from that look in his eyes that somehow managed to send shivers trailing down my spine while warning bells clanged noisily in my brain, telling me to get the fuck away and now.
Some cop I am, I thought sardonically.
“Nothin',” the guy said, his smile growing. “Have a good day, buddy.”
“Yeah,” I grumbled. “You too.”
Hurrying past him, I pushed through the door and swung a right. I started to cross the parking lot, my car well within my sights. The scent of the croissant wafted from the open top of the bag, and with one hand, I maneuvered the pastry to the top and brought it to my mouth, taking a bite.
Now, there were defining moments in every person's life. I could think of a few of mine off the top of my head.
The night Seth had dragged me to Tommy's house.
The year Mom had decided to leave her hometown and bring me to River Canyon to start our lives over in a safer place.
The moment I’d spotted the new guy in town, eating his sandwich in The Fisch Market, and decided to become his friend.
The fateful moments in which Seth had shown up, guns a’blazing, and I ran like the wind through a thunderstorm of biblical proportions.
The second I’d laid my eyes on Meg's angelic face and fallen helplessly in love with her and the idea of one day making her mine … even if I was only thirteen at the time.
All of these pivotal, life-changing moments that had helped to define who I was as a person. The pieces scattered throughout my twenty-six years to make Noah Mason the man he was today.
But the thing was, we didn’t always know in those moments that they were happening as they happened, now did we?
If we did, would we allow them to happen?
If I had known that taking that bite of croissant in the middle of the parking lot would be one of them, would I have done it at all? Or would I have waited to get into the safety of my car?
No, I knew the answer to that question.
I would've booked my ass across the asphalt.
Fuck, maybe I never would've stopped at Lisa’s Bean Hut at all.
Because as I chewed, as I took a split second to allow the exquisite flavors of chocolate and light, flaky pastry to burst on my tongue, as I allowed my brain to take a break from the task at hand and think, Damn, Lisa, Les is one lucky guy …
That was the opening someone else needed to strike.
And strike he did, with a quick, sudden jab to my neck, so slight that I barely knew what had bitten me at first.
“Fuck,” I said, startled, nearly dropping the pastry bag again in my haste to slap the offending insect that had stung me. But there was nothing there. “Little shit.”
Must've flown away, I thought, already moving toward my car again.
One step. Two steps. Three …
What the fuck?
My movements slowed as the sensation of walking through sand took over. My grip on the cup of coffee faltered, then slipped, my pistachio latte spilling over the parking lot.
“What … the …” Hell was what I tried to say, but it didn't sound like that when it passed through my lips. Instead, it was a slurred, garbled mess of nothing. I knew what I wanted to say. The word was right there within my reach, but I couldn't say it.
My pulse sped up, and panic kicked in.
I wondered if I was having an allergic reaction.
I wondered if I could get my phone from my pocket to call for help.
Even if I could, as I fell to my knees heavily, I wondered if I could even manage to dial the phone.
I wondered if I called for help, if Lisa could hear me, but when I opened my mouth to yell, only a jumbled mess of nothingness fell from my lips.
I'm going to die here.
Meg.
It was the last thought, the last name that crossed my mind, before something—a cloth—covered my mouth, and I had no choice but to breathe, breathe, breathe, despite wanting to hold my breath.
And then …
There was nothing.
Nothing at all.