Chapter two #2
Grabbing three pre-poured drinks, she added ice, then set them on the counter as she rang the order up. Miguel guffawed at something his customer said at the window beside hers, the joyful sound rattling something loose inside her head.
She didn’t die. The words of the note flitted into her mind. Whoever had sent it no doubt had a specific—and very different—message in mind, but she couldn’t help the abstract thoughts they conjured now. She hadn’t died, either. Anthony hadn’t succeeded in killing her.
Had her body, sparked by Juan’s unexpected touch, co-opted those three words, changed them, redefined them? Reminding her that no part of her was truly dead? If so, why now?
Not a question she wanted to grapple with—not now, likely not ever.
Grabbing the card reader, she gave the man the total.
Adding a generous tip, he tapped his card, then she handed him two of the drinks.
Snagging the third, she added an extra garnish of mint, snapped the lid on, and leaned way over the counter to pass it to the little girl.
“Whoa there, Gumby,” Juan said, again setting a hand on her back as he passed, this time to steady her as her toes barely touched the ground. She glanced over her shoulder. Juan raised a brow but didn’t remove his hand.
Tiny fingers brushed hers, and she returned her attention to the little girl, who carefully took her drink with a huge smile. Juan’s warm, work-roughened palm pressed against her skin, providing a counterbalance she didn’t really need.
“Thank you,” the little girl said. Amber lifted her gaze to the smiling grandfather.
“Yes, thank you. You better get back in before you fall out. Or cause a riot.” He jerked his head to the group of young men behind him.
It took a moment for his words to sink in, and she yanked herself back in while shooting the grandfather a “yikes” look.
“Oops. I really didn’t mean to do that.” Her shirt was perfectly respectable, but leaning over as she was, the vee gave anyone looking a good view of her cleavage.
Not exactly the family-friendly vibe she strove for.
He chuckled. “Back in my day, it was the shorts. Susan Lopez turned all the boys’ heads from a mile away with her long legs and shorts.”
Amber smiled. “Oh yeah?”
He laughed. “Yeah, she’s my wife now, and it still makes my heart race.”
Laughter bubbled out of her at the sweet vignette. Fingers twitched on her back, and she glanced behind her. Green eyes met hers. And held.
“You steady on your feet now, Gumby?” Juan asked.
“Gumby?”
“Pokey and Gumby?”
She shook her head. She had no idea what he was talking about.
Juan dropped his hand, his gaze flickering away. “They’re toys. Very, uh, flexible, foldable, bendable toys.”
Toys. He’d been talking about toys. And yet the words hit her in a way not childlike at all.
Once again embarrassed by her reaction and hoping that Juan hadn’t seen the direction of her thoughts on her face, she cleared her throat and turned back to the window. “Thank you,” she said, waving to the man and his granddaughter. “Can I help you?” she asked the next customer.
“Um, yeah,” he replied. “Four lemonades, please,” he said, his eyes fixed on her face. She gave him credit for his consideration, considering the show she’d unintentionally put on a few seconds earlier.
“Coming right up,” she replied with a smile.
Turning to reach for the prefilled cups, she found Juan standing in the way with two cups in hand.
Both already topped off with ice. “Uh, thanks,” she said, taking them and setting them on the counter.
She heard Juan adding ice to the other two, so she picked up the card reader and totaled the order, willing the heat blooming up her chest to subside.
Her reaction, her wayward thoughts, didn’t make any sense. Sure, she’d heard stories about Juan, about his way with women—he didn’t get his nickname, Don Juan, from nowhere—but she’d never thought of him in that way.
Well, if she was honest, there was that one time…
“Would you be interested in meeting for dinner tonight?”
The question pulled her mind back from a place it had no business going, and she dropped her gaze to the man standing on the other side of the window.
He looked her age, maybe a few years younger.
With his dark brown hair, strong jaw, even cheekbones, and deep, dark eyes, he wasn’t bad-looking. And he was polite.
She didn’t die.
Amber hadn’t either. But she felt nothing for this man.
No spark. Nothing but a fleeting thought that he was probably a decent guy.
Then again, thanks to her therapist, she knew enough about trauma to know that a part of her neutral reaction might be self-preservation rather than a true lack of interest.
“I have plans tonight, sorry,” she said. And she did. She and Dottie were going for drinks at the Boom.
“Here,” he said, handing over a business card. “My personal number is on the back. If you change your mind or are free anytime in the next day or two and want to meet up…”
She appreciated that he didn’t ask for hers. She wouldn’t have given it to him, but the conversation would have been uncomfortable. She hadn’t come quite far enough in her healing journey to be comfortable outright saying “no” to men.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said, reaching for the card and tucking it into her back pocket before giving him his total.
“I’m betting that won’t be the only number you’ll get today,” Juan said, sliding in beside her as Dulcie passed by with a fresh urn of lemonade, hefting it onto the shelf behind Miguel. Juan grabbed the empty one, making space for Dulcie, then returned to her side.
She shrugged. “It didn’t happen at all last year. That was probably a fluke thing. Inspired by my unintentional flash of cleavage, no doubt.”
Juan shot her a look, raising one eyebrow, reminding her of a teacher who’d received the wrong answer to a basic question. Then stepping around her, he checked the second urn as Dulcie began prefilling cups with lemonade.
“You were a different woman last year,” Juan said, his voice quiet enough that only she heard.