Chapter 14
Many things had come as a surprise in the past month.
But enjoying the quiet mundanity of making lattes was a welcome one.
It forced me to take each day five minutes at a time: looking the customer in the eyes as I took their order, the crush of the coffee beans, whisking them into obedience, and the iridescent stream of espresso collecting into a shot glass.
And when that five minutes was up, it was on to the next.
It felt meditative, necessary for the fragile state I was in.
Processing Lottie’s death felt like an impossible task, but the cottage she left me felt like a tangible way to work through my grief. I saw the two paths as vividly as I could see the milk diluting the espresso in front of me.
On the one hand, my dream house had been dropped into my lap, but it was in a town littered with emotional land mines.
I still held on to New York City, because even if it wasn’t to support my mom any longer, I was sure Lottie’s death would become easier to digest. Or, if I was being honest with myself, easier to ignore.
Easier to drown myself beneath the crushing weight of work in a city where I’d never made memories with her.
And the other land mine, the one who had hired me, the one with kind eyes and a low voice, the one who literally lived across the street, was the other, more active threat.
Because the thing was, when I wasn’t in Declan’s orbit, the thought of opening myself up to another human being enough to constitute a relationship sounded less appealing than eating an entire pack of Sour Skittles and then swishing peppermint mouthwash around my mouth—which I knew from experience.
Filling the hundreds of micro-tears in my gums with stringent mouthwash was such an intense burn; all my thoughts went white.
And wasn’t that a microcosm of relationships?
All the tiny ways you offer up your soul are left as smoking craters when all is said and done.
And regardless, I felt plenty fulfilled working toward retiring my mom and spending time with Roshi and Faye in between.
But now that I was in Declan’s vicinity again, I was acting touch starved—a version of myself so distilled to the point of becoming an unrecognizable, craven being.
I felt embarrassed for myself being this affected by him.
But it was an inevitability when it came to Declan.
He reminded me of all the ways I had forfeited believing I could meet someone who made me feel seen the way he did.
Talking to other people felt like going to turn on a lamp only to realize it wasn’t plugged in.
You expect light, but you’re met with awkward clicking sounds instead.
For Declan, that light switch was connected to his emotions for me.
And they were pointedly off. So, living in the cottage across from him was not an option. Not a healthy one, at least.
The other road was the one I would take, surely. The one that led to New York City in September. The only one I could emotionally handle. Surviving July and August in Seabrook already felt like an impossible feat.
“Hey.” The sound of a mousy voice squeaks from behind me. “Blair?”
I turn around, latte in hand, to find Harper. Her white apron is tied around her waist, blond braids resting on each shoulder, and spider lashes opened wide with anticipation.
“Yes?” I say, and regret how suspicious I sound.
“Me and some coworkers are going bowling tonight, and I was wondering if you’d want to join?” She twists her hands in front of her, nervous.
I felt like I’d be crushing a six-year-old’s pleas for ice cream if I said no, but I also had zero interest in deepening my ties to anyone here when I’d be gone in two months.
“Uhhh.” I scratch the back of my neck. “Which bowling place?”
“Jonny’s Pints and Pins on Forth Road,” she replies.
“I might need to help my mom tonight, so I’ll let you know,” I say, hoping I can drift away unnoticed after my shift and then apologize tomorrow when I realized I didn’t have her number to tell her I couldn’t make it.
Harper seems unsatisfied with my answer, but a man with jet-black hair walks in, and I excuse myself to take his order.
I reach the cash register and look up, but my eyes meet his chest. I have to crank my neck back to meet his eyes, and I mentally hear a creaky cartoon sound effect to match the movement.
Is there an NBA team passing through Seabrook?
The man who wants coffee is wearing a navy button-down, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, and tan Carhartt pants. His style is reminiscent of… Declan. Gosh, I can’t even look at another man without being reminded of him. Craven, fallen being, I think to myself.
“Hi, good morning,” he says, gaze pinned on me for a second longer than I’m used to. Like he’s taking in the totality of my face.
“Good morning,” I reply, and pray that my cheeks aren’t visibly red from someone so attractive perceiving my existence. “What can I get started for you?”
“I’ll do an Americano if it’s not too much of a hassle.” He smiles, and it causes his scruffy cheek to gather into a dimple.
I giggle. The response is so knee-jerk that I feel betrayed by my own body.
“That is no problem at all, sir. Can I have a name?”
“You sure can. It’s Calvin,” he says like I wanted to know his name for more than a coffee cup.
“Perfect. I’ll have that right out.” I turn the payment screen toward him and hurry to the bar to make his order, willing the warmth to drain from my face.
Harper sidles up beside me as I start pulling the espresso.
“I see you’ve met Calvin,” she whispers not so subtly beside me.
I shoot her my best side-eye, but she laughs in response.
“And he seems to have taken notice of you too.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a professional. I do not fraternize with the customers,” I retort mock sternly.
She leans in further to my side and says, “Well, it looks like he’s working up the courage to ask you something when you turn around.”
My heart jackhammers.
“Yeah, he probably looks like he’s frothing at the mouth because I’m holding the drink he’s addicted to.”
“Mm-hmm. But he wants to get addicted to youuuu,” Harper singsongs as she prances away from my ear.
I shake my head.
It seems Harper has found her in with me: gossiping about boys. Before this, she’s been as antsy as a chihuahua around me. I shoot her my deadliest glare, and she smiles with both rows of teeth.
When I turn around, Americano in hand, Calvin is waiting at the bar, eyes already set on me.
It doesn’t mean anything. He’s just really excited for his Americano, and he doesn’t have a scrolling addiction. Which is rare, and that is why his eye contact is startling.
“Calvin,” I call as I slide the paper cup across the bar. “One Americano.”
“Thank you,” he says, swiping the cup. “Oh, it looks like you forgot something.”
“Uh-oh! I’m so sorry. What did I—”
“Your number. It seems to be missing.” He pretends to inspect the cup, looking under it and spinning it a full revolution in his hands with a look of utter confusion.
Despite myself, I exhale a breathy laugh. I respect his commitment to the bit.
“Wow,” I say, fumbling for what to say next.
But a loud thud startles me out of the moment. I turn around to find Declan surrounded by three massive cardboard boxes strewn around the floor.
“Oop,” Calvin exclaims, setting his drink down. “Let me help with that.”
He lifts the part of the counter that separates me from him and passes through like he’s done this before, then crouches down to start gathering the boxes.
“Hey, Calvin,” Declan says with a bored look on his face.
“Hey, buddy. Tough day?” Calvin asks.
“Yeah, you could say that.”
Calvin stacks the final cardboard box into Declan’s arms, making sure they’re balanced before taking a step back.
“Alright. You got it, pal?” Calvin says.
“Yup. Got it,” Declan replies and continues his journey to wherever he’s headed.
Calvin turns around to face me, but he’s closer than expected now that he’s behind the counter.
I look up at him and gulp.
“I guess I should probably get out of here,” he says, shyer than I’d expect him to be capable of.
“I guess so,” I reply as I watch him lift the countertop and pass through. “Oh! My number! One second, let me look for a pen.”
He exhales and puts a sarcastic hand on his chest. “Thank goodness. I thought I was going to have to ask again.”
I chuckle and frantically search for something to write with, but I can’t find anything. Declan strides past me, hands empty this time.
“Hey,” I whisper to him. “Do you have a pen?”
He looks stunned that I’m talking to him for a moment and then says, “Yeah. One sec.”
He disappears to the back room and I tap my foot while I wait for him to reappear.
Sorry, I mouth to Calvin across the bar, and mime waiting for a pen as best as I can.
No worries, he mouths back with a grin.
Declan pummels through the double doors. “Here,” he says, handing me a black pen. He starts walking away the second it meets my hands.
“Thanks,” I say to his back. He doesn’t acknowledge it.
I scribble my number onto Calvin’s cup with a smiley face and my name and then slide it over the bar to him. “Here ya go.”
He studies it. “Blair. That’s a beautiful name.” He looks up with a smile and nods. “I’ll be in contact.”
“Oh, thanks. I will respond to your contact!” I shout as he walks out the front door. “Oh my gosh,” I slap both hands over my mouth, wanting to crawl out of my skin.
Harper looks at me from the cash register, a poorly hidden smile blooming on her face.
“I can’t believe I just said that,” I say to her.
“Honestly, I can’t either,” she giggles, incapable of sounding mean.
“ ‘I will respond to your contact’? Who says that?”
“You, apparently.” Harper looks amused to be in on something with me.
Declan shuffles past me again. This man never stops moving.
“Oh, Declan,” I call.
He motions with his eyebrows for me to go on.
“Hey, uhm,” I start, not quite sure what I was planning to say. How do you know the man who asked for my number? didn’t really flow off the tongue. “Who’s Calvin?” I ask instead.
“Calvin?” he repeats, scratching his eyebrow with a slight head tilt.
“Yeah.”
“He owns the auto shop down the road. Comes in pretty often at lunchtime,” he says, looking away.
I nod. “You guys pretty close?” I continue, trying to justify my reason for stopping him.
He shrugs.
I nod, slower this time.
He grabs a rag and starts wiping down the countertop, coffee grounds falling off the side.
“Oh, don’t worry. I can get that,” I say, putting my hand on his arm.
He stiffens slightly and I yank my hand back, embarrassed by my reflex to touch him.
“No. It’s fine,” he says, returning to wiping, the muscles in his forearm flexing and relaxing with the effort.
“Are overtime hours available for tonight?” I ask. Switching topics seems like a good idea.
“Oh. I can’t actually. Everyone’s going to Jonny’s Pints and Pins after work.” He returns to scrubbing the already clean countertop.
I nod again, beginning to turn since I can’t think of anything else to say.
“You should come,” he adds abruptly, as if the guilt of not inviting me weighed on him in the silence of my turn.
I didn’t want a pity invite from Declan. Me being there was probably the last thing he wanted.
“That’s okay. I have”—I wave my hand in the air—“stuff to do.”
Gosh. That’s the best I could come up with? What about ‘I have to finish the novel I decided to write’ or ‘Ernst & Young wanted to do another interview with me for fun because they can’t wait for my arrival in September’?
“Stuff?” he repeats, mouth pulling up into a sly grin.
Was he… teasing me?
“Yep! Tons of stuff to attend to,” I reply, mouth flattening into a straight line.
“Like what?” he challenges.
“Like…” I chew my lip, trying to conjure up a believable response. “You know. I just have some loose strings to tie up while I’m here.”
“Right,” he allows, eyes looking everywhere but mine, probably searching for a new section of the countertop to clean.
“Well, you should really come tonight. As manager I’m supposed to encourage team building and all that,” he says in a rush, and then disappears behind the swinging double doors again.
When my shift ends, I find myself searching the back room for Declan as I hang my apron on its designated hook. Cardboard boxes and metal shelving units cover the concrete floors, similar to the back of the convenience store. He’s nowhere to be seen.
“So are you coming?” Harper asks as she hangs her apron on the hook next to mine. “To bowling,” she clarifies.
“Oh, uhhhh,” I stall. Turning her down for a second time seems cruel, and now that the sun was threatening to set, the thought of going home to the house without Lottie in it made my stomach flutter. Grief really did feel so much like fear.
“Yes, actually. I am,” I respond.
“No way! Okay, awesome! I’ll see you there.”
She smiles excitedly and trots away, and I’m left to wonder what I’ve just agreed to.