Chapter 37
‘NEVER LEAVE ME again.’ Hattie’s curls tickle my nose as she hugs me.
‘It looks like you managed just fine.’ The cafe is full of people, the hum of chatter almost drowning out our Josh Pyke playlist. ‘Are these hired actors or actual customers?’
‘Actual customers. Can you believe it?’ Her eyes shine brightly.
I take in the full tables, laden with coffees and plates of vanilla slices and chocolate croissants.
‘After Natalia’s posts we started to get more customers, and then yesterday all these people just arrived. I don’t dare ask any of them why in case it breaks the spell and they all disappear.’
I slip behind the counter, trying to ignore the jetlag.
And the heartache. I’d driven straight from the airport and left my car at the sketchy parking lot, sidestepping a puddle of something that was most definitely not water, as I hauled my bags back to the apartment.
I dropped them off and left as quickly as my exhausted body could take me, sparing only the briefest glance at apartment 4B.
He was in there. I don’t know how I know that, I just do.
I busy myself making coffees, clearing tables, trying not to cry tears of joy when customers hand over their money. My eyes travel to the door each time the bell chimes, thinking it might be Adam. But he doesn’t make an appearance.
Good.
The other Fogertys might be quick to forgive and forget.
I’m not. When you really think about it, Adam and I barely know each other.
A week living in each other’s pockets, most of that time spent annoying one another, doesn’t mean we’re destined to be together.
If he was truly sorry for what he did and wanted to make things right, he wouldn’t have walked away so easily.
I wasn’t expecting him to burn the world down to win me over, but he could have fought harder for me.
To prove to everyone that I’m someone worth fighting for. To prove it to me.
‘Do you think he sat here?’ I hear a young woman ask.
‘Could you imagine if we were at the exact table where Adam Whittaker wrote the sequel to The Sleeping Bones?’
I turn to see a girl and a guy in their twenties, copies of The Sleeping Bones tucked under their arms as they glance at the row of tables beside the window.
‘Let me bring up the photo,’ the girl says, taking her phone from her bag. ‘He was definitely next to the window so it’s one of these.’
‘Excuse me.’ The guy waves to get my attention. ‘Do you know which table Adam Whittaker works at?’
‘Which table?’ I frown. How does he know Adam wrote here?
The girl holds up her phone, showing me a photo on Instagram.
It’s Adam sitting at his usual table, a coffee and muffin on the table beside his laptop.
I take the phone from her for a closer look.
He has a chocolate cheesecake muffin. This must be a recent photo because Adam has never had anything except coffee. I zero in on the caption.
Hello friends and loyal readers,
I thought my first social-media post should be spent thanking you. Thank you for your support, your excitement, and your love. It truly means a lot. I recently moved back to Melbourne, and even though I moved here to try and find my spark again, I got stuck. Sequel syndrome is no joke.
But then I found A Cup of Joy. Not only are the coffees and baked goods world class, but this particular table has been my home while writing book two. I hope you’re able to stop in some time and soak in the magic I’ve found here.
Yours,
Adam Whittaker
‘Adam has Instagram?’ I ask, feeling numb as the girl takes her phone back.
‘This was his first post,’ the girl says. ‘Do you know which table it is?’
‘Um,’ I stammer, my breaths coming quick.
Adam’s first post is a photo of my cafe.
The cafe that needs all the customers it can get.
And the cafe that’s a setting for the romantic comedy about me.
A bucket of icy cold water extinguishes the tiny flame that had reared its ugly head.
He’s not helping me. This is some clever PR ploy that he’ll use to drum up interest in the book he said he wouldn’t write.
Clearly, he lied again. ‘It’s that one.’ I point at the table a middle-aged man is sitting at.
Maybe I should add a plaque to the table so everyone knows which one it is.
That way it’ll always be occupied in case Adam decides to burden us with his presence again.
‘Adam posted about this place. That’s why they’re here,’ I say when I return to the counter and Hattie.
‘Oh.’ She wipes a cloth over the display case. ‘He was here yesterday. Briefly. He asked Vik to take a photo. I’m sorry.’ The words tumble out of her before she snaps her mouth shut, teeth gnawing at her red lips.
‘Did he…did he ask…’ I trail off, not sure what the question is or whether I want to know the answer.
‘He wasn’t here long.’ Hattie scrubs at a non-existent smear in front of the rocky road cupcakes. ‘Ordered, sat, took a photo, ate, left.’
I nod, picking at my chipped nail polish.
‘We’ll ban him,’ Hattie says.
‘No. We’re both adults. I’m sure we can coexist without incident.’
Hattie’s lips purse. ‘He, um, he also passed on a message from Kathleen Beardsley. We got the gig.’
I continue picking at my nails. The excitement I thought this news would bring doesn’t hit. I’m not sure I want it if we only got the job because of his connection to her.
‘Here.’ Hattie passes me a sheet of paper. ‘She wanted it to be all official. I’ve signed it so it just needs your signature and we’re in business.’
I blink at the agreement. It’s dated the day we flew out.
‘There was also a card and a jar of jam. She loves your baking, Sabrina. This win is ours,’ she says, reading my thoughts like only she can.
I snatch up a pen, slapping my signature on the agreement so firmly it almost tears through the paper.
My phone chimes. I take it from my pocket and read the message. I sigh heavily and hold it up for Hattie to read.
Mum: Natalia signed me up for this Instagram thing so I can follow Callie. Did you know Adam posted a photo of your cafe? I told you he cares about you.
Hattie grins.
It chimes again.
Mum: I just followed him.
Mum: Oh, he followed me.
Mum: He only follows two people.
Mum: Me and your cafe.
Mum: Now it’s three people.
Mum: Aunt Carol’s the third.
Mum: Now Reese. That makes it four.
Hattie’s laughing so hard she’s crying. My phone chimes again and again with Mum’s messages.
Mum: Sabrina you’re not following me yet.
Mum: You should follow Adam too. Callie is. If movie Sabrina can forgive him so can you.
Movie Sabrina has nothing to forgive him for! I turn on silent mode and pocket my phone, ignoring Hattie’s laughter. Maybe I’ll feel better if I dump a coffee on that stupid car of his that is currently parked in my precious spot behind the cafe and post that on Instagram.
By the time I get home I’m so exhausted that I forget I’m supposed to be looking out for Adam so I can avoid him. I must look like a deer caught in headlights when the elevator doors open at level 4 and I find myself face to face with him.
‘Sabrina,’ he says, the sound of his voice cutting through my exhaustion.
Pushing past him, I fumble in my bag for my keys. ‘Stop using my family to get to me.’
He sidesteps, my apartment door. ‘I’m not using your family.’
‘So you’re just following them on Instagram because their photos are interesting?
’ Mum’s been on there a total of three hours and posted about a hundred photos from the trip as well as several of her Clementine cushion in various locations throughout the house.
Aunt Carol’s page is almost identical, but she’s thrown in some snaps of a rash on her arm and is asking for someone to diagnose it.
There’s no way Adam is following them for that content.
‘Or,’ I say, ‘now that you don’t have access to your lab rats twenty-four seven, you’ve taken up stalking them online. ’
He has the audacity to look insulted. ‘That’s not fair,’ he says.
I try to step around him.
He mirrors my movements, keeping the door to my apartment out of reach. His intoxicating scent floats around me like a fever dream.
‘Tell me how to fix this,’ he says, his voice low and soft like he’s talking to a wounded bird.
Travel back in time and answer truthfully when I ask what you’re scribbling down in your notebook. Go back and take away all the pretty words you used on me to make me fall under your spell. Hit that backspace key on every moment we shared.
‘I’ll do anything, Sabrina.’ His pinkie hooks around mine, tugging it gently, testing my resolve.
I squeeze my eyes shut, and shake my head, my breaths quickening as he inches towards me. He’s so close I can smell the coffee on his breath.
‘Please,’ he whispers.
I don’t dare open my eyes. Don’t dare to move. His chest is firm against mine, his hand finding my waist.
His lips find mine. A featherlight brush. Tentative. Questioning.
My body pulses, betraying the cage I’d built around my heart.
I stagger back, dragging him with me until I’m leaning against the wall.
His arms encircle my waist, pulling me into him as his tongue slides against mine in a hungry kiss.
Tugging on his hair, I gasp into his mouth as he presses into me.
My bag drops to the floor, my keys follow.
My heart thuds against his. His hands glide down, smooth and tender as they slide under my T-shirt, his fingertips trailing over my skin.
I cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping me afloat.
His lips move to my neck, and my head tilts back to the wall.
Then my mouth is back on his and my fingers are digging into his shoulders, wanting more.
A cough sounds from somewhere in the hallway. Then a giggle.
Adam pulls away. It’s enough for that weakened resolve of mine to restore itself. The doors to the cage around my heart slam shut as I remember why I’m avoiding him and why it hurts to look at him. His betrayal can’t be undone by a kiss. I press my lips together trying to forget the taste of him.
Adam blinks down at me, sliding his hands from my goose-bump-riddled skin. He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. ‘Interruptions seem to follow us around,’ he says, his lips moving towards mine again.
If he kisses me, I’ll surrender. If he kisses me, I’ll forget. I draw in a breath. Brent used to silence my doubts with his kisses. I won’t let that happen again.
I push him back and scoop up my discarded bag and keys. ‘Congratulations,’ I say, voice thick with bitterness. ‘You just got yourself another scene for your book.’
‘That’s not—’
I burst into my apartment and slam the door before he can try to find his way back into my arms with his words. And those damn lips of his.