3. Elijah
CHAPTER 3
Elijah
T he tinkling of the bell above B&J Bistro’s door barely registered as I stepped inside, my senses immediately assaulted by the comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm cinnamon rolls. I inhaled deeply, savoring the familiar scent that always reminded me of lazy Saturday mornings at home. I’d never admit it–even under the most extreme torture–but Norm’s cinnamon rolls were even better than my mom’s.
My eyes swept the room, taking in the usual suspects: Mr. Jenkins nursing his third cup of joe, the high school gossip squad huddled in a corner booth, and—
A dizzy swoop rolled through my middle. Carla.
She was tucked away at a corner table, her dark hair catching the morning sunlight streaming through the window. I froze, one foot still halfway to the next step, as if I’d stumbled into an invisible wall.
I could play it cool. I was a firefighter, for crying out loud. I had faced down raging infernos. This was just... Carla.
But even as I thought it, I knew it wasn’t true. Carla Putnam had never been “just” anything.
I shifted my weight, suddenly hyper-aware of my uniform. Was my hair sticking up? Did I remember to shave this morning?
I had to get a grip. I wasn’t in high school anymore.
My eyes darted to the safety of the counter, where Taylor, the ever-cheerful waitress, was already reaching for my usual order. It would be so easy to retreat, to grab my coffee and bolt. But something kept my feet rooted to the spot, my gaze inexorably drawn back to Carla.
She hadn’t noticed me yet, her attention focused on grading papers spread across the table. Even from here, I could see the little furrow between her brows that always appeared when she was concentrating.
I could go say hi. What was the worst that could happen?
Images of our last disastrous encounter flashed through my mind, followed swiftly by the memory of my father’s disapproving scowl.
Right. That’s what could happen. This was Minden, and if anyone saw us talking, word would get back to my dad. For all its small-town charm, this place was brutal if you wanted to keep anything on the down-low. Scratch that. There was no such thing as down-low in Minden. Only the… up-high. Was that a thing?
I took a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. I was Eli Wells, for crying out loud. I ran into burning buildings for a living. I’d proven that I could get a date with any girl in town in five minutes flat. Surely, I could handle a simple “good morning” to the girl who’d stolen my heart in study hall all those years ago.
Couldn’t I?
Let the town biddies say what they wanted. There was nothing wrong with a conversation, whatever my dad thought.
I plastered on my most charming grin and sauntered over to Carla’s table. “Well, if it isn’t Minden’s favorite teacher,” I drawled, leaning casually against the chair opposite her. “Fancy meeting you here.”
Carla’s head snapped up, her eyes widening in surprise. For a split second, I caught a glimpse of something soft in her expression before her walls slammed back into place. “Eli,” she said, her smile guarded. “I didn’t realize the fire station was giving its employees such long coffee breaks these days.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could get a word out, Taylor appeared at my elbow, coffee in hand. “Here’s your usual,” she said with a wink, sliding the cup onto the table. “Black coffee.” As she turned away, I caught sight of a string of digits scrawled on the side.
Mentally, I groaned.
I watched as Carla’s gaze flickered to the cup, her eyebrows lifting slightly. The warmth in her eyes cooled, and she turned back to her papers. “Don’t let me keep you from your... admirers,” she said, her tone clipped.
Frustration bubbled up inside me. Of course, Taylor would choose today of all days to make a move. Despite the fact that I had already told her I wasn’t interested. I considered explaining, but the words died in my throat. What did I care what Carla thought about my love life?
Sure, I would keep telling myself I didn’t care.
Instead, I pulled out the chair across from her and sat down, ignoring her startled look. “Actually,” I said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin, “I was hoping you might save me from the hordes of adoring fans. It’s exhausting being this irresistible, you know.”
She scoffed, apparently not finding me half as amusing as I did myself. I leaned back in my chair, trying to exude confidence, but my fingers tapped an anxious rhythm on the table. Carla’s eyes darted between me and her coffee cup, which she twisted nervously in her hands.
“So,” I said, desperate to break the tension, “I see you’re still addicted to those cavity-inducing monstrosities.” I nodded toward the half-eaten cinnamon roll on her plate.
Carla’s lips twitched, fighting a smile. “That cinnamon roll is a Chef Norm special. Worth all the calories and then some. And don’t act like you don’t want one. It wouldn’t kill you to indulge a little now and then, Mr. Black Coffee.”
“About that...” Smirking, I leaned in, lowering my voice. “Can you keep a secret?”
She raised an eyebrow, curiosity replacing some of the guardedness in her expression. “I’m listening.”
“This”—I tapped my cup—“is actually a pumpkin spice latte. Extra whipped cream.”
Carla’s eyes widened, and then she burst out laughing. The sound sent a warmth spreading through my chest that had nothing to do with caffeine.
“Are you telling me you have the waitress label your girly drinks as black coffee?”
I grinned, sheepish. “The guys at the station can be pretty merciless. A man’s got to protect his reputation.”
“Your reputation as what? A teenage girl?” She was still chuckling, shaking her head.
“Hey, I’ll have you know this takes serious dedication. I have to remember which cup is which when I order for the whole crew.”
As we bantered, I felt some of the awkwardness melting away. But beneath it all, a part of me couldn’t help wondering what might have been if things had gone differently all those years ago.
I leaned back in my chair, relishing the easy rhythm we’d fallen into. It was time to steer the conversation somewhere safer, though. “So, speaking of the guys at the station,” I said, drumming my fingers on the table, “Nathan and Rebecca left for their trip. Two whole weeks in the Bahamas.”
Carla’s eyes lit up. “Oh, I know. I actually helped Becca pack earlier this week. I’m so happy for them.”
“Yeah, well, someone’s gotta hold down the fort.” I chuckled. “My parents are watching the boys.”
Her eyebrow shot up, a mischievous glint in her eye. “I hope your parents have plenty of coffee. Those three terrors? Oh boy.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I know, right? Dad’s already talking about reinforcing the backyard fence.”
“Smart man.” Carla grinned. “I’ve seen those boys in action. They’re like tiny tornadoes.”
As she spoke, she absently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. The gesture was so familiar, so quintessentially Carla, that it sent a pang through my chest. I was so cooked. One conversation with her and I was a love-sick puppy, desperate for scraps of attention.
“I give it three days before Mom’s calling for backup,” I said, trying to focus on the conversation and not the way Carla’s eyes crinkled when she smiled.
She leaned forward, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “Want to start a betting pool? My money’s on day two.”
I snorted. “You’re on. Loser buys coffee next time?”
The words were out before I could stop them. Next time. As if this wasn’t a chance encounter, as if we did this regularly.
Carla’s laughter faltered for just a moment, and I saw a flicker of something in her eyes. Uncertainty? Longing? Before I could decipher it, she recovered, her smile back in place.
“Deal,” she said, and I tried to ignore the way my heart skipped at the prospect of seeing her again.
Carla took a sip of her coffee, her eyes meeting mine over the rim of her mug. “So, what about you? Any big plans for Thanksgiving?”
I leaned back in my chair, trying to maintain my casual demeanor. “Oh, you know, the usual Wells family extravaganza. Turkey, stuffing, and a healthy dose of awkward silence.”
She tilted her head, curiosity sparking in her eyes. “Awkward silence? That doesn’t sound like you.”
I chuckled, but it felt hollow even to my own ears. “Yeah, well. It’ll be different this year without Nathan and Rebecca there to run interference.”
“Between you and your dad?” Carla asked softly.
I nodded, suddenly finding it hard to meet her gaze. I didn’t want her to see how much the thought of my dad affected me. “Let’s just say I’m not exactly looking forward to being the sole focus of Dad’s... attention.”
The words hung in the air between us, heavier than I’d intended. I hadn’t meant to let that slip, but something about Carla had always made it easy to be honest.
“Eli,” she said, her voice gentle, “is everything okay?”
I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to brush it off with a joke. “It’s just... you know how it is. Dad’s always had these expectations, and I’ve never quite...” I trailed off, gesturing vaguely. My heart was tight in my chest at my admission. I never talked about this to anyone, so why was I spilling it now? This was far from the charming flirt I was trying to be.
Carla reached out, her hand hovering over mine for a moment before she seemed to think better of it. “You don’t have to be Nathan, you know.”
“Tell that to Dad,” I muttered, then immediately regretted it. “Sorry, I shouldn’t dump all this on you. It’s not your problem.”
But as I looked at Carla, I saw no judgment in her eyes, only understanding. I cleared my throat, desperate to lighten the mood. “Hey, speaking of Nathan, did I ever tell you about the time we decided to become circus performers?”
Carla’s eyebrows shot up, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t believe you have. Do tell.”
“We were, what, eight and ten? Nathan got it in his head that we could join the circus if we mastered some death-defying stunt.” I leaned back in my chair, grinning at the memory. “So, naturally, we decided to practice tightrope walking.”
“Oh no.” Carla giggled, her eyes already sparkling with amusement.
“Oh yes. We strung up Mom’s clothesline between two trees in the backyard. I went first, of course. Managed about three wobbly steps before I face-planted into Dad’s prized rosebushes.”
Carla burst out laughing, the sound warming something inside me I thought had long since gone cold. “Let me guess, Nathan chickened out?”
“Worse. Always the hero, he tried to ‘save’ me by jumping onto the line. We both ended up covered in thorns and Mom’s unmentionables.”
She was full-on belly laughing now, drawing curious glances from nearby tables. I found myself chuckling along, caught up in her infectious laughter.
“Your poor mother,” Carla managed between giggles.
“Poor Dad’s roses, more like. He was livid–at me, mostly.” I shook my head, still smiling. “But Mom, bless her, she just patched us up and told us to try juggling next time. Less prickly landing.”
As our laughter faded, a comfortable silence settled between us. It was far from the awkwardness of earlier, and I found myself reluctant to break it. Carla seemed to feel the same, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her now-empty coffee cup.
I watched her, allowing myself a moment to really look at her. The way the morning sun caught the highlights in her hair, the slight crinkle at the corner of her eyes from laughing. It hit me then how much I’d missed out on over the years. If we could have—
I couldn’t go there. But I couldn’t help wondering if she felt it too – this unexpected peace in each other’s company.
“Elijah Wells, is that you?”
My stomach dropped as I turned to see Gladys Pinkman standing off to the side, scowling. I watched as her eyes darted between Carla and myself. “Good morning, Gladys,” I said, without a hint of my usual warmth.
Her eyes widened as she gestured to the pair of us. “What do you think you’re doing… with her,” she hissed. “Your father would–“
Carla shrank back into her chair.
“My father,” I ground out the words between clenched teeth, “would know that there is no harm in talking to an old friend.”
Gladys gathered her shawl around her, scoffing her disbelief. “Well, we’ll just see about that, won’t we?” She stormed away.
I turned back to Carla, flashing an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about that.”
She sighed, twisting a strand of hair between her fingers. “It’s fine. We should know better, right?” The short, cynical laugh sounded all wrong. She was hurt, and I wished I could make it better.
“I better head to the station,” I said, reluctantly pushing my chair back. “Chief’ll have my hide if I’m late again.”
Carla looked up, a flicker of something—disappointment?—crossing her face before she masked it with a smile. “Can’t keep Minden’s finest from their duty, can we?”
I stood, draining the last of my definitely-not-pumpkin-spice latte. “Someone’s gotta keep this town from burning down. Lord knows it’s not gonna be my dad’s attempt at deep-frying a turkey.”
She snorted, shaking her head. “I’d pay good money to see that disaster.”
“Tell you what,” I said, surprising myself with my next words, “how about I keep you posted on all the Wells family holiday shenanigans? You know, for old times’ sake.”
Carla’s eyebrows shot up and she glanced toward Gladys’s retreating frame. “Maybe that’s not such a good idea.”
“Oh.” I shook myself out of the obvious daze I was in. “Yeah.” She was right, of course. We were a bad idea. But every time I was with her, I couldn’t seem to care.
I headed for the door, tossing a wave over my shoulder. “See you around, Putters.”
She nodded sadly. “See ya.”
As I stepped out into the crisp autumn air, the jingle of the cafe’s bell seemed to echo the weird flutter in my chest. The encounter with Carla kept replaying in my mind—her laugh, the way she’d looked at me when I admitted my frou-frou coffee habit. And the way she’d retreated when confronted by Gladys.
This stupid feud would never stop haunting me, would it?