Chapter Two
Saturday
“Vanilla latte, double sweet, for Randy!”
Vanilla lattes were essentially the blank slate of espresso drinks, basic but classic, but I wouldn’t have pegged the slab of beef approaching the counter as someone who ordered something so sugary. Given the girth of his biceps, he might’ve just been comfortable in his masculinity.
“There you go,” I said, with my standard barista wink.
“Thanks, uh…” He glanced at my name tag. “…Terra. That’s a unique name.”
“It’s a bit different, yeah.”
He lingered. He certainly had the aura—and looks—of a man who was used to collecting phone numbers on coffee cups.
Even if I’d thought it would get him moving, Barbs was behind me with the espresso machine and a line of drink orders, and she was a stickler on anything resembling fraternizing.
But Liam had called in sick, and Barbs wasn’t a sadist who called off-duty employees at 5 AM on a Saturday asking them to work.
“Next,” I said, and that finally ushered him along.
Of course, Alex stood in the doorway. Even on a Saturday, though she wasn’t dressed to immediately go at it with a punching bag, or whatever it was she did to get those damn biceps.
Unfortunately, she instead wore a fitted button-down that somehow didn’t look like a frumpy barista uniform, as well as annoyingly tight slacks.
Liam wasn’t even here to make it funny. “Good morning,” I sound, doing my damndest to sound like the irritating animatronic I was paid to be. “Welcome to Tortalgan Coffee Co.”
Alex’s stupid fuckboy grin was all my brain could even compute. “Hey, Princess.”
Forget her grin. What I was never prepared for were her pretty blue eyes—
“What did you call my employee?”
I stiffened as Barbs suddenly joined me at the counter, her unmistakable voice that of a smoker past her prime. She never smelled of smoke though, more like incense, but in her coke-bottle glasses, Alex’s reflection was one of mild panic.
“Oh, uh...” Alex dithered, her fluster almost endearing. Almost. “It’s just a game between us.”
Game. Sure. Liam had called it sexual harassment. I called it assholery.
“Terra, do you know this woman?”
The shift in power was delicious. I put on my own best fuckboy grin. “She’s a regular.”
“Are you bothered?”
One word, and Alex would never enter this establishment again. I kinda wanted to, if only to keep seeing her pretty eyes looking a little scared and sad. But….
Dammit.
“No,” I replied, and I wished it were a lie, truly. “Like she said, it’s a game.”
Palpable relief shone in Alex’s countenance. Beside me, Barbs looked less than convinced. “Fine. My apologies. Whatever your regular wants is free today.”
She returned to her station beside the espresso machine.
Feeling high and mighty, I leaned coolly against the counter. “Guess it’s on the house. The usual?”
“Sure.” A pause; before I could yell back the heinous order, Alex said, “Look, if it bothers you that I called you Princess—”
“No. No, it’s fine.” What spell was compelling me to be nice? “My manager is protective, that’s all.” I turned back to Barbs. “One triple shot black coffee.”
I lingered just long enough to witness Barbs stiffen in disbelief.
“It’s just…” Alex chuckled, oddly out of form. “It’s stupid, but when I first met you, I thought you looked like Princess Aurora. And then you dyed part of your hair blue, and now it’s pink. It just fit.”
My blonde hair did, in fact, ombre down to pink at the ends, the result of a cheap box dye and a helluva lot of commitment. I bit my lip.
“Anyway,” she continued, “that movie was my favorite as a kid. I always wanted to be Prince Phillip—to, you know, fight a dragon and stuff.”
Dammit. Why was I smiling? “And kiss me while I’m fast asleep?”
“T-That’s not what I was trying to say,” Alex managed, and I couldn’t help but laugh at her stammering. “That’s just why I call you Princess.”
Feeling cheeky, I covered my name tag with my hand. “What’s my name, Alex?”
“Your name is Terra.”
I couldn’t smile anymore. She’d said it so genuinely.
The order was up, and when Barbs handed the steaming cup to me, I offered it to Alex, noting how she very deliberately didn’t brush my fingers with her own.
I’d never bothered to notice the complexity of her tattoos before, but with her biceps—tragically—covered, I managed to catch a proper glimpse of the neo-traditional nude mermaid on her forearm, surrounded by some sort of geometric pattern—
And the horrific, scarred gash running from her wrist to the crease of her elbow. “Enjoy your Saturday,” I said, forcing eye contact instead.
Big mistake. She looked so god-awful sincere. “You too, Terra.”
Maybe it was good that Liam hadn’t come in today. He’d never shut the hell up over that.
She left, but I couldn’t even think about her bubble butt in those black jeans. That scar…. It was like looking under a supervillain’s mask. Like it was forbidden. Some secret the world had never been meant to know.
“Terra, do you want to take your break?”
The lull before the storm was a good time, or perhaps Barbs noticed I was miles away. I nodded and disappeared into the backroom, grateful for the hum of old fluorescent lighting and the rattling AC to block out my thoughts.
I didn’t know much about Alexandria Winthrop, only that she’d started coming in almost daily over a year ago, dressed to work out on weekdays. I'd hated her from the start.
Liking her was much too dangerous.
I pulled my phone out of my apron pocket—missed call from mom, unread message from Liam, unread message from Cliff—
Free tonight? There’s a party at Jamison’s place. Lots of booze and a basement we can sneak off to ??
My stomach dropped. Technically yeah, but tomorrow was Sunday rush day, and sleeping for twelve hours beforehand at minimum was high on my to-do list. I typed up a few words: I dunno. I’m pretty tired.
My hands felt cold. What if he was mad? Cliff gave me hives. Dammit, dammit….
I erased the reply. I’d figure it out later.
Liam had shared a meme from his apparent deathbed. I knew he was with his husband sleeping off some punk concert from last night, but Barbs didn’t.
Thinking of you today , Mom’s text said. I stared a moment, wracking my brain through the fog of perpetual exhaustion and too much caffeine, then glanced at the calendar on the wall and remembered.
Five years. How was that possible?
My stomach hurt as I pulled Instagram up on my phone and stupidly typed in the name Eloise Vanderborne.
She smiled alone on her memorial page photo, and scrolling through her photos meant reminding myself that I’d been utterly erased by her family. There was nothing here, just a blank template of a perfect daughter, tragically taken before her time.
I hadn’t gone to the funeral. I’d still been in the hospital.
“I miss you, El,” I whispered, but I shoved the rest away and swallowed my tears. I couldn’t cry at work; I’d never stop.
I love you, Momma, I replied, then was forced to stare at the message I’d left on read.
Cliff would see it. He’d know I’d blown him off. Dammit all. Instead, I wrote and sent: I’ll think about it. ??
Before I could even set her phone aside, it buzzed again. Could I get a sneak peek?
I glanced at the door, not realizing I was shaking until I stumbled through undoing my top buttons and turned on my camera. It was good to be wanted though, right?
I’d forgotten to move my laundry, so it was a dirty sports bra day. Whatever. I pulled it down, snapped a selfie, and hit send.
Tonight wasn’t the night to be alone, anyway.
After El’s death, Mom had moved heaven and earth to get me into therapy with her shitty insurance.
The therapist had warned me against ‘self-destructive behaviors’ or some shit.
After Liam’s teasing, I’d looked up the word ‘fawning’, confused at first because I didn’t think I was doing any sort of flattery, only to stumble upon a psych article and realize maybe I didn’t want to know what it meant after all.
Liam didn’t understand. The therapist hadn’t either. They’d never watched a gun get pointed at their girlfriend’s head.
What if I had to self-destruct to protect myself?
What if I was too numb to care?
My phone buzzed. I left it alone.