Just leave now, Brienne. Back away.
Lyle dipped his head to catch my eye, his expression playful and determined.
“I didn’t get your name?” he said. My breath caught in my throat.
“Drinks, miss?” the bartender said, sliding them toward me as the music began to swell again.
Lyle’s eyes darted to the drinks and then back to Owen, who dropped a fifty dollar bill behind them.
“Oh thank you, you don’t have to do that,” I gushed.
“Are you here with someone?” Lyle asked, subtly pivoting to stay attached to my front plane. I desperately wanted him to look away or back away or something just… away. It was like I couldn’t get a full breath as long as he was standing there.
“Are you?” Owen asked suddenly. I looked up at him in surprise. Meeting his eyes this close was intense. Usually we had a counter full of baked goods between us. Now, he felt substantially more real.
“Well yes, I mean Melita… You know her. We’re together. I mean not together. But yes. We are here.”
Oh. My. God. I am an idiot.
“Oh, OK,” Owen said agreeably, his body shifting just slightly backward.
“Well why don’t you have a drink with us,” Lyle said, shifting slightly forward. It seemed like Lyle wasn’t as willing to back off as easily as Owen was. He smiled with one half of his mouth, exposing a row of perfect teeth and a cheek dimple that matched Owen’s.
Really? This is too much.
“You know what… Actually I should get Melita her drink,” I stammered, hoping I sounded casual and firm. “But thank you, really. For the offer I mean.”
“Anytime,” Owen nodded. Was that a sigh? It sounded like a sigh.
“Yeah,” Lyle nodded with an impish grin, “maybe I’ll have to start coming to the coffee shop too. Check it out.”
“It was nice to meet you, Lyle,” I mumbled and turned away, holding the drinks carefully in front of me.
Concentrating on not stumbling as I picked my way back to the table, I didn’t even notice Melita until I was almost on top of her. Her eyes were as wide open as they could go, the dark black irises ringed with white. Her mouth hung open and tiny drops of sweat beaded her upper lip.
“What? What is it - are you OK?” I asked urgently, checking her up and down for injuries. “Did the line dancers get you too?”
“Hoh. Lee. Shit.”
“What? Melita are you OK?”
“HOH. LEE. SHIT.” she said again.
I collapsed onto the barstool, my heart pounding in my head.
“Oh, OK, you’re hilarious, Mel.”
“I bow to you. You are my new hero.”
I slid her drink across the table and rolled my eyes. She grabbed it like she’d been waiting for weeks and sucked eagerly at the straw.
With my eyes down, I sipped at my drink as slowly as I could. My skin was all on fire, pulsing, sending out some kind of beacon. Were they still looking at me? I hoped so. I imagined I could feel their eyes on the back of my neck as I sat there nursing my drink, waiting for my heart to stop trying to leap from my chest.
“What was that like?”
I shook my head.
“Brienne, seriously! What was that like? You just got double-teamed in a public place, girl. I am… Wow. Mad respect. That’s all I can say. Mad. Respect.”
She shook her head and looked at the ceiling, palms out as though helpless in the face of this information.
For good measure, I looked up too but there was nothing there. My throat was as dry as toast and my heartbeat clanged hard in my ears.
Right? That was crazy?
CHAPTER 3
I smiled tightly and said, “Hi, can I help you?” just as brightly as I could.
The lady with the expensive dye job pursed her lips at the menu.
Come on, lady, I thought. Coffee menus are the same everywhere.
“Ummmmmmmm,” she drawled as the steam wand roared into the steel carafe of milk to my right. Melita winced at the sound, backing away from it like that was going to help her hangover.
“I think…” the woman said vaguely. “You know, I’ll just have the-- No. Yes. I’ll just have the Cup of the Day.”
“Great!” I beamed enthusiastically. “Can I make that a large for you?”
“Oh! Ahhhhhhhhmmmmmmmm,” the lady wrinkled her nose and stared at the menu again.
Lady. It’s coffee. Get a grip, I scolded her silently.
“Yeah, OK, a large is good,” she agreed, nodding. “With room for cream!” she added.
“Can I get you a scone with that? Today is caramel apple,” I added innocently.
Three people behind the overly made-up professional whatever-she-was groaned impatiently. Melita ducked her head behind the espresso bar and pantomimed horror and awe at me. I smiled sweetly. She had earned her hangover, and I wanted to help her enjoy every blessed minute.