“Hey,” Nora called as she tucked her wallet into a desk nook in the back room. The wide swinging door between the office/kitchen combo and the coffee shop was propped open with a five-gallon bucket half-filled with used grounds, and she saw Ethan nod a hello. She forced herself to say: “Thanks for covering for me this morning. Everything go okay?”
Ethan pointed to a cup of steaming coffee that he had set on the front counter. He must have made it when he saw her car drive into the lot. Nora knew it was an Italian-style cappuccino, no flavoring, with a thick layer of foam and a light dusting of cinnamon, just the way she liked it. “It’s going to be a good day for a coffee,” he said. No mention of the fact that he had single-handedly kept the store running since six. He wasn’t the type to keep score. “You look fantastic, by the way.”
Nora glanced down and realized that she was still wearing the pencil skirt and heels, the shiny blouse. It was all completely inappropriate for a coffeehouse. And ridiculously un-her. She had a change of clothes in the back seat of her car, but when Tiffany disappeared she had forgotten all about the blue jeans and vintage Guns N’ Roses concert tee. The worn, comfy tennis shoes.
“I had a meeting this morning,” she managed, her voice only a little unsteady. Ethan would never know her heart was beating double time. Would he? “It’s why I was late.”
“Nothing serious, I hope?” Ethan looked genuinely concerned, but Nora shook her head to stop that line of questioning immediately. “Thanks for the coffee,” she said, changing the subject.
Because it was exactly what she was supposed to do, Nora grabbed a clean apron off the hook and knotted it at her waist. Then she set to work. She took a tray of stuffed croissants out of the refrigerator and turned the oven to 350 degrees. The box of yesterday’s muffins was waiting on the kitchen counter, and she hauled it to the front to arrange day-olds in the basket by the till. The stay-at-home-mom crowd was crazy for cheap muffins. Nora priced them at a dollar and a half and watched them disappear.
Ethan’s gaze was a tangible thing, and Nora felt a prick of anxiety. She had forgotten something, but what? The oven was on, she was wearing her apron, the muffins were in her arms . . . The coffee. Setting the box of muffins on the counter, she reached for the cup he had poured her and took the first scalding sip. It was perfect. “Thank you,” she said, but it came out in a whisper.
“No problem.” Ethan shrugged. “Everything okay?” He was focusing on positioning the chairs just right, making sure that the corners were squared and neat, the tiny space arranged to maximize movement, though the cafe would be crooked and cluttered soon enough.
No, everything was not okay. Nora’s ankle rolled yet again as she stretched to arrange the muffins, and she puffed a hard breath between her lips. Stepping out of her heels, she felt the bite of the cold, polished concrete floor of the coffee shop. The decor was all restoration hardware: thick barn-wood beams, chunky iron, chipped paint. It had once seemed too trendy to her, too hipster, but Nora was suddenly grateful for the cool, smooth cement beneath her toes and the rugged wood where her fingers found purchase.
“I’m fine,” Nora said, forcing a smile. “Those heels were killing me.”
Ethan gave her a sideways glance that was equal parts watchful and teasing. “You took them off? It might be against code to work barefoot.”
“Too bad.”
Ethan was a good guy; a friend, in fact. They had once tried to be more than that, but it hadn’t worked out very well. Nora was over it; she suspected Ethan not so much. But he was trustworthy. Earnest and wholesome in a boy-next-door sort of way. Brown hair, blue eyes, and an aw-shucks, all-American demeanor. A little plain, but that only added to his charm. She wanted to trust him.
But she couldn’t trust anybody. Not anymore.
Nora put the last muffin, banana nut, on top of the artfully displayed stack and disappeared into the kitchen. She was sliding the tray of croissants into the oven when Ethan came to lean against the doorframe and regard her with his mouth quirked in a half smile. He was forever smiling, always happy. A terrible fit for Nora in every possible way. What had she ever seen in him?
“You forgot these.” Ethan had her shoes hooked over his fingers.
“Sorry.” Nora stretched out her arms and gathered up the nude stilettos. She dumped them onto the desk unceremoniously.
“I won’t make you wear them,” Ethan said. “Stay behind the counter. Your secret is safe with me.”
If only.
Nora pushed down a ghosting cloud of fear, but she couldn’t stifle the shiver that made her shoulders tremble for just a moment.
“Are you sick?” Ethan took a step toward her, reaching out as if he would put his hands on her arms. He stopped himself.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look well.”
“Just tired.” Nora tried to give him a convincing nod, a confident, reassuring smile that communicated that her late arrival and uncharacteristic preoccupation were nothing more than a little sleep deprivation. And a mysterious appointment. Nora realized with a jolt that Ethan thought something was really wrong with her. For all he knew, she had just come from an oncologist. “I’m fine,” she added. “Really. Nothing to worry about.”
Whether Ethan believed her was irrelevant. The front door chimed just then, summoning him to the counter.
“Go flirt,” Nora blurted, trying to regain some of the lightness that marked their relationship. Trying to be normal. The young moms couldn’t help but crush on Ethan, and when they lingered in the coffee shop they tended to keep making purchases. First a coffee and muffin, then a strawberry-banana smoothie to appease a little one. Next a pound of whole beans or a box of the pretty tea sachets in flavors like Moonlit Path and Birdsong at Dawn. Nora knew it was because they liked the excuse to talk to Ethan, not because they were so enamored with the coffee.
He saluted her and left through the swinging door, edging the bucket out of the way so that the kitchen was no longer visible from the shop. Nora wasn’t sure if he was giving her a little privacy or making it easier for himself—not too long ago, a petal-cheeked college student had slipped him her number. It didn’t bother Nora, but Ethan was clearly, inexplicably embarrassed. Because he was in his early thirties and a good decade older than the coquettish coed? Or because he was still hoping things would work out with Nora?
Either way, Nora didn’t care. She released a shuddering breath, weak with gratitude that she had been granted a moment alone. She couldn’t do this. She was a terrible actress.