Page 21 of Holding On

Chapter Five

Maya Hamilton

I sit at Weaver’s at a glossy picnic table over by the deli section, more afraid Travis is going to walk through those doors than not. I know he is, though, because Lindy said he’d called ahead just as she opened and asked her to percolate some really strong coffee.

She points at a small black carafe on another table.

“That’s for you.”

Lindy is a small woman with sun-bleached blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Every time I see her, she has a broom in her hand. Trying to keep a store neat and sand-free must be hard when it’s across the street from the ocean.

Devon warned me about her early morning coffee, and Luke said I could scoop it out with a spoon.

I lift a green-and-white ceramic mug off a hook on the wall near me. I pour, and I’ve never seen such black coffee. I glance up at Lindy.

“I make that for the firefighters, police, and postal guys. People are up at all hours of the night. I tell you, there’s no reason to have those energy drinks. You can get caffeine right there.”

She whisks past me, and I sit down. I’m so nervous. I think I really blew it last night. I reach up and select a mug for Travis. This one is bright blue, and as I sit down again, the bell tinkles and I know it’s him.

He’s wearing black jeans, a white V-neck T-shirt, and a light gray windbreaker, unzipped. I can see the muscles of his chest and stomach move under the material. Oh my God, I used to tuck this guy into bed.

Stop thinking like this, I tell myself. The warmth in my crotch is heavy and sudden, and I cross my legs.

I lift my mug as if to toast him. “This stuff is strong,” I whisper.

“Oh, I know,” he says. “You can’t drink more than two cups or you get the jitters.” He pours himself some, and I watch his hands. Strong. Even knuckled. Beautiful. Then he swings a leg around and sits across from me.

There’s a churning in my abdomen, and I cover my small gasp by taking a sip of bitter coffee.

Shit.

The picnic tables are bright yellow, polished with thick layers of polyurethane. “So what are you doing for Audrey Pratchett? You never really said last night.”

My heart thuds hard for a moment or two and then evens out. He can’t know.

“She must have given you some idea of what you’re going to be doing in the office.”

There’s no talk of last night, no opening discussion of how awful it was. It was as if it never happened. Travis takes another sip and looks at me thoughtfully. He’s fishing for something, and I’m immediately suspicious.

“Um, she does some family law.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll be taking affidavits, interviewing people over the phone, sending people to divorce court, having them take parenting classes—those kinds of thing.” I nod as I speak, as if I know exactly what I’m talking about and not making it up as I go along.

“Oh,” he says. “Okay, that sounds kind of depressing, but I’m sure you’ll do a great job.”

“But it turns out I can’t stay at The Inn.”

“What?”

“Right? I know. Unfair.”

He sets his coffee mug down. “Does this have anything to do with what happened last night? Listen, I’m sorry.”

It has everything to do with last night.But it’s not what you think.

“No. Of course not.” I take a sip and wince, then add more cream. Anything to buy some time. And then it just flies out of my mouth. “Um, it’s because of Colton Security.”