Page 48 of Library or Lattes?

Then the bell over the door rang and a little boy came in. He was seven, maybe, and Sara was right behind him.

The little boy was at the counter in front of me, practically drooling over the rainbow cookies.

“Hey, great stall last night!” said Sara. “Can we get two of the cookies, please?” She looked at me and smiled.

“Oh, hey, Sara, of course.” I gave her my friendliest grin and put four cookies in a bag for her. “Two extra for Lennie’s girlfriend.”

Sara’s eyes widened in horror as I handed her the bag. The little boy looked up at her in confusion.

“You’re a girlfriend?” His face was all scrunched up.

Sara grabbed the bag, abandoned some cash on the counter, and left in a rush as the little boy ran out after her.

Crap. Crap. Crap!

“You need to pay for those extra cookies,” a voice behind me said.

“Obviously!” I said, chucking a couple of dollars from my pocket in the direction of the register without turning around. I grabbed the dish towel and squeezed it hard, wondering why everything and everyone were just so damn difficult right now.

I made a cinnamon latte and took my break early. Then wished I hadn’t, because my phone was blowing up.

Lennie: What the hell Willa? You told Sara’s brother we were going out?

Lennie: I actually can’t with this. How dare you?

Lennie: Her parents are super trad. You knew this! In fact I know I told you this the other day

Lennie: I really thought you were better than this

I felt sick. Like I was about to throw up right on the street outside the coffee shop. I pressed the Call button, desperately trying to hold back tears. I didn’t mean to. I just thought … I guess I didn’t think at all. No answer. So I phoned again, and again. But nothing.

Lennie: Stop calling me

I could barely breathe. What had I done? And now Lennie wasn’t talking to me. Tears pricked my eyes, but I forced them back. I heard the door open behind me, but I didn’t turn around.

“Maybe you could come back to work if it’s not too much trouble?” I wanted to turn and throw my phone at James. It was like he’d had some weird memory blank. That we hadn’t been kissing in the coffee shop, or flirting with each other or almost-kissing at Harvest Festival. He was back to being the James from his first day in town, and I just couldn’t keep up.

I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes and dreaming of somewhere else. Anywhere else. Rome. I’d think about Rome, like Carter had mentioned last night. Carter, who’d been nothing but nice.

I worked the rest of my shift in silence. I even did extra cleaning just to keep busy, to avoid thinking about the whole mess I’d just made.

I rushed out as soon as the last customer left, jogging home to get there faster. Pop and I could talk about the letter and everything at last.

Pop was home, for once. The fire was on and he was … cooking?

He was standing in the kitchen, wearing the apron I used for baking, holding a spatula as pans of something hissed on the stove.

My confusion was obvious. Pop didn’t cook. That was why we had so many takeout flyers, and why Mr. Kim knew our orders by heart.

“Pork chops,” Pop said, smiling proudly as oil splattered from a pan onto his bare forearm. “Ouch. I still have some things to learn.”

“Where did you learn at all? And why?” I went over to see what he was making, and it actually looked pretty good.

“Jo showed me. Although it seemed much simpler when she was doing it. I showed her how to unblock a sink, and she showed me how to make pork chops. Seems like a fair deal, don’t you think?” Pop looked at me for approval I just didn’t have.

“Pop, people can’t pay you with cooking lessons. We need money.” I sighed.

Pop plated up the food and looked at me. “Willa, I know we have lots to talk about, but there’s something I want to talk to you about too. I thought doing it over dinner would be nice?” He carried the plates to the table and I followed him, sitting down with a new feeling of dread.