Page 89 of Hidden & Held

The café is warm and smells like espresso. Nessa sidles up to the front to place her order. “Can I please have a cortado with the energy of a full moon,” she deadpans.

The barista’s expression of “I don’t get paid enough for this” is all the answer she gets.

“What does that mean?” I burst out in a laugh, hoping to help the guy out.

She turns her head and raises her eyebrows at me, as if it was obvious. “More foam.”

We move to the window to get the front-door seat Nessa was hoping for. The café door’s bell chimes, and Nessa straightens slightly in her chair as the new customer moves toward our table.

The woman settling into the empty chair beside me is exactly as I remember her from the hallway outside Rhodes’s office. Dark hair threaded with silver. The same brown eyes as my tenant. There is a small paint spot on her left wrist that she either hasn’t noticed or is accustomed to.

She looks at me, recognition filling her expression faster than I would have expected for someone who only met me in passing months ago.

“Phoenix,” she greets with a smile, as if she has been waiting for this moment.

“Mrs. Mercer,” I respond, surprised she could recall my name so quickly.

“Oh, please, call me Linda. Mrs. Mercer is my mother-in-law, and let’s just say that woman has been an inspiration for more than one of my angry painting sessions.”

Nessa must sense a kindred spirit and decides to set aside the preamble. “So, you’re here for the Cassandra Cast-off?”

I almost choke on my drink at her curtness.

Linda smiles. “You must be Nessa, the Scorpio friend.” She looks between us. “Virgo and Scorpio friendship is deeply loyal, naturally balancing each other out.” She reaches toward us, squeezing our hands slightly, shocking me, but Nessa seems unphased. “And yes, I’ve been waiting for this departure for far too long.”

“Ah, a fellow astrology believer.” Nessa squares her shoulders, her face turning stern in what I imagine she brings out as a substitute teacher. “For someone as smart as you clearly are, my fellow Scorpio, how could you raise someone to be as guarded as Jackson?”

“Nessa!” I splutter out, leaning forward to get Linda’s attention. “I’m sorry. Please do not answer that.”

“It’s quite alright, dear. Virgos and Scorpios don’t like surface-level chit-chat anyway.”

It’s true. Tell me I have to speak in front of an entire courtroom for a thirty-minute closing statement? No problem. Ask me to make small talk? No words.

“Jackson is … well, he is a Taurus.”

“Ah.” Nessa nods as if that explains everything. Fortunately, Linda turns to me, giving me the full explanation.

“My dear earth sign is stable. Solid. He doesn’t tend to rock the boat often, moving with the flow until something must be changed. And boy, when something changes his direction, there is no stopping him.” Linda looks pointedly at me.

I shift in my seat, uncomfortable at the direction of the conversation, when I am saved by a ruckus across the street.

“Hey, watch it! I don’t need to be escorted out of the building like a common criminal.”

Cassandra trips over her tall heels, carrying two white boxes with lids as she walks into the street. She’s being escorted out by two security personnel who do not work for the firm. Someone must have hired them for this reason specifically, which brings a smile to my face.

“Oooh, the show is here!” Nessa chimes in, leaning closer to the window.

Cassandra yanks her arm free of the burly security guard escorting her. Beside me, Linda let’s out a giggle.

“Jackson called his brother, James, who runs a security company. He asked for a few guys here in case there was any trouble. I may have told them that her name was Ass-Sandra, a European pronunciation.” Linda can’t hide the glint in her eye as we overhear a shout.

“And for the last time, it’s CA-ssandra, not ASS!”

Nessa guffaws, banging against the cast iron table and causing a loud noise that has Cassandra turning her body toward the coffee shop.

Her eyes spot me, and I can see the hate from across the street. Instead of further making a scene, she marches on, head held high, struggling for nonchalance.

“Why does she hate me so much?” I mutter more to myself than anyone else.