She took my challenge, still unwavering in the way she watched me, and said, “I like Weird and Wired’s coffee more than my own. Tell another soul that and I’ll kill you.”
I cracked up, laughing so loud that I noticed Kitty glance at me over her shoulder.
“Your turn,” Lana threw back at me, drawing my focus back to her. “Same question.”
I thought for about three seconds before blurting out the most inappropriate thing, “I haven’t been laid in two years and roughly a month.”
“Bullshit,” Lana deadpanned.
“Total truth. Scout’s honor.” I crossed an X over the left side of my chest. “My turn now.” This was actually kind of fun. “Biggest fear?”
She breathed out, leaning forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Damn. Um . . . Kitty was right. A hamburger does need a beer. Biggest fear, huh? I don’t know—burned alive. Eaten by sharks. My business failing. Never finding love. My hair straightener breaking. I think I could go on forever here. My turn to ask.”
I nodded, wishing I had picked a narrower question. But I did notice how she’d mentioned never finding love. It was a fear we shared, probably for different reasons, though.
“Why’d you drop out of law school?” Lana asked next.
The smile on my face faded. We’d been having so much fun and now I knew it was ruined. “Drugs, mostly—prescription drugs, my ADHD medication,” I answered honestly, but I didn’t stop there. I wanted to find out just how much honesty Lana could handle. “And then there was the alcohol. I’d been abusing both for years—which worked well for me, to a point. It was the only way I found I could balance everything, keep up with my school, and cut the edge off my ADHD. But it became these constant highs and constant lows, and it all reached a pinnacle where I couldn’t take it anymore. I was so fucked up all the time. Like, twenty-four-seven, messed up on one or the other, for years. I got myself into some terrible situations, made some mistakes I’ll never be able to take back, and after one particularly bad night, I woke up and decided I was done with all that shit. I was tired of trying to be something and someone I wasn’t. So, I gave up everything and become a barista. I’m two years and roughly a month sober.”
I’d killed the playful tone. Smashed it dead. Thrown a glass of cold water on it. I don’t think I’d ever been that honest with anyone before. Maybe I’d said it all for shock value—to see if I could shock someone as thick-skinned as Lana. Maybe I’d said it all to test her—to see if she’d look at me with the same smile on her lips after, which she wasn’t. Maybe I said it because I wanted her to know.
No matter the reason, Lana was quiet now.
I’d somehow regained my appetite. I ate my lunch, Lana saying nothing, in the silence that lingered after my confession.
* * *
The meeting with the contractor came after lunch. Turned out he—Abe—was a personal, family friend of Lana’s—her father’s friend. I felt a little like a third wheel as they joked about the heat, and about a summer her family and his family had spent in Mexico. I excused myself, saying I needed a cigarette, and stepped outside.
Kitty ended up having more than one beer at the bar and was sleeping it off now in the car. What a disaster lunch had turned into. I took this opportunity to call Doug—not to actually smoke. I mean, Lana didn’t need to know the cigarette she’d seen me with before had been a one-time thing. In fact, I envied smokers. Everyone should get fifteen minute smoke breaks, whether they smoked or not, to regroup and relax during the long work day.
Only I wasn’t relaxing on my break. I was calling Doug.
I’d missed eleven calls from him, had four unchecked voicemails, and he answered on the very first ring. “What is your problem!?” I snapped at him, walking briskly away from the building, just to insure nobody heard me yelling on the phone.
“My fucking problem?” Doug returned. “Where the hell is my audio today?”
“What?” I breathed out, slowing down. “What?”
“You did not turn your microphone on today, you little shit, and I’ve been in the dark this entire day, twiddling my thumbs, waiting on you to answer one of my phone calls.”
He hadn’t heard anything? My flirting with Lana? How lunch was practically a date. Where I’d confessed about my alcoholism and the not being laid in two years? He didn’t even know Kitty was here with us?
Wow, this was a relief.
And a wakeup call.
“I’m sorry, Doug. I didn’t realize. It’s been a busy day. I haven’t had a chance to return your calls. I’m turning the microphone on now.” I untucked my shirt and maneuvered the battery box that I had shoved down my pants, clicking it on. “There. Can you hear me now?”
“Yes. The moment you leave Lana today, I want you to type up a report for me. I want, word for word, everything that has been said today.”
“She hasn’t said anything we can use against her.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. You’re basically a walking microphone holder. Anyway, where is Lana now?”
“She’s inside with the contractor named Abe. I told her I was taking a smoke break.”
“Well, get your ass back in there! And don’t ever let this happen again.”
He ended the phone call before I had a chance to. I spent the next minute adjusting the battery box in my pants. I knew I’d been out of line today. I shouldn’t have been so casual with Lana. I shouldn’t have brought Kitty along. I shouldn’t have ever brought up the drive-thru thing. From here on out, I’d be what Doug wanted me to be . . ..
The Walking Microphone Holder.
Starting now.
CHAPTER 8
LANA
I’d fallen a little bit farther down the Joe Coffee deep, dark, mysterious, and rather all-consuming, rabbit hole. And I was having an extremely difficult time clawing my way back out again. My thoughts wouldn’t leave Joe or the things he’d told me at lunch.
I relaxed for a moment when he’d gone outside to smoke. Abe Martin, one of my family’s greatest and oldest friends, stood with me. He was a general contractor who’d spent most of his career designing restaurants for a popular restaurant chain, but in the last few years, as he grew closer to retirement, he’d been working exclusively for me.
“How’s Chase?” I asked. I realized it had been almost three years since I’d last seen Chase, Abe and Maryland’s son, who was my age. We’d gone to elementary, middle, and high school together. Chase was almost like a brother—almost, but not really.
“He and Tiffany are getting a divorce.” Abe dipped his head. I knew how much everyone loved Tiffany.
“I can’t believe it.” It was something I never thought I’d hear. Chase and Tiffany always seemed like the forever type. This news hit me hard, a tightening feeling clinched at my chest, and I wasn’t particularly sure why. “I’m so sorry, Abe. That’s terrible news.”
“Yeah. I’m disappointed, too. Ultimately it was the kids thing that tore them apart.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tiffany can’t have kids.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t known that. I knew they’d struggled, but I didn’t know it was something that would be the end of their relationship.
Just then Joe walked back into the empty building. His shoes echoed against the tile floor. “Sorry about that,” he said to us both. “Old habits die hard.” He returned to my side, and I noticed that I didn’t notice the smell of cigarettes following him the way it follows some people when they reenter a room.
Naturally, as practically my second father, Abe seemed suspicious of Joe. I could see it in the hard way he stared at him.
Joe had been ‘Grumpy Joe’ since we’d left the restaurant, since he’d confessed about his issues with drugs, alcohol, and I assumed sex also. A man like Joe could get any woman he wanted. If he hadn’t been laid in two years that was by personal choice.
I didn’t tell him that I hadn’t been laid in even longer, which wasn’t a personal choice. It was th
e giant ‘Fuck You’ I seemed to have stamped across my forehead that seemed to scare decent men off.
But ‘Grumpy Joe’ had left Joe with his smoke break. The charming, charismatic, schmoozing version of Joe had walked back into the building. It was apparent by the wide, easy smile on his lips and how he immediately struck up a conversation with Abe.
Abe and I had previously been reminiscing about a family trip to Mexico, about ten years ago, that our two families had gone on together. And, now, suddenly Joe had a Mexico story of his own to tell.
I hardly listened.
I knew it was a bullshit story. Like the one he’d told about me that first day. Well, maybe the story he told now was a true story, but I’d quickly learned this sweet-talking version of Joe Coffee wasn’t exactly the real Joe.
I think the serious, intense, flirtatious on a much smaller scale—the Joe from lunch—was closer to the real Joe.
Who knows, though.
“So,” Abe said to both of us, running a hand along his salt and pepper beard, “this is going to be quite the task you’re undertaking. Transforming this building into something suitable, with a drive-thru, is going to take me at least the next two months. You were smart in hiring someone to be a bigger part of this process, Lana, and I think Joe should join me here on-site for the next two months.”
“Excuse me, what?”
“I won’t be doing this forever, you know. I hope to retire someday soon.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t hire Joe to replace you.”
“No, but it wouldn’t hurt to have another person who understands the construction. Joe could be that person for you.”
What was Abe, suddenly Joe’s biggest fan? That hadn’t taken long. For what Abe was proposing—Joe would have to move to Tacoma for the next two months, or longer, because these things always took longer. But maybe Abe made a good point. I’d always relied heavily on him. And Joe did have a degree in AstroAero Engineering, which would certainly help him excel where Abe wanted him to excel.
I hoped.
God . . . how many risks was I going to have to take on Joe Coffee?
“Joe and I will talk about it further,” I decided. “And one or both of us will be back here on Monday morning to meet you. Sound good?”
“Yes.” Abe wrapped his large, strong arms around me and planted a loud kiss on the top of my head. “Good to see you, kiddo. Be safe driving back to Portland.”
“I have a driver.”
“Then tell him to be safe.”
After Abe released me from his bear hug, he shook Joe’s hand. Then the two of us left for the car.
It was getting late.
The sky had changed from blue to a brilliant orange-pink shade in the time we’d all been talking inside.
The long drive ahead of us loomed, and I groaned as we slipped into the car. Kitty still slept in the front seat. “We’re ready to head back to Portland,” I told the driver. “Sorry it’s been such a long day.”
“No problem, ma’am.”
Joe and I did not talk on the drive back. Even as the sun set. Even when Kitty woke up, smacking her lips together, staring back at us. Even when we stopped at a rest stop to use the bathroom.
My eyes grew heavy as I wished we would have gotten a hotel room and stayed the night in Tacoma when we hit some random traffic outside of Portland. But tomorrow was Saturday, and I was sure Joe and Kitty wanted to get home.
I rested my head against my window, closing my eyes, thinking I’d let myself drift off for just a moment.
***
I woke to the bright morning sun pouring in through my windows. I rolled over and buried my head in the covers. It was too bright. My cleaning lady must have left my black-out curtains open again. I’d specifically told her not to do that. I liked my room dark and cold—like a bear cave, since the only thing I ever did in it was sleep.
I shifted, almost falling back asleep, until I realized there was something stuck on my forehead. What? I peeled it off. A Post-it note. I’d slept in my contacts last night, evident by the way my eyes felt like glue, and I struggled to open them and read the Post-it. Who the fuck put a Post-it on my head?
It said: Don’t panic. You’re safe. –Joe
I sat up like rocket. The Post-it fell from my fingers as I took in my surroundings.
I most definitely wasn’t in my room.
I breathed in and out.
A quick check of my body, and I found I still wore my same outfit from yesterday. Hell, my shoes must have been on my feet when I’d fallen asleep because they were only inches from my feet now. I had one blanket over me, but I wasn’t under the comforter. Flinging the blanket aside, slipping my shoes back on, I crawled out of bed, presumably Joe’s bed, and marched for the door.
My blood was boiling because I did not know how I’d ended up here. I hadn’t been drinking. I hadn’t hooked up with Joe—now that, I would have remembered! So how had I ended up here? Best guess, I’d fallen asleep on the car ride, and he’d brought me in.
Holy mother, had he carried me?
I paused before flinging open the door in a savage fury. A piece, even if it was only a sliver of a piece, wasn’t angry at all. But hopeful. Excited. Thrilled, even. I liked Joe. I knew it was pointless for me to feel this way. It wasn’t like he was going to return these feelings, not for someone like me, but still, I couldn’t help the way I felt.
I took a step back and I gave myself a moment to study his room. I’d likely never get a chance like this again.
He had a massive bookshelf filled with books shoved into every available inch of space. I thought everyone these days read eBooks. Apparently, not Joe. He had a thing for fantasy, authors I’d never heard of, and they occupied the majority of the shelves. Followed by textbooks and law books. There were even some books on ADHD.
I wanted to explore more of his room, but I’d lingered long enough. Time to face the music. Time to give him a piece of my mind. I’d delayed long enough.
CHAPTER 9
JOE
I’d finally fallen asleep on the recliner in the living room, Kitty beside me on the couch, when suddenly I woke to the sound of the door to my room opening and slamming upstairs. We had a two-bedroom, smaller than my parents’ pool house, split-level house. And it felt like the entire place shook as I heard Lana’s heels on the stairs as she marched down them, not even attempting any sort of silence.
I sat up, resting my sleepy head in my hands, waiting for the inevitable ass-reaming I had coming my way.
Until suddenly, there she was. She looked . . . different. Less put together. More natural. And I kind of liked it.
“What the hell, Joe?” Despite her words, her voice was surprisingly calm and even.
I stood up, squinting through one eye at her as I padded past her for the kitchen. Her hair looked as crazy as I felt.
Coffee—I needed coffee.
“Good morning to you too, Lana,” Lana replied to herself when I didn’t respond immediately. “How’d you sleep? Oh, I slept well considering it was in someone else’s bed!”
With my back to her, I grabbed a mug for my coffeemaker and hit the button to start the machine. It was too early to do this.
“I need an explanation,” she demanded. “Give me something.”
I rubbed my hand across my eyes and then over the thick stubble that now coated my face and neck. I turned around to face her. “Good morning, Lana.” I showed her my teeth, faking a smile just for her, since that was what she wanted, right? My individual coffee was starting to brew, so I opened the fridge for my creamer.
Motherfucker! Kitty had used the last of it.
I cursed out loud. Not a lot sets me off in this world, but deprive me of my coffee and you’ll see my worst side.
Lana laughed as I shook the empty container, tossing it into the recycling bin. Kitty could have at least thrown the damn thing away.
“Joe,” Lana urged again, “an explanation. Please.”
“I was trying t
o get some coffee in me first.”
“I thought you liked tea.”
I had said that to Nancy, her administrative assistant. I remembered now. “That was a lie,” I confessed. I’d lied because I hadn’t enjoyed fake flirting with her. “I’m a barista with the last name Coffee, also a former addict of like, five different vices . . . of course, I like coffee. You could put an IV into my vein and I’d be happy.” Grabbing my fresh mug from the coffee maker, I took a sip to prove my point. But I immediately grimaced at the bitterness. “I also like sugar,” I added.
“Give it to me then.” She wanted my coffee.
Hesitantly, I handed it over.
She accepted it without reservation, taking a slow sip, savoring it like I couldn’t in its current bitter state. “This is pretty good. What is it?”
“It’s Weird and Wired’s k-pod.”
She laughed, shaking her head, taking another sip.
Then the strangest thing happened, this sensation rocked through me. The kind of feeling that takes your breath away and threatens to knock you to your knees. Watching her drink that coffee, her lips on the same mug my lips had just been on seconds ago, I suddenly wanted to kiss her. I wanted to remove the mug from Lana’s fingers, pick her up, sit her on my kitchen counter, and maybe even do more than kiss her.
I turned away, inhaling. I had lots of random impulses. ‘Impulse’ was practically my middle name. But this particular one lingered as I turned back around, trying to fight it off. I figured I needed to explain last night before she had a chance to misinterpret my intentions—if she hadn’t already.
“Last night you were sound asleep when we got here. I mean, drooling on the window. I didn’t want to wake you. Mostly, though, I didn’t want to leave you alone for the last portion of your drive with that creepy driver.”
But First, Coffee Page 5