Run Away Baby
Page 24
I turned away from the people with their computers and caught my reflection in the mirror next to a coffee mug display. It reminded me to pull back my messy hair into a ponytail.
“What can I get you?” asked the boy behind the counter. He was probably about nineteen. He smiled, ignoring a woman in her fifties with a briefcase who looked like she was ready to order.
“Do you have any fair trade coffee?” I asked him.
“It’s all fair trade.”
“I’ll take the Kona blend,” I said after studying the list of flavors for a moment. I pretended not to notice the frantic tapping of the businesswoman’s heel on the floor or her irritated, exaggerated sigh.
“The Kona blend is our best seller,” he told me.
“Wait,” I said after he filled the cup, “I think I want the Arabian Mocha Java instead.”
“No problem. That’s my personal favorite, by the way.” He poured the first cup down the drain and got a new paper cup for me. He took care, nestling it in a cardboard java jacket, whistling a little ditty as he did so. At this point the tapping woman said, “Unbelievable,” and left.
I know, I know, that will be me someday. Old and having to work and not even able to buy a cup of coffee. I can see it coming like a big gray storm rolling in, even if no one else would ever suspect such a thing for me. That storm has been there since the day I got married, heavy and watchful on the horizon, perhaps waiting for me to lower the checkered flag, but willing to plow over me if I should forget to do so. It lingers and I live here in the sunshine just outside of the shadow it casts. So that is why I am taking advantage of the here and now.
The boy passed my drink to me kind of slyly, and said nothing of the total. I set a five-dollar bill on the counter and he pressed it back into my hand. His hand was hot and sweaty, very nineteen. Nothing at all like Adrian’s dry, smooth man hands.
“It’s on me,” he said.
It’s a good thing I didn’t have this thing, this aura or skill or whatever it is, ten years ago, because I wouldn’t have known what to do with it. I would have abused this kind of power. The way all the girls around me used to do, as if it was the God-given right of college girls.
I took a sip of the coffee and smiled. It was very, very strong.
“Like it?” he asked.
“I do.”
His eyes were sweet and desperate. His neck was stubbly and I could just tell he would smell a little bit sweaty if I got a couple of inches closer. I breathed in deeply, trying to catch a bit of him, but only smelling coffee.
“It’s great, isn’t it?” he asked.
I nodded, but I wasn’t going to stick around. After all, I am a married woman.
I pedaled around, carefully sipping. If I spilled on myself I would become annoyed and the fun would be over. Girls in their early twenties, healthy looking and pretty like a J. Crew catalog come-to-life, were out and about, toting messenger bags and cute boyfriends. They had made the decision early on to be the sun, and not a planet or a moon or a strip mall on a planet.
They couldn’t see that I finally learned their secret language, so to them, I was nothing. Not a member of their team, of their sorority. No threat at all. Invisible.
How many free cups of coffee have you gotten lately, I wondered about the girl with the pale yellow hair nearly down to her waist. She was on her phone laughing, throwing her head back like a flip top cap on some whitening toothpaste. “Flip top,” I said as I pedaled past her. She looked up at me and glared.
“Is it really that funny or are you just trying to look happy?” I whispered. I was too far away for her to hear me. People are drawn to happy people. I could remember being at parties when I was younger and fake laughing with my friends over nothing at all. Not hysterically. Not like a hyena. Just like a happy girl. It always brought the boys over. That and making out with each other.
Back to flip top. She was walking down the street now. Still talking, still laughing. She probably doesn’t even know they charge for coffee.
Stop being jealous, I told myself. Those girls will be lucky to be where I am in ten years. I doubt any of them will live like this.
To continue reading, purchase Surviving Valencia.
A Note about the Author
Holly Tierney-Bedord lives in Madison, Wisconsin. She is the author of several novels including Bellamy’s Redemption, Surviving Valencia, Right Under Your Nose, and Coached.
Please take a moment to review Run Away Baby on Amazon and Goodreads.
For more information or to subscribe to Holly’s newsletter, visit www.hollytierneybedord.com.
About Bellamy’s Redemption
"...I was undeniably hooked just a few pages in..."
- Sara Steven, Chick Lit Central
When Bellamy Timberfrost is jilted while proposing on television to Alanna Rutherford, America's heart breaks just as hard as his own. Designer Emma Van Elson can't imagine a guy who is more of a catch than Bellamy. When he is given a second chance at love on his own reality TV show, she jumps at the chance to become a contestant on the show. Soon she finds herself as one of twenty lucky young women competing for Bellamy's heart (and other great prizes!) on a journey around the world.
See more details or buy Bellamy’s Redemption.