Page 48 of Destiny

“Ah, and I just remembered, we’re also going to have a coffee cart available.”

This makes me look at her kind of funny. The whole point of this event was to bring in revenue . . . not take it away from the store.

She seems to read my mind. “Don’t worry, Beatrice. My friend owns the company, and she’s giving us a deal.”

“Okay. But who is going to make the coffee?”

“You and Micky,” she mutters like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“What? We don’t know how to make fancy drinks. I can do a coffee with a few creams and sugars, but that’s about it.”

“Well, then you are in luck,” Marco says.

“What do you mean?”

“I worked as a barista while I was in law school.”

“Really? And—and you still remember how to make everything?”

He dips his chin in my direction. “Excuse me! I’m not that old.” He tickles my side. “But yes, I remember. Why don’t we ask the owner at Ernie’s if we can stop by before or after hours to use their setup.”

“That’s Ernestine Smith. I know her from the community center,” Mom offers.

“Do you think she’d be open to that?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Marco claps his hands and then rubs them together. “Great. This is going to be fun.”

I sit in awe of him. One evening, he managed to acquire a new hobby and agreed to revisit an old skill. All of this while still being an incredibly busy attorney and single father to two little girls. He really is amazing.

“What?” he asks after noticing me staring.

I lean over, put my arm on his shoulder, and play with the ends of his hair. “You’re just a very multi-faceted person. It’s like I can never stop learning new things about you.”

“I’m sorry. I try to be as open as possible—”

“Oh, no. It isn’t a criticism. You’re just this little unsolvable puzzle, and I love it.”

We stare into each other’s eyes until my father loudly clears his throat, and I remember that it isn’t just us in the restaurant.

Chapter 2 – Marco

“Well, that wasn’t so bad. Right?” he asks while we’re driving home.

“No. Not at all.”

“I mean, your father didn’t seem thrilled about me . . .”

“Don’t worry. That’s how he acts toward the things he likes. If he didn’t approve, he would’ve voiced his opinion. The only thing you’ll ever see him get excited about is his wood.”

I can’t help but laugh at the innuendo.

“Wha—oh, gross! That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” She lightly slaps my arm.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

I offer to drop her off right at home, but she asks if she can help me put the girls to bed, and I say of course.

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