Page 53 of The Thought of You

chapter

sixteen

ADDIE

“I need a sixteen-ounce Fall in a Cup, please, plus all the iced pumpkin cookies you have left.” I fold my elbows onto the narrow counter at Cream and Sugar, the breeze sweeping through the damp hair at the back of my neck.

It was so hot in the gym today, I couldn’t stop sweating. It was totally because of the AC wheezing like it was on life support. It was not because the PE teacher was frequently running in sweatpants, which lit me on fire from the inside out.

My currently flustered state has nothing to do with the latter. Absolutely nothing.

Except I’m not even fooling myself.

Maren pokes her head out of the window, her cheek dusted with a flour fingerprint. “I don’t have many cookies, but those left are all yours.”

I rise onto my tiptoes and swipe my thumb across her cheek. “Don’t know how long that’s been there.”

“Probably since this morning.” Her sigh is weary, and I can relate. Aren’t we a match made in heaven this Monday afternoon? “You’re the only person ever looking out for me, so thank you. Take all the cookies.”

One by one, she packs up a few treats and slides the lavender box my way. Then she fires up the espresso machine for my coffee with the kind of ease and precision only learned through years of practice. At this point, I imagine every step of baking and brewing is a habitual sequence for her, unless she’s trying new recipes.

I carry my box of goodies toward a picnic table, my back aching from the stress of today and launching a new era for my classroom—literature and critical discussions against the backdrop of dodgeball and screeching sneakers along the gym floor.

Stray tree limbs and gobs of leaves litter the park grounds as far as I can see. The walking path is obstructed by the debris, and the end of the seesaw on the playground is broken. Of course, the seesaw’s demise might not be a new occurrence, but still. Together with the dark, heavy clouds still swirling the sky, it’s an ominous day, for sure.

Seems like the storm touched us all in one way or another. Out here, there might be a few leaves, but they were going to fall eventually, anyway. The storm didn’t ruin their lives like it did mine by destroying my classroom and tossing me into a ridiculous situationship with my enemy, who’s not really my enemy and who’s trying to be the opposite of my enemy.

And the truth of the matter is that I wish I could believe him.

“Order up,” Maren chirps as she sets a cup in front of me, then slides onto the bench on the opposite side.

“Bless you and those magnificently talented and giving hands.” I pop the lid off and inhale a whiff, gathering the notes of cinnamon like I’m hoarding them for later. My first sip consists mostly of foam, but it’s enough to relax my tense muscles. It warms my hands and my insides like a relaxing bath.

“Long day?” She arches a brow.

“That’s putting it lightly.”

“Did it have anything to do with the storm? Because the few people who have come by today all had some wild story.” She scoots forward as I blow on my coffee to cool it. “Old Gus tripped over a big branch in his driveway, and he rolled into the street, from what his neighbor Octavia said.”

I clutch my chest. “Is he all right?”

“Actually, according to his brother Karl, he’s never been better. It’s like his fall knocked his bad hip back into place. No limp or anything.”

“You’re kidding.” I gape.

Old Gus benefitted in the strangest way from this storm—the lucky son of a gun.

She snaps her fingers. “Then there’s Tanner Thomas. He found a whole mailbox on his front porch. It had been ripped right out of the ground, soil and all, but it wasn’t his.”

“Is that a bad sign or an omen?” I ask around the mouthful of cookie I devour.

“Not sure yet.” She snorts. “He found out the mailbox belonged to a woman who just moved in down the street. From what I hear, they really hit it off. They’re going out tomorrow night, so it could be a great thing, or it could scar them both for life.”

“So cynical.” I tsk.

“I just meant any undercooked meat at dinner can scar them, not love. I’m not a monster.” She shrugs, but it’s not so innocent. The small curve in her mouth confesses plenty. “Besides, I’m not the most cynical one sitting at this table.”

I glance around, iced pumpkin cookie crumbs decorating the table like confetti. “Did I bring my imaginary anti-love friend again? For Pete’s sake. I thought I left Patricia at home.”

---