Page 4 of Getting Over You

Firstly, EJ is a liar. It’s not a few seconds, it’s two minutes. Parking is shitty, so I have no choice but to park in a lot behind other storefronts in the compact downtown. One has to be a restaurant, because the moment I step out of my truck, I smellbacon grease. Moments later, I realize the coffee shop is right across from the restaurant—a place simply called The Diner.

Beach Brew is the place I’m headed, but there’s nothing beachy about it. Everything is covered in copper, and weird, fake plants that looktoo greenwind around the dark oak beams on the ceiling. The faux plants make the cool-looking brick on the walls, worn and faded red, look displaced. A few tables for two are nestled against that wall, with more seating across the room from it. Right in the center is a walkway to the supposed coffee God himself: my brother EJ.

He looks like he hasn’t bothered to trim his beard since the last time we saw each other: dark, scraggly, and the first thing I see. And the gray T-shirt with the business logo on the left chest isn’t doing him any good for appearances. Good thing he’s got the sparingly tattooed football linebacker thing going for him in his old age—chicks dig beefy dudes with biceps the size of their head. Add in the fact that he’s twice my size, and he’s a catch for sure.

“Hey, stranger!” EJ says when I walk in, a copper bell chiming.

“So, this is the place,” I say. “Very, uh, quaint.”

“Full of hot chicks,” he says. “And quaint too, I guess.”

“Are all the hot chicks invisible?” I say, looking around at the empty cafe. “Tell them they can turn their powers off now.”

“They aren’t here now,” he says with a sad sigh. “Mornings, sometimes. Late afternoons are pretty typical.”

“Duly noted,” I say. “Hot chicks in the morning and afternoon.”

“How you holding up?” EJ says. “I mean, after another break—”

“I don’t want to talk about her,” I cut in. “But she’s done with my shit, so it’s best I move on now. And where better than a coffee shop overflowing with hot chicks between nine and three?Besides, I’ve got a tattoo shop to focus on. I don’t have time for much else.”

“That’s my boy!” EJ holds up a paper cup. “Can I get you a coffee? Fifteen hours in the car has got to have made you tired.”

“Yeah. But make it black. I don’t do frilly shit.”

His eyebrows find his hairline, offended. “You have no interest in trying our selection of over sixteen sauces and syrups?” EJ wonders. “How about a little vanilla, at least?”

Vanilla. Now he’s mocking me. “Black coffee,” I warn. “Don’t screw me.”

The bell chimes and in walks a taller, thin girl with dark hair in a high ponytail. She’s wearing a shirt from The Diner—a navy blue number that looks like it’s a dress on her. And she looks exhausted.

I shake my head. Fuck me.Get your mind off of chicks, Cade. For once.

“Rory Rose Ellison,” EJ says. “My favorite customer.”

“And the only customer you have tried to sleep with,” Rory says. “So I guess, if that makes me the favorite.”

“I only made a move on you,” EJ tells her, “because I was under the impression you wanted me to make a move on you.”

“And then I woke up the next day and regretted it,” she says, flippant. “I’ll have my usual.”

“You free for the night?” EJ asks.

She nods. “Yeah. Belinda was feeling kind, I guess. She’s excited because her daughter is coming to visit tomorrow.”

“Belinda Elliott has a daughter?” EJ asks. “You’re kidding.”

Now he’s a small town gossip—wonderful.

“Right? Like anyone would touch that woman,” Rory says. “One look at her and you’re hopeful, then she crushes your dreams with well-manicured fingers.”

“Someone did,” EJ says. “She’s got a kid.”

“Not kid,” the girl says. “An adult. An adult child. Her daughter is studying business at UConn.”

“You think she’s hot?” EJ asks without missing a beat.

“She’s Belinda Elliott’s daughter. Of course, she’ll be hot. Probably nice to look at, but with a so-so personality like her wonderful mother.”

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