Page 17 of Love Me

Chapter 9

Wile looked away as quickly as he could, pretending like he didn’t recognize me, but I was already heading towards him. He sat up, cleared his throat, then adjusted the newspaper.

“Wile Stevens,” I said. I held out my hand, and after some hesitation, he took it. “It’s a small world, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so,” he said.

“How’s the Foundation?”

“Professor Hunt makes me aware every day of the mistake we made by rescinding your scholarship.” He folded the newspaper in front of him, making it very apparent that I was interrupting him. “But you do understand that we had to, right, Miss Glass? The graduate students were—”

I put up my hand. “Say no more. I may not like it, but I get it.”

His old phone rattled around on the table, like a chicken in a hen house. He responded to the message on it hurriedly. Once he was finished, he looked up at me, almost confused as to why I was still there.

“How’s Poppy doing?”

“Miss Wellington?” he asked. I nodded. “Miss Wellington is doing well. Thank you for asking.”

“Are you still seeing her?”

“Miss Wellington is among the best of us,” he said. He stood up. “If you’ll excuse me—”

I watched him leave the restaurant. I knew it would be an uncomfortable interaction for me, but I didn’t know how uncomfortable it would be for Wile. I was about to leave the table when I saw a cream-colored leather purse in the booth.

“Hey, you left—” I started to say, but he was gone. Though it was a neutral color, the design was feminine. Was Wile meeting someone there, someone other than Poppy, and I had accidentally interrupted his infidelity? That would explain his discomfort. But there was no way of knowing. I grabbed the purse and walked to the front counter, waiting for my turn in line.

“Welcome to Pan Dulce Bread. What can I get for you?” a stocky man asked. I handed him the purse.

“Wile Stevens left this behind,” I said.

“Wile Stevens?” He wrote down the name. “Thank you, ma’am. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Is Coco working?”

His customer service veneer vanished. Without a smile, his face reminded me of a toad’s, full of greasy and large bumps.

“Are you going to order or freeload?” he asked. My jaw dropped. I was debating whether to order or to ask to speak to his manager when Coco stepped into view, tying her apron in the back. She checked the soups, then removed one of the canisters from the hole.

“She’s right over there,” I said. He sighed. “And yes. I’ll take a latte.”

He grabbed the debit card out of my hand and slid it through the slot without a word. Then he muttered something to himself after he got Coco’s attention. Her eyes widened when she saw me, like she was never expecting to see me again. She shook her head, and the man threw up his hands. I heard him say something about no more visitors or friends, and Coco returned an equally annoyed response. She went to the kitchen and returned with a full soup canister. I waved to her. She ignored me.

She started making the latte. The espresso bar was along the wall facing customers, so I moved closer.

“Coco,” I said, “do you think Owen—”

She kept her eyes on the equipment in front of her, moving the cardboard cup up and down over the steamer, refusing to look at me.

“Do you think it’s possible he’s changed?” I asked. “He’s pushed my boundaries, but he’s never done anything that went over the edge like that, you know?”

She packed the portafilter to the top with such force, it was like she was taking her anger out on the machine. I watched her, waiting as patiently as I could, but as the espresso flowed, she said nothing. It was like I didn’t exist.

“I’m pregnant,” I said. My stomach lurched as I said it out loud. Coco looked at me, and I could see the panic in her eyes. Something was bothering her. I wondered if it was for the baby. “I wanted to know what you thought about the situation. Did Owen ever say anything about kids? Wanting a family? I know he almost married Poppy— ”

Her eyes shot across the room, then she grabbed a plastic top from the dispenser, hastily putting on the top. She handed it to me.

“I don’t know anything about Owen. I don’t know anything about him and Poppy.”

“But you said you dated—”

“Not dated.”

“Whatever,” I said. “But you must have some opinion—”

She shook the cardboard cup at me. I reached out, taking it from her, though I had lost any desire to drink it. It seemed weird to drink something Owen’s old fling had made, regardless of the fact that I had watched her make it and knew it was safe. Then I wondered if the caffeine could cause a miscarriage. Coco looked around, as if checking to see if anyone was watching us. She was as twitchy as Wile.

“I don’t have an opinion,” she said. “I don’t know Owen. I don’t know you. I don’t know your situation. I blocked out all of those memories, okay? As far as I’m concerned, nothing happened. I don’t want to go through it again.” She wiped her hands on her apron. “Listen to me, or don’t. But that’s your choice.”

She disappeared behind the swinging door of the kitchen, and I stood there, latte in hand, wondering what the hell I was supposed to make of her response.

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