Page 30 of So Not My Type

She stayed a moment longer.

“Morning.” Ella’s normally straight shoulders shifted like she was bracing herself, and Sophie’s stomach knotted. Was that what Sophie had become? The person who caused someone to flinch? It made her think of Mr. Docks, her dickhead eighth-grade science teacher who read the worst test scores out loud, lamenting on “how embarrassing” the student was and how they were “not meetingthe barest ofminimumstate standards.” She remembered walking into his classroom and shrinking, keeping her fingers crossed she wouldn’t be seen.

And that was what she did to Ella—Sophie had become the dickhead.

Ella reached for the large paper coffee cup to her right and handed it to Sophie.

Sophie wrapped her fingers around the cup and lowered herself to the chair. “What’s this?”Probably poison. And honestly, Sophie wouldn’t blame her.

“I got you a burnt orange mocha.” Ella tugged at her sleeves, her eyes focused on the cuffs. “They claim it has the most sugar of all the drinks at the shop.”

Whoa.Sophie absolutely didn’t deserve the thoughtful gesture after how terrible she’d been. Maybe Ella laced it with ghost peppers or laxatives as a payback. She took a tentative sample and moaned into the sip. “Dear God, it’s delicious. Was this from Red Lava?”

“Yep.” Ella twirled off the top to her water. “They started serving crepes, too, with honey butter and nuts. I got you one, well, I got each of us one.”

“Yeah?” Sophie took a hefty sip this time and the orange sugar trailed her throat. She peeked behind Ella. “Where is it?”

“I ate it.” Ella shrugged with a small giggle.

A giggle.She’d never heard Ella giggle before. She wasn’t even sure she’d seen Ella smile, except for a couple of polite grins during co-worker introduction time. Sophie never thought about what Ella’s giggle would sound like, but if she had, it probably would have been high-pitched and squeaky. Instead, it was deep and husky, and Sophie wanted to say something to hear the sound again. She looked at the water bottle next to Ella. “You didn’t get yourself anything?”

Ella shook her head. Her frames slipped, and she pushed them back up her nose. “I have a confession to make.”

Sophie’s ears perked. “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“I hate coffee.” The corner of her lip twitched. “Like Ireallyhate it. It feels like I’m drinking hot, muddy water that eats away at my stomach lining.”

“No. Way.” Why was this little factoid so amusing? Besides knowing Ella’s dad was George, she went to UW, and that she was an only child, Sophie realized she knew absolutely nothing about her co-worker. “Well, here’s my confession. I hate pancakes. And crepes are pretty close, so I’m not sure I would’ve eaten them except to be polite.”

Ella cocked her head. “Pancakes? You mean the sugary fried dough that you top with butter and syrup? No one hates pancakes.”

“I do.”

Ella pushed back from the desk and crossed her legs andholy shit. She tugged her skirt lower beneath the knee, but not before Sophie caught a peek of a smooth thigh. Sophie snappedher gaze to anywhere but there, ignoring the warmth spreading inside her. It was just surprising, that was all. Ella had worn nothing but suit pants or jeans since starting. A bare thigh was simply… unexpected.

“I’m so curious about the hatred of pancakes. Is there a backstory here?”

So much backstory.A childhood filled with a tired mom smelling of day-old fryer grease and Biofreeze. Of late nights eating the diner leftovers on the couch with her parents, as her dad rubbed her mom’s feet and Sophie begged to go to McDonald’s. Of upset stomachs from eating peanut butter sandwiches every day because her parents made a touch over the limit to get free lunches at school but couldn’t afford to pay for actual school lunches every day. “My mom works at a diner, and she used to bring home leftovers all the time.”

“Oh really?” Ella asked. “Which one?”

“J & J, over by Green Lake. You’ve probably never heard of it.” For once, Sophie didn’t mean it to sound the way it came out. The place was small, and even though it’d been around since the ’60s, she couldn’t imagine anyone who lived on Lake Washington had visited. It wasn’t like the other Seattle local joints who boasted the famous twelve-egg omelette, or the ones that made the crab-cake benedict. J & J had nothing special except for large malts and homemade jam.

Even though Sophie didn’t mean the words to sound rude or condescending, Ella’s smile disappeared, and she dropped her gaze to her hands.

“God. I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean it the way it came out.” Sophie dug at the polish on her cuticle to pry up a fleck. After the tension-filled last few weeks, this exchange gave Sophie the bit of spark needed to think they could work together—at least until she boarded her cruise, or Ella was reassigned to a differentproject. But the words she spewed last week—they had to be addressed.

Sophie dropped her nail polish hunt. “Look.” She cleared her throat. “I really owe you an apology for Friday.”

Ella straightened. “Yes. You do.”

Damnnnn.Sophie rubbed the back of her head, the buzzed hair prickling against her hand. Now was not the time to dive into her feelings on socioeconomics, unfair privilege, how it felt to be food insecure in America, and how the 1 percent—which Ella’s family belonged to—was responsible for poor folks staying poor. Ultimately, Ella had as much choice in the family she was born into as Sophie. “Truth is, I hold really stupid grudges. Likereallystupid. And, well, what happened when we first met… I just need to let it go. It clouded my judgement and I’m sorry, again, for the way I’ve been treating you.”

The words tasted like sand. How did she let this resentment build and grow for years? Her chest grew hot, the shame sticky and unforgiving.

Ella squinted. She paused for several long moments, lightly tapping the desk. “You held a grudge? Like, against me?”

Obviously.“Yeah. From the first time we met.” This moment had been nice. Sweet, even. Sophie really didn’t want to ruin it by rehashing the event six years ago.

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