Page 6 of The Kiss Countdown

His eyebrows shoot up when he spots me. “Amerie. What are you doing here?”

I barely resist rolling my eyes. I’m hunting rabbits. What does he think I’m doing?

“Well, you know me: morning walk, then coffee.” I raise the cup in emphasis. “I’m surprised to seeyou.”

While Derrick lives only about fifteen minutes away, coffee shops litter every street corner between our apartments. He literally could have gone anywhere else, but decided to stop at Moon Bean.MyMoon Bean.

“I was just in the neighborhood,” he explains with a shrug, looking me over. “You doing okay?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” I say quickly. He knows full well how tough this past year has been, with my mom’s health and then losing my job. Gina was right: He is so full of himself.

Derrick holds out a hand in surrender. “Just keeping tabs on you.”

“You should be keeping tabs on yourself,” I say, then force myself to take a mental step back.

The last thing I need to do is waste energy playing the bitter ex just because he’s caught me at a bad time. Maybe if we run into each other next year, I won’t feel like ripping that dumb cap off and stuffing it in the trash.

It’s not like I hate Derrick. But seeing him now, I can’t help but think about his parting words. He had a notable list of my shortcomings: I’m fake in front of crowds and don’t know how to take a joke, to name a couple. But the one that really makes my blood boil is my apparent inability to understand true intimacy.

Actually, the idea makes me want to laugh. I witnessed intimacy in my parents’ marriage every single day of my life. I know that what my parents have can’t necessarily be forged from a truly, madly, deeply in-love-at-first-sight connection. It takes a foundation of friendship and getting to know each other’s ins and outs. The good and the crazy.

Derrick and I didn’t have that solid foundation. However, while breaking up was the right decision, it doesn’t mean I have to pretend to be happy to see him.

A woman with dark hair in a sleek bun walks up to Derrick, sliding her hand in his. “I just looked up the reviews, and everyone raves about the scones here. I want to make sure to try some.” She turns her head to me and jumps in surprise. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was interrupting.”

Again, I’m not mad or bitter over the breakup with Derrick, but damn that sting in my chest at seeing the new woman he’s obviously moved on with.

At least he has the decency to look uncomfortable as he glances between us and clears his throat. “Baby, I ran into my old friend. You remember how I told you about Amerie, right?”

Derrick’s girlfriend smiles. “Of course! It’s nice to meet you.” She sticks out her free hand. “I’m Nora. I’ve heardnothing but great things about you from Derrick. You can always tell the good ones by how they speak about their past, right?”

“That you can,” I mumble, fumbling to place the bag of scones down on a nearby table to shake Nora’s hand. “It’s nice seeing Derrick’s obviously found someone so lovely. And so soon too.” The smile I aim at them is the same one I used to wear whenever I showed up at Derrick’s work functions and had to pretend to like all his pretentious colleagues.

Nora places her beautifully manicured hand over her heart. “Sometimes the stars align, and when you know, you just know. Hey, you’re not here alone, are you? You can sit with us for a while and chat.”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m actually waiting on someone.” The white lie rolls off my tongue with ease. If I say I won’t sit with them and chat because I have to go stalk the streets like a town crier, letting people know I’m desperate to plan their parties, I will look exactly like my life has gone up in flames since the breakup. It’s petty, but I just can’t give Derrick that kind of win.

He nods. “Oh yeah? You must be waiting on Gina, then.”

I narrow my eyes, not liking how he makes it a statement instead of a question. “No, not Gina,” I sneer. Then, to wipe the knowing smirk off his face, I keep going. “I’m meeting my boyfriend for coffee.”

We stare each other down. Derrick regards me through eyes full of suspicion, and I hold still, trying not to scratch at my prickling neck.

I don’t usually lie to save face. Once I brought home a progress report with a D in math and said it was because the teacher kept losing my assignments. When my mom surprised me by sitting in my class the next day andtalking to the teacher after, I realized how being outed was so much more painful and embarrassing than simply owning up in the first place.

And yet here I am.

“You have a boyfriend?” Derrick says, disbelief obvious in his tone.

“Why would I make up something like that?” A careful evasion rather than outright lie.

He makes a show of looking first behind me, then to the right where a few people stand in line, and then behind himself. “Where is he? I’d love to meet ol’ boy and give him my congratulations. Make sure you’re in good hands.”

See, that’s the thing with lies. It doesn’t matter what label you try to slap over them—white, black, flashing neon—a lie is a lie. And they tend to take on a life of their own. But now I’m committed. I can’t backtrack.

I frantically look around the café for some kind of inspiration on what to do next.

Come on, universe. Help me out here.

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