Page 21 of It's a Date (Again)

“What?” I ask.

“You’re pulling my chain, aren’t you, Peyton? That is your usual order.”

I force a chuckle and cover it up by telling her I was just messing around. She takes the crumpled twenty-dollar bill from me and counts out my change.

“It’ll be just a minute,” she says, turning around to pour the cold brew.

The shop is cute and quaint with racks of wine, shelves full of snacks, and a wall of coolers filled with drinks and freshly prepared meals and appetizers. I can’t believe I stumbled into the place I frequent, and not only that, but I also ordered my usual. It’s like deep down I know who I am, I just can’t remember her. But she’s there. And I thinkI have to trust myself, even though I don’t know who that is. Somehow, I found this café. It was the first one I walked into, and I ordered what I would have anyway. That’s gotta count for something. At the very least, it’s progress.

She hands me my coffee and a blueberry muffin and tells me to have a good one. I say the same to her as I leave the shop. There’s no breeze today. The sun shines bright without a cloud in the sky to block out its rays. I take a seat at one of the dozen small tables set up outside and unwrap my blueberry muffin. Tearing off a piece, I toss it in my mouth.

“Hey, Peyton,” a woman’s voice calls out. It’s warm and friendly. I look up to find an older woman dressed in a colorful knit sweater and a pair of relaxed jeans. Her gray curly hair is clipped on top of her head, with loose, shorter strands hanging freely to frame her face. She has bright, kind eyes—ones that look as though they’ve seen a lifetime of ups and downs. Her neck and ears are adorned with colorful costume jewelry. She pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and smiles. “I’ve been trying to get ahold of you.”

I chew longer than I need to, turning the hunk of muffin into mush. I don’t know what to say, so I just utter, “Sorry. My phone’s not working.” Again, I like the way she’s looking at me, just like the girl in the coffee shop did, but more affectionate, like she knows more about me than my usual coffee order.

“Ahhh, okay. Well, as you know, I was out of town for a funeral this past week. I got in late last night.” She twists up her lips.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, because I know that’s what people say in these situations regardless of how well you know one another.

“Eh.” She flicks her wrist. “You know I wasn’t fond of her. She was a distant relative but an up-close B-I-T-C-H.” She laughs.

I give a tight-lipped smile.

“But I got to see my grandbabies. Ever since Jason moved his family to Florida, I don’t get to see them as much as I like to. You staying long?”

“For a bit, yeah.”

“Great. I’ll join you. Just going to get myself a coffee and a snack first.” Before she opens the door, she’s already waving to the cashier through the window. Obviously, she’s a regular here too. But I don’t know who she is. Maybe we met here.

Do I tell her about the accident and the amnesia? Maya said she posted on my Instagram about it, but maybe this woman doesn’t use social media. If she doesn’t know, do I pretend that I’m the same Peyton she knew last week? It’s nice having someone look at me like there’s nothing wrong with me. Robbie, Maya, and even the guys all deliver the same sympathetic glances. They don’t mean to, but they do. I don’t want sympathy. I just want people to talk to me and look at me and treat me like they would have before the accident. The older woman pushes the door open with her hip and walks out carrying a drink and a brown paper bag.

She takes a seat across from me and pulls a blueberry muffin from the bag. “I got the last one,” she says with a pleased look.

I tear off another piece. “Good choice.”

“So, I haven’t gotten an update in a while. Have anything new to share?” She raises her thick brows and takes a cautious sip of her hot coffee.

An update? An update on what? Where do I know her from, and what’s her name? Do I work with her? Is she my boss? No, my boss knows about the accident, according to Maya. So that can’t be it. I could just tell her what happened to me, but I really like that she’s looking at me like I’m a whole person, not some broken thing that needs fixing.

“What was the last update I gave you?” I ask, tapping my finger against my chin.

“Last week. You said you were breaking it off with one of the boys you were dating because he turned out to be not who you thought he was. So, did you?” She pulls a fork from her bag and stabs it into the muffin, scooping off a large piece.

Okay, so she and I are close. I share personal stuff with her like who I’m dating. But wait? I was going to end it with one of the guys. For what? And which one? Oh God! This is getting more and more complicated. Dating is supposed to be easy. Boy meets girl. Boy and girl fall in love. Boy and girl get married. End of story. But no, not my story. Mine contains amnesia, a hidden bad boy, more than one guy, and a soulmate. What if I pick the one I was going to break it off with? And then my memories come back? But by that time, we’re engaged or married? I need to know more.

“Oh yeah. That. Did I mention what he did?” I seal my question with a small smile, hoping she won’t notice my confusion or lack of memory.

She gives me a peculiar look but smiles back anyway. “I guess you caught him in a few lies. Small ones, but it was a red flag, as the kids say these days. And I told you, if someone lies about the little things, they’ll have no problem lying about the big things.”

So, there’s a liar in the midst. I wonder who it is. They all seemed so nice. Tyler the construction worker was funny and down-to-earth. Shawn the consultant was smart and charming. Nash the chef was thoughtful and kind. They’re the cream of the crop, but now, not only do I have to figure out which one I love, I also have to weed out a liar. I sip my iced coffee, mulling over how I’ll accomplish both without making a mistake.

“That’s very true,” I say. “Once a liar, always a liar.”

She nods. “Exactly. My first husband was a liar. The only time he wasn’t lying was when he was asleep, and even then I swear he was dreaming up lies to tell me.” A smirk creeps across her face.

I laugh, and she does too. There’s a warmness to her I really like, and I wonder how she entered my life. Talking to her feels like I’m getting a hug even though we’re sitting across a table from one another. She’s important to me. I can feel it. I see it in her vibrant eyes, in her infectious smile, and in the way she looks at me.

“Still worried about that marriage pact?” she asks.

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