Page 72 of Hearts Like Hers

He stared at her harder and then shook hishead and shrugged his shoulders.

“Perhaps you’re nervous? Or it’s part of adisability?”

He shook his head.

“Or an aspiring mime? These are things I canwork with.”

No response.

Right, well, there wasn’t much she could dowith that. “Anything you want to say?”

He smiled at the irony. She did, too.

“Well, I appreciate the hard work you’ve doneand wish you nothing but the best, Simon.”

He nodded, handed her his apron, offered asalute, and was out the door.

What an odd kid. Luckily, she’d seen thiscoming and had yet another new hire all lined up and ready. Surely this nextone would pan out.

The afternoon was busy. The temperatures hadwarmed considerably and everyone clamored for iced coffee and frozen mochas,but Autumn was otherwise distracted. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t do anyat-home pregnancy tests before her official doctor’s appointment. They wereless than reliable this early, and why get her hopes up, or down, only to haveit all reversed later?

But she’d bought one.

A total impulse decision made betweenprocurement of a carton of milk and a package of Double Stuf Oreos. A decisionshe now paid for. The test, tucked away in her bag, taunted her. She couldeither bite the bullet and just take the damn thing or shut the hell up andwait the last handful of days until the blood test. She’d still yet toexperience any potential symptoms. Maybe it would even be better to—

“Yeah, I’ll take an Earl Grey. Grande.”

She turned to regard the customer across thecash register. Tall, curly hair, a jean jacket, and a guitar strapped to hisback. Her ire flared. It washim.The Airbnb replacement, and this was not the day for it. Not after she had tofire an employee and face off against Satan’s Pee Stick!

“What’s wrong with coffee?” she askedinnocently, forcing herself to smile.

“I’m sorry?” His pretty blue eyes heldconfusion. Of course they were pretty. She hated him more.

“You ordered tea. Just wondered if there wassome sort of coffee bias hiding out in there.” She tried to laugh, to make itbetter. It sounded hollow and didn’t work.

“No, ma’am.” A light Southern accent. Howlame.

“And I’m guessing you want a medium, becausegrande is Starbucks, and we certainly aren’t them.”

His smile faltered. “A medium, please.”

“Coming right up.”

“Thank you!” he called, as she turned away topour his boring hot water.

She turned back. “Don’t be charming. Justdon’t do it.”

He nodded and commenced slinking his way downthe counter. She couldn’t blame the guy. He must think she was some kind ofdragon lady. And she had been lately. Talk about mood swings. She frozemid–drink creation.Moodswings.Her eyes flew to her purse below the counter. “Hey, Steve,”she called into the back, sliding the water and tea bag unceremoniously to Mr.Blue Eyed Country Singer.

“What’s up?” he said, poking his head out ofthe storage room.

“Mind the counter? I need to take five.”

“You got it.”

She snatched her bag, locked herself in theemployee restroom in the back, and took the test, going against everything she’dpromised herself. But mood swings! That was a legitimate symptom, and with thatlittle kernel of hope, she could construct a mountain of persuasion. There wasno way to stop her from taking this test after a revelation like that. Shewaited the required four minutes, watching the seconds tick slowly by, beforedaring to approach the stick that held so much power. Two little lines was allshe needed. Two. She prayed for two.

She walked to the waiting stick slowly, as iffrightening the thing would make a difference. Peering down, she braced herselffor whatever she might see, and then there it was. Emphasis onit. Her heart fell witha thud. One line. One very apparent, bold line that seemed to be laughing ather.

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