Page 45 of Rewind It Back

Now, there’s something I haven’t seen before.

“Dining table is straight ahead,” he says as he holds the door open for me. “You can set your things down there.”

My eyes are glued on his new ink, attempting to catch more of it as I pass him, but also attempting to be subtle. I’m clearlynotbecause once I set my things on the table and turn back to the entryway, Rio is busy buttoning his shirt.

He’s finishing the last button by the time he meets me at the table. “Can I get you something to drink before we start? I have water, tea, coffee—”

“You have coffee here?”

“Yeah.” He motions to a small part of his kitchen counter that’s occupied by multiple machines. “I have an espresso machine and regular drip coffee, so whatever you want.”

“But you don’t drink coffee.”

This soft smile tilts on his lips, like he likes that I remembered that.

“It’s not for me. It’s for when I have guests over.”

“Oh.”

“Oh no,” he quickly corrects. “Not those kinds of guests.”

“You don’t need to explain.” I busy myself with organizing the design books I brought over, opening them and spreading them across his table. “It’s not my business anyway.”

But the image puts a bad taste in my mouth. Not that I’m naïve to think he hasn’t been with anyone else in all these years, but as his first, I don’t want to know anything about the women who followed.

“My teammates, Hallie. They spend a lot of time here, so it’s for them. And my best friend is kind of addicted to iced coffee. A few years ago, she was staying here for a couple of days, and her now husband gave me so much shit for not making her coffee correctly that I had to step up my game. That’s all I meant byguests.” He points to one of the books on the table, the one filled with a crisp palette of whites and grays. “And put that one away. I fucking hate that one.”

I chuckle because just as he used to, Rio knows how to soothe any discomfort.

I close that book and slip it onto a chair so it’s out of view. “Can you make a latte?”

“You still like yours with vanilla?”

“Please.”

Rio makes his way over to the small coffee bar he’s created on the far corner of his kitchen counter, measuring out the espresso beans and pulling a shot. From the fridge, he grabs a carton of almond milk, but I can see that he has oat and regular dairy milk in there too.

To an outsider, this might seem odd, him having a coffee bar when he doesn’t drink caffeine or having dairy milk in his fridge when he’s lactose intolerant. But the thing is, Rio has always been good to his friends, has always had this innate way of loving and taking care of those important to him. One of his best characteristics is making those around him comfortable and welcomed, so a fully stocked coffee station for friends who are visiting makes perfect sense to me.

He froths the almond milk before adding it to the mug, then attempts his best at a design with the foam. But even from my view, I can tell the art looks like shit.

His eyes are locked on the mug, adding the last of the heated milk and doing some overexaggerated thing with his wrist as if that’s going to make the design look any better.

“I know you’re over there trying not to laugh at me.”

That does make me laugh. “I’m not.”

“Your lying hasn’t really improved since I last saw you, Hal.”

Rio realizes what he said the same time I do, and the awkward tension settles in around us like it has so easily since seeing each other again.

He clears his throat, crossing through the kitchen and holding the mug out to me. “Almond milk, if I remember correctly.”

I take it from him, grateful for the swift attempt of moving forward.

“Perfect. Thank you.”

I don’t tell him that I don’t like almond milk. I only ordered it when we were younger because I knew he’d ask for a sip of my latte since he couldn’t handle the amount of caffeine if he ordered his own, and I didn’t want the dairy to bother him.

---