Page 22 of Estranged Heart
“Bye.” She leaves without asking what I’m doing the rest of the day. Working earlier should have worn me out but it hasn’t. On my lunch break I read one of my new books on a park bench at the nearby lake, skipping the sad and going right to the happy. I don’t feel I have to read about misery when I’m already living it.
Not in the mood to eat dinner at home, I dress in a pair of jeans and a plain shirt. As soon as I’m done brushing my hair and slipping on my shoes, I leave the house and eat at a diner down the road. Not many people occupy the tables around me and the food is a little soggy when it finally arrives. I’m here but also somewhere else. My mind keeps drifting to other places.
After I finish my chicken sandwich and fries, I don’t go back home but keep driving instead. I’m not in control of the wheel anymore and go in a direction I haven’t been before. No bookstore or lake this time. A big black, pink, and white sign catches my attention, and as if following some usual routine, I pull into the parking lot of Mabel’s Bakery with a sudden craving for a strawberry cheese danish. As good as they may be, I don’t typically seek them out. I don’t typically do a lot of things I’ve been wanting to do lately.
I park my car and get out, walking toward the entrance of the small brown-brick building that sits alone. I’m hit with a smell of strawberry, vanilla, and coconut when I enter the double doors of the bakery. Being full from dinner doesn’t stop my stomach from grumbling. Yeah, this was a great choice. How did I not know this place existed? Overwhelmed by the large selection ofdesserts in the glass casings in front of me, I slow my steps, glancing around.
Blue walls. Various art pieces surround me and rows of booths are scattered throughout the bakery. What I don’t expect to see behind the counter is a tall guy covered in tattoos and piercings wearing a too-small apron over a suit. He stands out and looks misplaced in the colorful shop dressed in nothing but black with a beanie on his head in the middle of summer while wearing an“I’d rather be anywhere but here”expression.
“Can I help you?” he asks in a bored tone, looking everywhere but me. Why anyone would think it’s a good idea to put him up at the front to greet customers beats the hell out of me. He taps on the counter. I’m obviously taking too long for him.
“Hi. Yeah, do you have strawberry cheese danishes?”
He shoots me a look, sighing loudly. “I don’t know, do we?” He eyes the pastries on the left of him, pointing to the second row.
“Sorry, I guess I didn’t see them.” Or think to look. Instead I walked in and said what was on my mind.
“Evidently not. How many do you want?”
“One please.” Staring up at the menu behind him written in chalk, I quickly browse the drink list. “Can I have a lemonade too?”
“We’re out of lemonade,” he grumbles.
“Oh. What about sweet tea?”
He tucks a loose strand of red hair into his gray beanie. “We’re out of that too.”
“A Coke?”
“Out. There are water fountains by the restrooms. Do you want your danish bagged to go?” Is this guy serious? What a dick. Does he even work here? Did he come in today randomly deciding he’d sell desserts because he had nothing better going on?
“Oh come on AJ, stop pulling the guy’s chain and give him what he wants. He’s clearly new here,” a deep voice says from behind me. Why is it so familiar? No. It can’t be. Not ready to confirm who the voice belongs to, I continue staring ahead.
Rolling his eyes, AJ grabs a cup from behind him and walks through the back kitchen doors. Not sure if I should thank the man behind me or gripe at him for possibly being the reason I’ll have a loogie in my drink, I turn around to finally face him, my throat going dry the moment our eyes lock.
“Hi,” I say, my heart doing flips in my chest like it has a mind of its own.
“Hey yourself,” Elijah says, giving a crooked smile. “You aren’t following me, are you?”
Blowing out a nervous laugh, I shake my head. “No, I’m not that good at tracking people down. I was eating close by and decided to drive around. I didn’t get out much before recently.”
“Let me guess . . . workaholic?”
“Not exactly.” Someone clears their throat from behind us and AJ is waiting with a cup and bag in his hand. “That’ll be eight seventy-five.”
“I got it,” Elijah says, pulling out his card. “Add my usual to that too, will ya?”
“Sure thing, man.”
“You don’t have to pay for me,” I say, watching the quick exchange between the two men.
“I already am.” Elijah cocks his head, handing me my stuff.
“You know, tables are for chatting and catching up. Lines are for people who don’t have their stuff yet,” AJ blurts out.
We both laugh, and Elijah pockets his card while grabbing his bag from the counter. “Is the booth by the back window okay?”
“I . . . Are you asking me to sit with you?”
