Page 26 of Coffee Shop Girl
“Now it’s my turn,” she said. “I get to ask a question.”
“Shoot.”
I tried to stay casual as I eyed a package of jerky.
“Do your tattoos have any significance?”
My gaze dropped to my left arm. Her bottom lip blanched as she bit into it. As if she worried the question were too personal.
To set her at ease, I smiled. “Most of them are my nieces’ and nephews’ names, wrapped around some design work.”
She smiled back, all velvet now.
“That’s lovely to hear. You must have a big family.”
“Huge. Well, relatively. Five brothers, four are married. The family reunions get a bit intense, but they’re always fun.”
“All of them have kids?”
“Just three, but it totals a whopping ten nieces and nephews.”
“Definitely enough for a sleeve,” she said, laughing. “I’m very jealous.”
“You like utter chaos and tribalism between young children?”
“Better than the silence,” she said quietly.
We ended at the same cash register run by a pimply high school kid. I gestured for her to slide in first. She unloaded her cart, grilling me on my family. She seemed fascinated. Shocked that I saw them so often.
Baxter and Mallory had built six brand-new houses in a wide cul-de-sac, then gifted one house to each member of my family. Some of my siblings lived there full time, near my parents. Some visited. I kept mine mostly furnished as a guesthouse and stayed there once every few months. The arrangement made for interesting Sunday dinners.
“One hundred fifteen dollars and forty-five cents,” the cashier said, drawing her attention back. Bethany reached for her purse, then stopped.
“Sorry, how much?”
The kid looked up through glazed eyes. “One hundred fifteen dollars and forty-five cents.”
She sucked in a sharp breath, looking through the items while he started to bag them. She riffled through the cash side of her wallet, finding only an extra dollar there. I was just reaching for my credit card to offer it when she shot me a dirty glare, produced another piece of plastic, and slid it over.
“Here.”
I put my hand back on the grocery cart as if nothing had happened.
Bethany tapped her pink shoe, chewing her bottom lip, while the cashier ran the credit card through. Then she held her breath. Finally, the machine chugged out a receipt, and he handed the card back. She let out a long breath.
“Have a great evening,” he muttered.
Bethany took the card, shoved it into her wallet, and loaded her groceries into the cart. She stood there awkwardly for a moment before she turned around.
“Thanks,” she said, not quite meeting my eyes. “See you in the morning.”
Before I could reply, she was gone.
* * *
“Doyou know any lawyers that would take pro bono work?”
Her question came the next morning, breaking an hour-long span of silence. I blinked, looked away from my computer, and focused on her face. She wore her wavy hair down around her shoulders again today. That ratted old hat sat on top of her head, a bit too charming for my liking. Her eyes, as usual, peered out with unrepressed curiosity. No yoga pants, just shorts that made me want to die.
