Page 81 of Coffee Shop Girl
Panic squeezed my chest like a vise. I fumbled for my purse. Was it time to touch up my lipstick? Take a break?
Run away?
“Well,” I said, my voice a littletoobright, “let me think about this for a day or forty.”
“You okay?” Lizbeth asked, studying me.
“Fine. I’m fine.”
“That means—”
“I’m fine!” I snapped.
“Ookaaay,” Lizbeth said, “while you have a mild panic attack, I’ll get to work. But we’re going to do two lists.” She reached for my laptop. “One of things we can do right now, and one that will take some time and money to build out. I might be able to draw up a budget for draperies and—”
“Are you all right with this?” Maverick asked, moving to stand next to me. He propped his hands on the counter behind him, though he didn’t take his eyes off Lizbeth as she honed in on the computer. Clearly, she didn’t expect a response.
Lizbeth was a verbal processor. Instead of the quiet, she needed the chaos. Right then, I could have made do with a long stretch of highway and the rumble of the bike beneath me.
“Fine,” I said.
“You’re pale.”
“I’m fine.”
“And your knuckles are white.”
A glance downward confirmed I was clutching the counter with a white-knuckled grip. Every muscle in my body felt like it was ready to spring. “It’s ... a lot.”
“A lot of what?”
“Of . . . unexpectedness.”
That wasn’t a word. Or maybe it was. I didn’t care, but I did try again.
“It’s a lot of letting go.”
He nodded slowly, seeming to roll that idea around his mind. “Or a lot of embracing the future. However you want to look at it.”
My brow furrowed. I hated it when he acted like my mentor or pulled out some nugget of wisdom I didn’t really want. I didn’t want to be functional. I wanted tofeel. Especially when I just wanted to rip the glasses off him and throw myself back into his chest. The temptation to send Lizbeth skittering upstairs with her ideas was nearly overwhelming. I held back because I didn’t quite know where I stood with Maverick.
Strictly speaking, we were friends who would part as soon as he felt the need. We just happened to share a strong sense of attraction and kisses that would melt the panties off any woman.
“It’s okay tofeel,you know,” I muttered a bit too sharply.Defensiveness,Dad always said,means something is very wrong, Bee.
Maverick grunted.
“I just ... I feel sad. And not ready. To let go of all of this is to ... kind of ... you know ... erase my dad from the coffee shop. And if he’s not here, then he’s nowhere, because this was literally all he had left.”
“Not all.” He kicked the side of my foot gently.
I frowned up at him. “You mean me?”
He nodded.
To that, I had no reply. Maybe he was right, but I wasn’t ready to see that yet. A small part of Dad would always live on in me, but I couldn’tfeelthat. I couldn’t embrace it. That wasn’t the tangible proof that he was still with me. Letting go of the only physical assurance I had of my father was too much. I’d already sacrificed his bike to a stranger.
Now I had to let the fish go.
