Page 13 of The Second Chance Year

“And your friend?” José Luis asks, giving Jacob a sly up-and-down glance. Am I the only one who never noticed that Jacob is a real snack?

Distracted, I mumble, “Café Americano, please,” without thinking. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realize my mistake. I’ve made Jacob dozens of café Americanos. It’s all he ever ordered when he came into Higher Grounds. But inthisversion of my year, he’s never been here before, and I’ve never made him coffee before. How do I explain how I know this?

I peek up at him, and now he looks stunned. “How did you know that’s my coffee order?”

“Oh, you know…” I look around the café for inspiration. “I guess…” Above the counter, Christmas lights twinkle, leftover decorations from the recent holiday. That’s it. “Christmas! And Thanksgiving! When you come over for the holidays with my family, you always have a café Americano after dinner.” I have literally no idea if this is true, but my parents have one of those fancy, pretentious espresso machines they like to break out when their intellectual friends come over, so it’sprobablytrue. It still doesn’t explain why I would have paid any attention to his coffee preferences, when I barely paid any attention to him. But it’s been a hard day, okay?

He nods, clearly still skeptical. But what else is he going to think? That I used to work here and make him drinks, and thenI came back in time, and now I know things that I technically have no way of knowing?

Who would believe a story like that?

Jacob turns to Mrs. Kaminski and leans forward to peer into her empty coffee cup. “Can I get you anything?” he asks, and for a moment, her face registers surprise. I imagine mine looks the same.

Mrs. Kaminski always drinks plain black coffee, but now that Jacob’s buying, she orders a Mediterranean veggie panini and an extra-large café mocha. Oh, and a brownie to go. Shrewd lady.

“That was nice of you,” I murmur while we wait for our order.

He shrugs. “She seems like she just needs somebody to pay a little attention to her.” And at that moment, my insides turn to custard. Mrs. Kaminski is a grumpy old bat. But I guess I never thought about the fact that she’s really just lonely, and probably doesn’t have anywhere else to spend her days.

While José Luis sets the espresso machine to drip and grabs the milk from the fridge under the counter, Jacob asks if I want to get a table. I’m about to say yes when my phone buzzes with a text. It’s Alex. I told him I’d meet him for dinner after work.

I sigh, exhausted from keeping up this charade all day long. I know it will be good for Alex and me to get back to normal, but right now, it’s the last thing I want to do.

“Everything okay?” Jacob asks.

“Yeah, I… I forgot I’m supposed to meet Alex.” My shoulders droop. “He’s waiting at my apartment.”

If Jacob is disappointed, he doesn’t show it. And to be honest, he’s probablynotdisappointed. He has a Joshua Jamesfilm score to compose, and my brother to meet for drinks, and a whole life he doesn’t need to wish away.

Jacob approaches the counter. “Excuse me,” he calls to José Luis. “Can we get those coffees to go?”

No, Jacob doesn’t care one bit that I have to leave to meet Alex. But the real question is… why doIcare? It must be because Jacob is familiar, and right now, I’m desperate for anyone who feels familiar. I peek up at him as José Luis hands over our paper cups. I know for a fact that Jacob wears blue flannel pajama pants and likes cold Thai noodles and tilts his head to the left when he kisses. While after all this time, my knowledge of Alex feels hazy. Dim. Like something from my past.

But the past is here, Alex is my boyfriend, and Jacob is… Jacob is Owen’s friend. Nothing more. He made that sugar-crystal clear on his couch last night.

When we’re back out on the street, I hold up my coffee in a little salute in Jacob’s direction. “Thanks for this.”

“Sure. It was—” He cocks his head like he’s trying to work something out. “It was good to see you, Sadie.”

“You too, Jacob.” Reluctantly, I turn and head down the sidewalk. My aching body protests, and my feet scream obscenities, but I keep walking until I’ve dragged myself back home.

Back home, and back to the life that I wished for.

Chapter 8

February

I’ve never seen so many men in gray vests in my life. I’m at a downtown bar, meeting Alex for drinks after work, and this place is positively swimming in performance fleece. I actually grew a little disoriented and approached two other tall, sandy-haired men with their backs to me before I found Alex. It’s casual Friday, and it seems that every Wall Street banker got the memo: pale button-up shirt, khaki trousers, and Patagonia vest. Oh, and since we’re at a bar, an old-fashioned in hand.

I finally identify my gray vest–wearing boyfriend in a sea of gray vest–wearing boyfriends, and he stands to give me a hug. The place is crowded, so he offers me his stool and gets the bartender’s attention to order a glass of my favorite sauvignon blanc. Alex has always been thoughtful like this, and it’s one of the first things I loved about him. Like Kasumi said, he’s a good guy. The dating scene in New York City can be a jungle, so finding someone who will buy you a drink without the expectation of getting your panties off is less common than you’d hope. Not that I can’t buy a drink for myself, of course.

When I slide on to the barstool, I come face-to-face withZach Templeton. If dating in New York is a jungle, then Zach is the king of gorillas. I’d say I don’t know why Alex hangs out with him but they’re coworkers who both started at the firm the same week, so he doesn’t always have a choice. Apparently, it’s part of the Wall Street culture to network over drinks.

Lately, I’m really not one to criticize Alex for sucking it up for the sake of professional harmony. I’ve been metaphorically covering my ears, squeezing my eyes shut, and singing “la, la, la” in order to ignore Xavier’s bad behavior. I haven’t told him off or made any big speeches in weeks. And I’ve stayed off his radar, which is not something I could say the last time around.

This whole second chance thing is still an adjustment, but I’ve started to get used to it. There are moments when I have the most intense sense of déjà vu, and then I realize that no, I don’t have the feeling I’ve had this conversation before. I’veactually hadthis conversation before. Which is how, as I take a sip of my wine, I know that Zach is about to say something to really irritate me.

He doesn’t disappoint. “Is your cute little Japanese friend meeting you here?”

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