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“No kidding,” she agrees. “Man was he cute.”
I debate telling her who he was for a full minute, biting my lip a dead give away that I’m hesitant. “That was Theo,” I finally whisper. “The Theo.”
Her eyes widen comically, and she hops onto the counter, crossing one leg over the other and watches me in silence.
“I—I guess he’s got a kid. So that’s… yeah.”
“I didn’t see a ring, Lib. And he kept looking around the shop like he was hoping to spot something. Or someone.”
For the rest of the afternoon we stick to our tasks, and by the time I’m locking up behind her, my mind is running a million miles an hour on a one subject track.
Theo.
