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I stand there, watching her go, and then turn back to my house to get started on some of my own renovations. All of her ideas from last night are in my head, and I find myself making the plans that she described.
I’ll tell her how I feel at lunch, and then we can go from there,, I tell myself as I get to work on all of her plans.
I just hope that she can enjoy this place after everything is out in the open.
FIFTEEN
Auden
The afternoon sunfilters through the large windows of the café, casting a warm glow on the small table where Wade and I sit. Normally, I love my quiet lunches with Wade, but today feels different.
There’s a lingering tension in the air, a cloud hanging over us that I can’t quite shake. It started as soon as we sat down, a subtle shift in Wade’s mood that I’ve been trying to ignore, hoping it’s just my imagination. Or maybe it’s me projecting that because I know that I need to talk to him about us and how I feel.
I’ve been trying to gauge his mood since we sat down, but it’s like there’s a brick wall around him. I watch him now, picking at his sandwich without much enthusiasm, and I can’t help but feel like something is off.
“Everything okay?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light as I reach across the table to touch his hand. His skin is warm beneath my fingers, but he doesn’t look up, just nods slightly.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, but there’s a tightness in his voice that tells me he’s anything but.
He’s worried about something. I just don’t know what.
I open my mouth to press him further, but before I can say anything, the door to the café swings open, and a group of people walk in. I glance up, my gaze sweeping over them briefly, and my heart sinks as I recognize one of the faces in the crowd.
Mitch Wallace.
Of all the people to run into today, it had to be him. Mitch was the quintessential high school bully, the guy who made it his mission to make everyone else’s life miserable, especially if they didn’t fit into his narrow view of what was “cool.” And Wade… Wade had been one of his favorite targets.
Surely, he’s not still like that, right? I mean, I’m sure that they’ve both moved on.
I stiffen in my seat, hoping that Mitch won’t notice us, that he’ll just grab his coffee or whatever and leave, but of course, that’s too much to ask for. His eyes land on us, and a slow, cruel smile spreads across his face as he makes a beeline for our table.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Wade Collins,” Mitch sneers as he stops beside our table, his voice dripping with mockery. “Didn’t expect to see you out in public, man. Thought you’d be hiding out in some hole like you used to in high school.”
Wade doesn’t respond; he just stares down at his plate, his shoulders tense. I feel a surge of anger rise within me, anger at Mitch for being such a jerk, and anger at myself for not being able to protect Wade from this.
“Back off, Mitch,” I snap, glaring up at him. “We’re just trying to have lunch. You can take your nasty attitude somewhere else.”
Mitch raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised by my outburst. “Wow, didn’t know you were into charity cases, Auden,” he says with a smirk. “But hey, I guess someone’s got to take pity on the guy.”
My blood boils at his words, and I stand up, not caring that we’re making a scene. “You’re pathetic, you know that? Highschool was years ago, Mitch. Grow up and stop being such a bully.”
Mitch’s smirk falters, just for a second, and I can see the flash of embarrassment in his eyes, but then he shrugs, clearly deciding that I’m not worth the effort.
“Whatever. Enjoy your lunch,” he says, his tone dismissive as he turns and walks away, leaving a heavy silence in his wake.
I sit back down, my heart pounding in my chest, the adrenaline still coursing through me. I glance at Wade, hoping to see some sign that my words made a difference, that he’s not letting Mitch’s cruelty get to him, but Wade’s face is impassive, his expression closed off in a way that I haven’t seen in a long time. Not since high school.
Shit.
“Wade…” I begin, but he shakes his head, cutting me off.
“We should go,” he says quietly, not meeting my eyes.
I want to push, to make him talk to me, but I know Wade well enough to understand when he needs space. So I nod, trying to ignore the knot of worry that’s starting to form in the pit of my stomach.
We clear the table and head out to his truck in silence, the easy conversation we usually share replaced by a heavy, uncomfortable quiet. I hate it. I hate that Mitch still has this power over Wade, that even after all these years, he can still make him feel small.
We drive back to work together in silence, and by the time we park outside, my lunch is in a tight ball in my stomach.
