Page 104 of Blush Crush

“Oh my gosh, no. I couldn’t let you do that.”

“You absolutely can and you will.” I move around the counter and gently steer her toward the back to grab her things. “You came in early, you did my job and yours. Go home. Enjoy your Saturday.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t mind staying?—”

“Lina.” I meet her eyes. “Go home to your son.”

She brightens at the mention of her son, the last of her resistance dissolving. “Okay. But call me if it gets busy.”

“It won’t. And even if it does, that’s what I’m here for. Or I’ll call Sadie in.” I head to the pastry case and start boxing up a small selection—one of the brown butter chocolate chip cookies, two of the strawberry hand pies, and one of the oversized snickerdoodles because I have yet to meet a kid who doesn’t like them. “Here.” I hand her the box. “For Oliver.”

She gives me a grateful smile and her eyes get a little misty. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.” I wave her off. “But I did it anyway.”

I’ve never pried but I know she’s been through a lot so I’m happy to help, even if it’s something small like free pastries and some deserved time off.

She takes the box and her bag and heads for the door, pausing with her hand on the frame. “Ariana.”

“Yeah?”

“If Cole is responsible for that glow,” she grins, “then I’m really happy for you.”

She’s out the door before I can respond.

I stand rooted in my spot for a moment. Do I really look that different? Because of Cole? I find that hard to believe.

The bell above the door chimes, a small group of customers coming through, and I’m grateful for the interruption.

The afternoon rush comes and goes and I fall into my regular rhythm. So much so, I don’t realize Wes has walked in until he’s standing at the counter, waiting for me to notice him.

He smiles the smile that used to make my stomach flip and I am now noticing it does absolutely nothing to my stomach at all.

That’s interesting.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be in today. The last few times I’ve come in I haven’t seen you.”

“Oh, weird,” I say with a smile because I’m not sure how else to respond. “You want your usual?”

“Yes, please.” He sets his bag on the counter and leans against it. “I’ve been meaning to ask—the poetry club wants to do another night here in the spring. Same setup as before. Would that work?”

“Of course.” I start on his drink. “Just send me the dates and I’ll block it off.”

“Great.” He watches me work, his stare traveling over me. “You seem like you’re in a good mood.”

“I guess I am,” I say, and realize I mean it. I feel great actually. Better than great.

We chat easily while I finish his drink—about the club, about a visiting poet he’s bringing to campus, about whether I’ve read anything good lately. It’s comfortable. Pleasant.

Yet Layla’s voice is in my head.

And where does Wes fall in all this? Because you’ve barely mentioned the guy.

I hand him his drink and he’s mid-sentence about some collection of essays he thinks I’d like when I feel an awareness strike me, like a shift in the air pressure of a room.

I glance beyond Wes’s shoulder to find Cole standing just inside the entrance, looking directly at me. Then at Wes. Then back at me.

He strides in unhurried but very deliberate. Wes doesn’t notice until Cole is right next to him.