Page 115 of Finding Noah

My eyes widened with surprise. “Seriously? That's all?”

She shrugged in reply.

“How do you make any money?”

“Hon, I'm not in it for the money. I have enough regulars to keep the lights on in this place, and Les takes care of the rest.”

“Huh,” I murmured with a slow nod, bewildered, as my hopes for this latte and croissant grew and grew until I believed this would be the greatest caffeine experience of my life.

I fished a ten out of my wallet, handed it over, and said, “Keep the change.”

She nodded gratefully, punching a button to open the register drawer. “Thank you very much. Just wait a minute, and I'll get this ready for you.”

With a nod and a smile, I let her get to work heating up the croissant and making my latte. To busy myself, I glanced around at the pictures adorning the walls. It looked more like a family's photo gallery than coffee-shop art, with all the shots of what looked like kids and grandkids and vacations to the mountains and the beach. But it was a piece of understanding as to why Lisa enjoyed her work so much, being surrounded by happy memories and the people she loved.

My mouth stretched wide with a yawn. “Oh man,” I murmured to myself, using my hand to block the view of my tonsils.

“Long night?”

With a glance over my shoulder, I caught the eye of the other customer in the shop, my first glimpse of his face head-on.

“More like early morning,” I replied right before something in his eyes struck a memory in my brain that made my heart skip a beat, and I stared, my lips falling open as I tried to place it.

He tipped his head, a look of discomfort blanketing his features. “What?”

I blinked and gave my head a shake. “Um … I … God.” I laughed awkwardly and looked away. “Sorry. It's been a long weekend. I'm losing my mind.”

“All good.”

With a long, shaky exhale, I returned my attention to the counter, where Lisa was placing a coffee cup and a pastry bag.

“Here you go, hon,” she said. “Have a good one.”

“Yeah, you too,” I said with a smile, then collected my things. “Uh, are there napkins anywhere, or …”

She nudged her chin toward the door. “There's a bar over there with napkins, straws. If you need sugar or creamer, that's where it is too. But if you need milk, I keep that back here.”

“I'm good, thanks,” I said, turning away from the counter.

I hurried past the guy behind me and gave him the room to order his drink—a simple black coffee, from what I heard before getting out of earshot. The look on his face, the glare in his eyes … what did he remind me of, and why couldn't I place it?

Seth? I thought, putting my coffee and pastry bag down on the bar to grab some napkins from the dispenser. Then I shook my head. No. Not Seth. Well … maybe?

The guy looked mean. Off somehow, like he wasn't quite right. He gave me a bad vibe, the kind you wanted to get far away from before he managed to rub off on you. Or worse. And that was very much the feeling I'd always gotten from the horrible man who'd taken a part in my conception. Seth had scared me—always had—and something about this dude did too.

What's his deal? I wondered, leaving the bar to exit the door.

But before I had the chance, the guy in question hurried past me quickly, resulting in a collision that caused my pastry bag to fall from my hand and onto the floor.

“Oh, sorry about that,” he said with a hint of pomposity. He continued to stand there, eyeing the bag on the floor, but not doing anything to help me out.

Growing more irritated by the second, I lowered my brows over my eyes as I stuffed the napkins into my pocket, freeing up a hand to grab the bag from the floor.

“Don't worry about it,” I grumbled, awkwardly crouching to avoid spilling my drink.

“Here, man. Let me help you—”

“I got it,” I muttered as I thought, Little too late, pal.