Page 70 of Wells

"Thanks."

We reach the café, and he pulls the door open for me. I step inside. The smell of espresso and baked goods replaces the dry cleaner's detergent. A few tables are occupied, but the space is mostly quiet. He gestures toward a booth near the window.

I slide in across from him and set the dry cleaning on the seat beside me.

What am I doing here?

A server appears with two menus and sets them on the table. Cas slides his to the side. "I'll have a black coffee, please."

"What about you, Hon?"

"Can I please have a matcha latte and a beignet?"

"Y'all got it."

When she walks off, Cas leans back in the booth and stretches his arms across the top of the seat. He looks relaxed, cool and comfortable. The same way he used to look when we came here on Sunday mornings and he would read the paper while I sketched on napkins.

So happy for him.

"Stone Intermodal, huh?"

I nod.

"Quite a change. What are you doing over there?"

"Managing all of the shipping that comes in from China."

He grins. The expression pulls at something in my chest, something that used to respond when he looked at me like that.

Stop it.

"Still got that whipsmart humor. I love it. Seriously, though, what are you doing? I'm guessing not medical billing?"

"Data visualization. I translate cyber reports for their board, mainly, but anything that requires visuals for data."

"Sounds intense."

"It can be. But it's been a nice change."

I think about Wells bending me over the desk and laugh a little to myself.

"What's got you tickled?"

"Oh," I say, waving my hand as I shake my head. "I was thinking about a report I forgot to fix. It's nothing."

The server returns with our drinks. I wrap my hands around the mug and let the warmth sink into my palms. Cas takes a sip, then sets his cup down and leans forward.

"I always knew you would end up somewhere impressive. I'm really happy for you, Cer."

Him using his nickname for me irks me and, in a weird way, is nice. I'm mad at myself for even sitting here with him, much less basking in his charm.

Somewhere impressive. Not you are impressive. Not I'm proud of you. Just the idea that I would eventually get to a place worth mentioning.

I take a drink and let the bitterness of the matcha sit on my tongue.

"Thanks."

The server drops off my beignet. I tear off a piece and eat it without tasting it.