Page 22 of Pretend You Love Me

The lunch rush is in full swing when Adrian arrives, slipping through the door quietly. He’s carrying a leather folder in one hand and a phone charger in the other, his expression neutral in a way that seems to be his default setting.

“Apparently I’m now a delivery driver,” he announces, setting the charger on the counter beside the register. “You texted me seven times about forgetting this and that ‘you might be having feelings.’”

Luca’s face transforms, the immediate expression that happens whenever Adrian appears, his whole body leaning slightly toward him without apparently being aware of it. “I’m not having feelings,” he says, already moving toward Adrian. “I’m having a perfectly normal reaction to the fact that Barry rearranged the entire fiction section while I was on my break and now nothing is where it’s supposed to be.”

“Of course,” Adrian says, his voice dry. “Completely reasonable.”

“Completely,” Luca agrees, already reaching to put the coffee for Adrian on the counter, a flat white with the right amount of foam, made without being asked. “And also, Barry is a demon wearing a human suit, which is not a feeling, it’s an objective fact supported by extensive observational evidence.”

“I’m sure,” Adrian says, but he’s smiling, a soft, private smile that appears only when he’s looking at Luca. “Good thing you only have to deal with him twice a week.”

They continue like this, Luca talking, Adrian listening while the lunch rush continues around them. At one point, Luca leans against Adrian’s shoulder while talking to a customer, the gesture so automatic and comfortable that neither of them seems to notice it’s happening, just a brief moment of contact, Adrian’s body adjusting slightly to accommodate Luca’s weight before they separate again, still talking.

I watch this from behind the counter with a feeling I don’t examine too closely, something between grief and envy. Not for Adrian specifically, I’ve never thought of him or Luca that way, but for what he and Luca have together. For the lives that two people share who have built something real from the careful work of knowing and choosing each other, again and again.

When the rush finally eases, the queue shortening, the tables gradually emptying as people return to work or class or whatever lives they have outside this corner of the world, Adrian finds a quiet moment to approach the counter, his expression careful.

“How are you holding up?” he asks, his voice low enough that only I can hear.

It’s such a normal question, just a simple acknowledgment that things have been difficult, and for a moment, I don’t know how to answer. Then I shrug, one hand still moving through the motions of wiping down the counters.

“I’m okay,” I say, the words practiced. “It’s...it’s a process.”

He nods, accepting this without pushing for details. “Clara called me yesterday,” he says, his voice matter of fact. “The documentation is progressing well. She’s impressed with how thorough you’ve been.”

Relief washes through me, a feeling of a weight being lifted slightly. “That’s good,” I say. “I’ve been trying to...I don’t want to miss anything.”

“You haven’t,” Adrian says with quiet certainty. “Clara mentioned the NICU evidence specifically. She said it establishes a clear pattern of behaviour that will be very relevant to custody discussions. The lack of doctor’s appointment attendance as well.”

The feeling that the worst moments of my life may help me out of this situation is a strange one.

“Thank you,” I say, the words feel odd in this instance.

Adrian nods once, his expression matter of fact. “Patience is still the strategy. But you’re in a good position, Elsie. Better than most in your situation.”

I nod, not quite trusting my voice, and Adrian gives my shoulder a brief, careful squeeze before turning back to the table where Luca is now dramatically reenacting Barry’s reorganization of the fiction section with three salt shakers and a packet of sugar.

At one point during the afternoon, I’m not even sure when, I realize that I’ve gone nearly forty minutes without thinking about Daniel. Just forty straight minutes of being where I am, making coffee, talking to customers, watching Leo make Milo laugh with increasingly elaborate facial expressions when he gets out of school. Forty minutes where my marriage isn’t the centre of my existence, where I’m not the woman whose husband betrayed her, but just Elsie, barista, business owner, friend, mother, person.

It doesn’t fix anything. It doesn’t make Daniel’s lies less painful or the divorce less complicated or the future less uncertain. But it helps.

Closing time arrives gradually, I start slowly cleaning and closing up until Luca announces to the stragglers that it’s time to go.

“Oh!” the woman says, reaching for her handbag. “Is it that time already?”

“I’m afraid so,” Luca says, already moving toward their table with a cloth in hand. “The witching hour approaches. When the last customer leaves, the espresso machine transforms into a pumpkin, and I turn back into a frog.”

“You’re already a frog,” I tell him, wiping down the counter. “Just one with an espresso machine and questionable taste in music.”

“Diversity in amphibian representation,” he says solemnly. “It’s very important.”

As the last customers finish their drinks and gather their belongings, some with reluctance, others with brisk efficiency, the café gradually empties. Chairs go up on tables with soft thuds. Napkins and empty cups are cleared from surfaces still warm from human hands. The coffee machine is switched off with a final, satisfied hiss, the sound cutting through the quiet, like a period at the end of a particularly long sentence.

Luca is the last to leave, his coat already on, his keys in hand, his movements slightly slower than usual, his phone in his hand, his expression carefully neutral.

“Are you sure you’re okay closing up?” Luca asks, already knowing the answer. “I can stay. Adrian doesn’t mind.”

“Go,” I tell him, already reaching for the broom. “I’ve got this. And you promised him dinner that wasn’t from the café, which seems fair with the number of hours you do here in my absence.”