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The front door dings, and like clockwork, Sander comes strolling in.
Seriously, someone just shoot me now. Can’t a girl catch a break?
All the awkwardness from our last conversation still hangs there between us as he approaches the counter.
“Hey,” he says, and has the decency to at least look sorry for the last time we spoke.
“Hey,” I respond. “The usual?”
“Yeah,” he answers, and I turn to fill two cups with tea.
I don’t know which is worse though. Him keeping his distance, or him over stepping boundaries. Why can’t he just be normal Sander, right there in the middle, the way he always was?
I bag everything up for him and he pays, but doesn’t step away from the counter. It’s obvious by the look in his eyes that he’s trying to work through something, so I just wait.
“About yesterday,” he starts, and I really don’t want to talk about it right now.
“Can we just pretend like that didn’t happen?” I ask, referring to our argument more than anything, but of course he misinterprets the whole thing.
“Why? Did something happen?” he asks, standing straighter all of a sudden.
“What? No. I just meant our fight,” I explain, lacking the patience for this conversation.
“Oh, well, I wouldn’t quite call it a fight, but sure, if you rather forget about it, I guess I can give you that,” he says, and I know he’d rather do anything but that.
“Thanks,” I say, sighing as I lean my hip against the counter.
“So, if nothing happened, what’s got you all mopey?” he asks.
I don’t even have the energy to lie to him. I just pull the eviction warning from my pocket and hand it to him. He opens it, scans the document, and then, just as I suspected, pity fills his eyes.
“K, why didn’t you say anything?” he asks, handing the paper back to me.
“Because it’s not your problem, it’s mine,” I say.
“That’s not fair,” he says, and it feels like he’s making this about him, which only makes matters worse.
“What about any of the last two years has been fair, Sander,” I say, frustration pinching my features.
“I know—”
“No, you don’t,” I whisper shout, not wanting to draw any unnecessary attention in the middle of my work.
“Keaton, just let me help you. I’ll go to the bank and—”
“No!” I shout. And now all eyes are on me. Perfect.
“What the hell, Keaton?” Sander says, looking at me like he has no idea who I am anymore, but honestly, neither do I.
“You need to just go. I don’t want your help. I don’t want anyone’s help. I will figure this out. Just please stop,” I say through gritted teeth, doing my best to remain calm.
It’s clear by the set of his jaw that he wants to say more, but thankfully he doesn’t. He grabs his order and walks out without a backward glance.
I sink my head down into my hands, willing the tears that are forming in the corners of my eyes to stop. Why must everything happen all at once?
The kitchen doors burst open behind me, and I turn to see Teagan, phone in her hand, eyes wide, and breathing heavily.
“What?” I ask, ushering her back into the kitchen, just in case. These customers sure as hell don’t need two shows in one day.
