Big Chicas Don't Cry(13)

Even I could see the girl’s blank expression from where I stood behind him.

“It’s a combo of hot apple cider and chai tea,” he said, answering her unasked question with a hint of contempt.

She shook her head.

He sighed and pointed at the menu above her head. “Fine. Just give me a black coffee. I’m assuming you have that, right? And I’ll take one of those raspberry-streusel-bar things too.”

The girl smiled, but I highly doubted it was genuine. “Yes, we do have regular coffee. And, you’re in luck. We only have one bar left.”

“No!”

Ay, carajo. Had I really just yelled that out loud?

The man spun to look at me, and embarrassment enflamed my cheeks.

Arched eyebrows hovered over dark-rimmed glasses. The brown eyes behind the lenses squinted in confusion. “Excuse me?” he asked, disdain dripping from every syllable that seemed to have been torn from what I imagined to be a very pursed mouth hidden underneath a dark, unruly beard. Maybe on another day, I’d think this guy was good looking in a cool, nerdy kind of way. But as soon as he opened his mouth with those words, his handsome features contorted into just another pendejo-face. And whatever embarrassment I’d felt after my outburst quickly dissolved into full-fledged annoyance.

I’d hated it when Greg would use that kind of tone with me whenever he thought I was being unreasonable or silly. He used it again when I’d asked him the night we broke up if there was another woman.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Erica,” he’d scoffed, as if the reason we were breaking up could be so trite. He then proceeded to explain that there really wasn’t any one reason why he had come to the conclusion things weren’t working out. But it all came down to the fact that he could never see himself marrying me anyway, and it was better to end things now before wasting any more of each other’s time. And so he’d gathered his things, told me to have a good life, and walked out my door, not caring in the slightest that he’d just stolen my trust and heart.

I wasn’t about to let another guy steal anything else. Even if it was only a piece of pastry that I probably shouldn’t have been eating anyway.

The surly man’s eyebrows arched even higher as I took a step closer. “Look, there’s plenty of cheese danishes still in the case. Or how about a nice bran muffin?”

I didn’t care if I sounded or looked crazy. It had become a matter of principle at that point.

“Are you actually being serious right now?” he asked.

There was that tone again. My pissed-off meter was dinging off the charts. It had been hovering in the red zone ever since the breakup, and honestly, I was so goddamn tired of trying to hold it together. Even as Greg was ripping my heart to shreds, I’d forced myself to be reasonable and rational so we could continue our conversation until I could understand what in the hell was happening. Because if I had started crying and screaming, he would’ve just shut down. “I don’t speak hysterical,” he’d once told me.

Well, fuck that shit now. I was about to be fluent in hysterical.

“I am . . . actually,” I said, stepping closer to the stranger and trying to sound as sarcastic as him. “Let me put it in simpler words for you since I don’t have time to explain it again. I want that last raspberry streusel bar. No, I deserve that last raspberry streusel bar. So, pick something else, and move on with the rest of your day.”

Something flashed across his face, and he looked like he wanted to say something to me. Instead, he shook his head and told the girl (who, by the way, was secretly giving me a high-five with her eyes) that he’d just take the coffee.

Two minutes later, I bit into the pastry and nearly cried. It was the most satisfying and sweetest bar I’d ever eaten. I savored every last crumb. The sugar and confidence high carried me all the way to the News-Press conference room. The anger was gone. So was the anxiety. I was feeling pretty damn good.

That is, until after just a few minutes into the staff meeting, Tom asked my new boss, Adrian Mendes, to stand and say a few words to everyone, and the mean stranger who tried to steal the last raspberry streusel bar from me stood instead.

Ay, Dios mío.

Of course it would be him. This New Year was really starting off like shit. First, I make a fool of myself by sleeping with Greg. Then I make an even bigger fool of myself in front of my new boss. If I’d run into this guy anywhere else, I would’ve found the nearest bush and hid behind it. But since there was no shrubbery inside the News-Press office, once the meeting ended I pulled on my big girl chonies and walked right over to where Adrian Mendes was talking with Charlie, our newly promoted managing editor.

“And here’s Erica Garcia, our education reporter,” an oblivious Charlie announced proudly to the man standing next to him. “Erica, this is Adrian.”

The recognition was instantaneous. His initial polite smile thinned, and his complexion darkened one more shade.

I smiled the biggest smile I had ever smiled in my life. “We’ve already met,” I explained to Charlie. “Um, can I talk to Adrian privately?”

Before becoming the managing editor, Charlie had been a reporter for twenty years. He could still smell a story a mile away. A look passed between us, and I knew I’d have to give him the full details later. “Of course. I’m going to go check the wire feed.”