Little Secrets(51)

It wasn’t until she was home later that she saw the link for the news alert on Facebook, with the same picture she’d been shown earlier. Same kid, same sweater. Farther down the page was a photo of his parents, and that’s when she connected the dots.

“Ty, look.” She’d turned her laptop so her roommate could see the screen. He was sitting beside her on the sofa, head buried in his phone. “This is the kid they asked me about today. The one who got kidnapped at the market.”

Ty gave the screen a quick glance and murmured something that in tone, at least, sounded sympathetic. But he was immersed in his own little world, obsessing over a potential love interest who was ignoring his texts.

Derek and his wife had just given a statement on TV, begging for the public’s help in finding their son. The story was crazy, both horrible and exciting, the exact kind of thing that Netflix would make a documentary about one day. A couple of the clickbait headlines read “Son of PowerOrganix CEO Kidnapped in Broad Daylight,” and “Celebrity Hairstylist of J.Lo Pleads with Public to Find Her Missing Child.”

The reward for any information leading to finding their son was a million dollars. But they never found him.

When Derek first approached the counter at the Green Bean about nine months later, he looked fine. Normal. No different from the two dozen times she’d served him a taco at the market. But this time, up close, he seemed … hollow. He seemed to have aged a decade, not in appearance, but in demeanor.

Kenzie smiled at him brightly, wondering if he would recognize her from the taco truck and say something like, “Hey, you work here now?” but he wasn’t looking at her—he was looking above her head at the coffee menu. He ordered a dark roast drip, black. It came to $2.20, and he handed her a ten and told her to keep the change.

“This is way too much,” she said, handing it all back to him.

He smiled absently, his eyes meeting hers for only the briefest of seconds, and then he dumped it all into the tip jar.

He sat at one of the small tables by the window, opened his laptop, and was still working when she went on her break thirty minutes later. She removed a cookie from the case, placed it on a plate, and brought it over to him.

“Cookie of the Day,” she said. “Dark chocolate chip. It’s delicious, and totally worth the carbs. I wish I could say it’s on me, but it’s technically on you, since you tipped so big.”

He looked up, surprised. She’d forgotten how good-looking he was, his face clean-shaven and chiseled, dark eyes reflecting gold from the sunlight seeping in through the window beside him. Some men don’t age well; they get paunchy from too much fried food, or ruddy from too much alcohol. That wasn’t the case with Derek. He was going the Bradley Cooper route, no trace of Russell Crowe whatsoever.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said.

“If you don’t eat it, I will, and I’ve already had two.”

He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Want to split it?”

“All yours.” She turned to leave, then paused. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

He tilted his head. “You do look a little familiar…”

Kenzie knew the difference between truth and politeness, and she grinned.

“Bullshit. You have no idea who I am. And that’s totally okay,” she added, when he opened his mouth to protest. “Nice to know I made an impression after seeing you practically every weekend for a year.” A slight exaggeration, but whatever.

“Did you just say bullshit to a customer?”

“You going to tell on me?” It was her turn to cock her head. “We have a suggestion box on the counter if you want to make a complaint about my language.”

“Really?”

“No,” she said with a smile. “Not really.”

He leaned back in his chair and looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. She found herself holding her breath. Some men enjoy the sass. Some are intimidated by it. Kenzie was betting he was in the first category. Guy in a suit like that, driving a car like that, he’s not used to people messing with him like this. Most people wouldn’t have the balls.

It worked.

“Okay, I give up,” he said. “Where do I know you from?”

“Taquitos Hermanos.” His face stayed blank. “The taco truck at Pike Place? You always ordered the same thing. Carne asada, extra spicy, extra guac, with cheese.”

He still seemed clueless, and finally she laughed. “I mean, wow. Either you’re terrible with faces, or I’m that forgettable.”

“Wait. I remember.” His face darkened a little. “It’s just … it’s been a long time since I’ve been to the market. I do remember you. Your hair was different…”

“It was blue then,” she said, fingering her blond locks.

“It looks a lot better now,” he said, and when she raised an eyebrow, he flushed. “Sorry, that came out wrong—”

“Wrong meaning rude?”

“It … shit. I meant … blond, blue, it looks great either way.”

“Did you just say shit to a barista? And here I gave you a free cookie.”

“Now it’s free? I thought you paid for it with the huge tip I gave you.”

“Wow.”