Unmissing(37)

Lately she’s been going above and beyond for me. Just last night, she asked me my favorite meal—chicken potpie—and then cooked it from scratch. I’d have been happy with the ninety-nine-cent microwave version, but she ran to the store and came back with bags of ingredients and spent an hour assembling everything while telling me about the time Amber made jambalaya simply because she loved the word and almost burned the kitchen down.

Just this morning, she invited me to join her for sunrise yoga and patiently taught me eight beginner positions. I can’t think of a single instance in my childhood when my mom taught me anything. In the short time I’ve known this woman, she’s done more for me than my own mother did in the eighteen years we shared together. I have nothing to give Delphine in return except for my companionship.

And I’d hardly call that even stephen.

I finish the angel card rack when my phone buzzes in my back pocket—a sensation that sends a shock to my chest because I’m still not quite used to it. Flipping it open, I’m greeted with a text from Merritt, asking if I’m free to get together this afternoon.

I text back, asking her to name the time and the place.

A few minutes later, she writes back, Pick you up at 3!



“I was thinking maybe coffee and dessert at one of our restaurants?” Merritt says when I climb inside her car that afternoon. “We’ve got the best cinnamon chocolate soufflé at sea bats.”

“Sea bats?” I ask, not understanding.

“Sorry.” She chuckles, sweeping a glossy wave off her shoulder. “That’s what we call our flagship—Coletto’s by the Sea. C.B.T.S. Anyway, you’re going to love it, I promise.”

Shit.

She coasts us through a green light, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel to some Hall and Oates song, and all I can think about is what if the hostess recognizes me from earlier today? What if we get the same server? Safe to say Luca hasn’t told her about the job yet, or she wouldn’t be so giddy about introducing me to their flagship restaurant. This has the potential to get awkward.

I’m baking alive in this puffy white coat, so I undo the zipper and gather a lungful of new car scent.

“Isn’t that your nicest one?” I ask. “I’d be fine with just going to a regular coffee shop . . .”

She swats a hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. People drive hours for our soufflé alone. I’m telling you, you won’t be sorry.”

“I don’t know if I’m dressed for . . . sea bats.”

She chuffs. “What are they going to do, turn you away? Luca would never allow that. And neither would I. You’re our guest.”

I may be many things, but reducing my presence in their life to guest status is a slap in the face.

A minute later, we’re parking outside the familiar white-shingled building with the impeccable ocean views. I don’t feel the ground beneath my feet as we walk inside, and I shove my sweaty palms into my fluffy pockets, keeping my chin tucked like it could make me less noticeable.

“Astrid, hi,” she greets the hostess—the same girl who seated me a few hours earlier. “So wonderful to see you today. Could we get table nine, please? And we’re just doing coffee and dessert today, so we won’t need the full menu.”

I avoid making eye contact with the young woman, whose gaze darts between our faces as she slowly reaches for two small menus, silver printed on black.

“O-of course, Mrs. Coletto,” she says with a stammer. “Right this way.”

I hold my breath the entire walk to table number nine, and I release it when she leaves us be without blowing my cover.

“It’s beautiful in here,” I say, ignoring the menu and peering around the expansive place like it’s my first time. “Love the light fixtures.”

“Vintage Spectra crystal,” she says with a rich gleam in her eye. “We pulled them from an old restaurant back in Maryland, one of my mom’s favorites. They were tearing it down, and I couldn’t let them go to waste. All they needed was a good polishing. Plus it’s nice to have a part of her here, watching over us in a way, as strange as that sounds.”

Our eyes hold across the table.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” a male server says as he approaches our table. “Mrs. Coletto, haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Levi.” She reaches, brushing her hand against his arm. “How’s the boyfriend?”

“Amazing.” He beams from one ear to the next. “Going on six months now.”

“Told you.” She winks.

“What are we having today?” he asks with the besotted smile of a payroll kiss-ass.

“Coffee and two chocolate soufflés,” she says. “Oh. Decaf for me.”

“Of course.” His attention flips to me as he takes my menu, and his deep-set gaze widens. He was one of the gawkers earlier, one of the servers who slow-walked past Luca and me in the midst of our exchange. Tucking the menus under his arm, he says, “I’ll be right back with those.”

If it weren’t so dim in here thanks to the fading afternoon sun, I’m positive she’d be able to see all the sweat that’s collected above my brow in the past five minutes. Should Merritt find out I was here once already today and didn’t breathe a word about it as we pulled into the parking lot, there’s nothing I can possibly say to excuse that. It’s not like there are multiple sea bats in Bent Creek or that I’ve got a shoddy short-term memory to blame it on.