Unmissing(38)

Levi returns with two carafes of coffee—one in polished silver, the other a matte gold. He places the silver one in front of Merritt, along with a pristine white teacup on a floral saucer.

“Decaf for the mother-to-be,” he says with a sweet smile that fades when he meets my gaze. “And this one’s regular. Give us about thirty minutes for those soufflés, ladies.”

He doesn’t turn my teacup right side up.

I pour my own coffee, and when it’s cool enough to take a sip, I close my eyes and smile. “This coffee is . . . something else.”

Truth is, I’ve had day-old gas station coffee that tasted better than this.

She bats a hand. “Little trade secret for you, but this is the same coffee we serve at The Coastal Commissary. Same brand and machines and everything. I’m convinced the fancy cup makes it taste better. Packaging is everything.”

“Interesting.” And it is. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect she’s bragging about ripping off the very same customers who pay her bills.

“It’s a shame,” she says. “We have to shutter those doors. Coffee shops aren’t as profitable as one might think. A lot of overhead involved, at least in the early years. Looking back now, our location wasn’t ideal—we were inside a theater. Most of the tourists in town, they go to the Starbucks and The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf—familiar places. And the locals, they tend to gravitate toward the big corner shops with the impossible-to-miss signs and the outdoor seating.”

“It must be hard,” I say, “running all those businesses.”

My attention is laser focused, ready to digest any tidbit of information she throws my way, fully prepared to read between each and every line as if my life depends on it—because in a way, it does. Are they truly struggling? Or are they funneling their money and energy into their most profitable business models? I read once that financial struggles were one of the leading causes of divorce, second only to sexual dissatisfaction.

Judging by the bulbous bump protruding from her Pilates body, I’d say their bedroom life is a nonissue.

“A lot of it is learning as you go.” She sips her decaf, leaving a mark of nude-pink lipstick on the edge. “Everyone makes mistakes, though. It’s just how it is.”

“Do you have help?”

Merritt shakes her head. “Luca prefers to do it all himself. He’s a bit of a control freak when it comes to the restaurants. Heck, it took him months to find a new manager for the deli last year. He always has to find that one perfect person he can mold into exactly what he wants.”

“This place must be doing amazing, though.” I nod toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that showcase a glimmering Pacific seascape. “It’s stunning. Certainly the most beautiful restaurant I’ve set foot in.”

Which isn’t saying much . . .

This location with its epic view. The parking lot full of luxury imports. The soul-sucking prices on the menu. It’s a restaurateur’s wet dream.

She takes another sip, hesitating, examining me for a second. “We do all right.”

We.

“Hey, you.” Luca’s familiar velvet tenor cuts through our conversation without warning.

“Hey.” Her pink lips curl up at the sides, and a twinkle colors her pale irises.

“You didn’t tell me you were stopping by.” He stoops as if he’s going to kiss the top of her head only to change course at the final second.

“Last-minute decision.” She shrugs.

“Where’s Elsie?” he asks. While he speaks to her, he gifts me with a squinted gaze. Is he curious? Captivated? Concerned? I can’t read him like I used to, but his attention is where it should be, and that’s all that matters.

“With Annette, who else?” Merritt releases a nervous chuckle, waving her hand as if it’s some magic wand that could wave off this obvious tension brewing between Luca and me. “Such silly questions today.”

“My apologies. I thought Annette had the day off.” His voice is canned, robotic almost.

They exchange looks before redirecting their attention to me in tandem. All this feels like bad acting, theatric. And it’s understandable with all this uncertainty looming over their beautiful life.

“Did Luca tell you he hired me?” I ask since we’re all together anyway—and if their marriage is the stuff that fairy tales are made of, there shouldn’t be any secrets.

Merritt sits her teacup on its saucer with a loud clink, nearly missing the center. “I’m sorry?”

“I start Monday.” I volunteer the next bit, as the cat seems to have Luca’s tongue as per usual. “Assistant manager.”

Her lips waver. “Is that true, Luca? I thought . . . I . . . I’m just . . . I’m . . . this is news to me.”

“Still waiting to get the official go-ahead from our accountant.” He lies to his wife in a way that feels oddly natural, as if he’s accustomed to placating her. And then he places his hand on her shoulder, though his attention is very much directed to me. I know this look. He isn’t pleased. “Was going to tell you tonight.”

“Mr. Coletto, I’m so sorry to interrupt, but you have a phone call on line two,” a petite auburn-haired server says with a wince. “It’s the lobster vendor.”