Picking Up the Pieces (Pieces, #2)(24)

***

The next morning, as usual, I packed Eva’s lunch and said goodbye as she left for the bus. I planned to head into the office for a bit to do some drawings, and wanted to go to Eva’s volleyball game after school. With my laptop bag and a bottle of water in hand, I headed out the door.

For weeks, I hadn’t managed to get to the coffee shop before work, but since I had a light day ahead of me, I decided a relaxing morning was in order as well. I would enjoy a cup of coffee and read the paper quietly—something I hadn’t done in a while. As I entered, I realized just how much I’d missed the smell of freshly ground coffee beans. Since I wasn’t in a rush, I figured I’d wait until the line died down a bit before I ordered. So I swiped a newspaper off the rack by the door and settled myself into a high-top table by the window.

As customers made their way through the door, the crisp autumn air mingled with the warmth of the coffeehouse. I paid little attention to what was happening around me, happily engrossing myself in the paper for a few minutes until I glanced up to see that the line had gotten considerably shorter.

I wasn’t much of a coffee snob, but for some reason I had the urge to try something new. My eyes stayed fixed on the menu above the baristas’ heads—a menu I wasn’t at all familiar with because I never deviated from my usual order. As the line dwindled, I inched my way closer to the counter and studied the choices before me: lattes, macchiatos, cappuccinos, espressos. I had no idea what to get. But when my turn came and the barista stared at me for a moment, I knew exactly what I wanted: the usual.

“Large hot coffee, two sugars, right?” the barista asked, sliding the tall cup my way.

I was immediately confused. I didn’t even recognize the small blonde girl working today. There was no way she would have recognized me, let alone know what I wanted to drink. “Right, how did you . . .?” my voice trailed off.

“I didn’t,” she replied with a shrug. “But she did.”

I spun around in the direction of the doors and stretched my head around the line behind me to look out the glass. I barely heard her when the girl at the counter told me my coffee had been paid for too. I’d been too captivated by who I’d seen outside.

Just as she’d gotten into her car, my eyes locked with Lily’s for a split second. A second that seemed both too long and not long enough. And as I watched her drive away, I was surprised by my first thought: I didn’t even know she knew how I took my coffee.

I put the cup to my lips and let the smooth familiar taste slide down my throat, thinking that despite my fleeting craving for change, I ultimately always came back to what I already loved.





Chapter 11: Lily


What was that look? Was he confused? Was he happy to see me? He didn’t look happy. I couldn’t describe what I saw on Adam’s face when his gaze caught mine as I’d entered my car.

Though I’m not sure why, I hadn’t expected Adam to realize I’d even been there. As I stood in line, I’d glanced behind me to see him reading the paper alone. I’d been overcome with the urge to sit down across from him. To be staring into his bright green eyes like it was seven months ago and our lives together were in our future instead of in our past.

But I couldn’t do that. He'd never allow it. Not after what I’d done to him. So I did the only thing I could do for him in that moment: I’d bought him a cup of coffee.

And now that he knew it'd been me who'd bought it for him, I didn’t exactly know how I felt about it. Wait . . . that’s not true. I know exactly how I feel about it: like an *, that’s how. As I pulled into my space at work, I shook my head and silently scolded myself for thinking I could become some stealthy coffee Robin Hood, doling out java to all of those I’d wronged.

Note to self: avoid the coffeehouse for a few weeks.

***

Work passed rather quickly, and I knew that later that day I’d have the luxury of focusing on someone else’s problems instead of my own, namely Amanda’s problem with coming to terms with her feelings for Shane.

Scratch that. Maybe Amanda's problem was my problem too. She burst through the door at 5:30, clearly irritated I was dragging her to CrossFit that night. She tried to recover by putting on a brave face and remaining stoic as she changed for the gym. “Ready to go,” she nearly sang, plastering a fake smile across her face as she headed for the door.

I followed her out, donning a grin that I hoped mirrored hers to show her how ridiculous she looked. For someone with such a hard exterior, Amanda could be so damn transparent sometimes. After she’d called me last Sunday morning to “rescue” her from her night at Shane’s, she’d spent the remainder of the week freaking out. She couldn’t handle her feelings for him, so she’d run. And as far as I could tell, she was content to keep running.

But last night, I’d finally called her out on avoiding him, which she denied. In an effort to prove that she didn’t have real feelings for Shane, she’d agreed to go to CrossFit, a place she’d been trying to avoid like some sort of airborne STD for the past four days.

Though, the thing I should have remembered about Amanda was that, when she felt backed into a corner, she came at you like a pitbull. So when Shane pulled her into his office for an airing out of their bullshit, she fought back in the most effective way possible: she said whatever she thought would hurt him the most with complete indifference.