Chapter 14

CHAPTER 14

I am not a morning person, so the hardest part about morning shifts at Cafe 22 is our opening time. We have a handful of regulars who are as consistent as Old Faithful and like to roll out of bed at five in the morning to get their first sip of coffee straight from our hands. I have to be walking in to open no later than half past four, and it's…a struggle.

It's barely dawn and freezing out. I'm yawning while twisting my hair in a high messy bun and slipping gold hoop earrings on as I trudge from Aunt Mari's to work. One of our line cooks has already unlocked the front door and is warming up the kitchen, so I set the sandwich board out on the sidewalk, turn on the iPad, tie on my apron, and check our stock of baked goods in the display. Jules is off, so one of our other baristas, Sal, is filling in for her, and he's running late.

A tall guy walks in arguing loudly into his AirPods. My generation would call him a "finance bro," identifiable by his Patagonia fleece layered under a North Face vest that's supposed to read as an outdoorsy look, but actually means he spends 18 hours a day in an office that blasts the air conditioning.

He steps up to the counter to order, then backs up to berate whoever he's talking to. "I'm in California, on my honeymoon, and you're supposed to be doing your job, but tell me why you got three hours of work in before I woke up, and yet I'm still looking at a complete crap show. Fix it."

He hangs up and steps up to the counter again. He takes one look at me, then gives me a tilted smile, followed by an up-and-down perusal of my shape and size, his eyes narrowing. I wilt, alarm bells going off in my head.

"Hey, how about a black coffee and you forget you heard I'm on my honeymoon?" he says.

Gross, gross, gross. My hands are shaking as I tap the screen, not looking up.

"Black coffee," I say, my voice near cracking. "What size?"

"Large, honey, large." He winks. "And you could throw your number on that coffee cup, too."

I'm livid, but I'm too scared to engage with him. The audacity, the way I know this guy's poor wife is now attached to him by marriage.

"Hey!" A deep male voice shouts from behind the guy. "How about you order your coffee without sexually harassing someone?"

Cole is here.

In the cafe.

In his hunter green digital camouflage uniform and tan boots, looking every bit a warrior, intimidating and strong. He makes eye contact with me, checking to see if I'm okay. I give him a nod and turn to get the coffee so I can get this finance bro out of here.

"How about you mind your own business?" asks the bro.

Cole raises his voice to thunderous levels. "How about you stop being a d?—?"

"Large black coffee!" I call out, practically shoving the searing hot cup across the counter.

"What's it to you, Rambo-lite?" The bro's tone is threatening.

I make eye contact with Cole and shake my head, ready to let it go if he is. His hands are flexing at his side. He doesn't like what that guy said, and he's ready to do something about it. Even though he's the shorter of the two, Cole has a much bigger presence. He's…hulking. His sleeves are cuffed high on his arms, and they're straining to handle the flex of his biceps.

"You can't talk to my girl like that."

I'm rooted in place, my heart pounding against my ribs.

My girl. My girl.

But Cole's not done. His face spells anger, and now his hands are forming casual fists, until one hand goes flat, fingers together, and aims right at the guy's chest.

"In fact, you can't talk to any girl like that. If I see you in here again, I'll break your nose faster than a bullet and put it back together like an abstract Picasso. I know you've only got a soup sandwich for brains, but you'd better try to remember that."

The finance bro scoffs and mutters, "Okay, tough guy," grabs his coffee, and jabs his phone to answer a call as he walks out. I can hear him talking down to someone again as his voice fades.

Cole steps up to the register flustered, his face flaming red, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

"Sorry, I don't normally blow up like that," he mumbles, and any trace of casual, funny, good-natured Cole is gone. Instead, there's just Cole who defended me and called me his girl while looking exceptionally attractive in uniform. I'm…in awe.

He takes off his uniform hat and sets it on the counter, rubbing a hand over his buzzed blond hair. "I hate those kinds of guys," he says emphatically.

When I can finally pull my words together to form a sentence, I clear up one detail. "I'm not your girl."

"I know," he replies, staring at his boots. "I was going to say ‘my friend' but it just…came out."

He finally stands up straight and looks me in the eye. "You good?" he asks, his gaze shifting from heated anger to comforting.

Butterflies riot in my stomach. I nod, only able to utter one word. "Usual?"

"Yes, please."

My hands shake as I pull a cup off the tower next to the register and try to remember what I'm doing. Deep breath. Right, make his coffee, give him his coffee, don't make things more than they need to be.

I ring him up while the espresso drips into the mini pitchers, and he tips a ton but doesn't say anything else. When his drink is ready, topped with whipped cream, I carry it to him.

"Thanks for sticking up for me," I say with a smile.

He fumbles to get a lid and snap it on. "If anyone starts bothering you like that, or if he comes back and gives you a hard time, call me."

Tempting. Very tempting. That red-blooded show of force was…attractive.

"Cole, I'm sure you have a job to do, and it's not threatening guys who talk to me."

"I'm working out of North Island today, I'm less than a mile away."

"I'll be fine. Have a good day, okay, friend?" Gotta throw that last part in so we're clear where we stand.

He looks up at me, and I give him enough of a nod and smile combination that he softens his expression and smiles back. "Okay, see you soon."

He goes to leave, crossing paths with Sal, who's finally showing up for his shift, but I quickly call him back.

"Cole, your hat," I say, holding it up for him.

"That's called a cover," says an older gentleman who's sidled up to the register with a Gulf War Veteran ball cap on. "Not a hat, a cover."

"Sir," says Cole, putting his cover under his arm and snapping to attention.

"Navy corpsman, son?" says the man, pointing to Cole's uniform. On the left side, over the pocket, there's a strip of fabric with the words "U.S. Navy" embroidered on it in thick letters.

"Yes, sir."

"The only squid worth a damn."

Cole's face flares pink, but he smiles and nods. "Yes, sir."

"Good, good," says the man, turning back to face me.

Cole winks at me in farewell and heads out the door while the man orders a cappuccino without further comment.

"Were you a Marine, sir?" I venture to ask as he pays.

"Sure was, but why are you all calling me ‘sir'?" he says with a laugh. "I did one tour and got right on out. I was on the bottom of the enlisted food chain."

"But you served," I say as Sal hands him his drink. "Not everyone can say that."

"Thank you, that I did," he replies with a smile, taking his to-go cup.

"What's a squid?" I ask quickly. "You said ‘only squid worth a damn'."

"Oh, it's a kind of slight towards the Navy. Derogatory term for sailors, if you will. But corpsmen are different, they'll run into gunfire to save you and we respect that. They're the real heroes."

He raises his coffee in my direction as he leaves.

The rest of my shift goes by quickly as tourists and locals continue to stream in and out of the coffee shop, but the events of the morning have altered my perspective. Now I notice anyone wearing military-related apparel. Older men in blue and gold golf polos with an "N" for Navy embroidered on the chest , women in t-shirts with the words "Chief Petty Officer" and an anchor design on them, and even an elderly couple who comes in for a later breakfast wearing matching Air Force letterman-style jackets.

As I head home, I keep replaying the moment when I first saw Cole in uniform. I know he's good and kind on the inside, but he looked like a beast when confronting that awful guy. He was so intimidating. And powerful. And handsome. And stunning.

"It's not for you, Tia," I remind myself.

I've never been so grateful for air conditioning. It's rare to find it in island homes, but Uncle Gustavo made sure Aunt Mari had it, a luxury I don't take for granted as I come back from an afternoon run and grab a quick shower.

I get a glass of water from the kitchen, and flop down on the cool leather couch while Aunt Mari reads in the armchair near me.

"How was work?" she asks.

"Eh, fine. Started off bad."

"Oh?"

"A finance bro came in?—"

"What's that?"

"It's a guy you can tell works in the financial or banking industry because he wears like button down shirts with fleece vests or puffer jackets and outdoorsy brands with office wear."

"That is a very specific description."

I have to laugh. It really is.

"Anyhow, he was being really slimy to me, and then this other guy was nice and stood up for me."

"Oh?" Aunt Mari's book goes down, and she pulls off her reading glasses and stares me down as I bite my lip.

Either Cole is nothing to me and I don't tell Aunt Mari about him, or I tell her his name is Cole and I've seen him around the island and suddenly it's going to be a thing. A big thing. But after all my run-ins with him and the way he helped me the other night, it feels disloyal to act like he's nothing. But he doesn't have to know I didn't stick up for him with Aunt Mari. Why do I care so much?

"His name is Cole. I play soccer with him."

"You met a boy, and you know his name, and you didn't think to tell me?"

"He's in the Navy," I say, like that's an excuse for not telling her. It makes things worse.

"Christiana!" Aunt Mari's scolding tone tells me I've been caught red-handed. "What did I tell you?"

"It's not like I'm running off with him to get married," I say in my defense.

"I bet he's nice and kind and hot," she says, pointing a finger at me.

"He is, okay? Are you happy?" I argue with a blush and a smile.

She inhales sharply, giving me a look that should send me straight to my grave with its ferocity.

"I'm not dating him or anything, okay? We're just teammates. And we sometimes run into each other on the island." I don't tell her that he saved me in the liquor store or about the time I called him like he was my personal EMT or that he gives me butterflies. The more I think about it, the more my cheeks heat up.

All those things strung together are incriminating. Are we friends? Like I said, friends are good and necessary, but that's like…a really, really nice friend.

"Are you ready for another man after that boy in Washington was so bad to you?"

I could try to explain how different Cole is from Bryce, how I know for a fact that Cole would never hurt someone the way Bryce hurt me. How he's in the medical field, providing care for Marines, about as far away from Bryce on the selflessness scale as you can get. How he's never, ever made me feel small.

"I can't let one bad guy overshadow my whole life," I say. "I'm allowed to be happy again, I'm allowed to want a relationship with someone who's good and kind."

"You will need to trust someone in order to find what you're talking about. Because I think you mean love. You're telling yourself you're allowed to love again."

I don't correct Aunt Mari, but the truth is I have never loved anyone, so there's no again . After thinking more about my talk with Cole, I recognize now that my relationship with Bryce was never about love. It was about interest and maybe a bit of selfishness, but not genuine and reciprocated care, compassion, or kindness. Definitely not love.

"Don't worry," I say to Aunt Mari, but it's more for myself. "I'll be careful."

It's a promise I make to myself—to be careful with my heart and my choices. I've learned my lesson the hard way and it's not a lesson I need to learn twice.