Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

The coffee shop is bustling and the patrons are restless on this unusually hot Sunday morning. I can sense everyone staring daggers at me as I navigate the POS software on the iPad. It's not complicated, it's just nothing is where I expect it to be on the screen, and I'm struggling to find things quickly enough to keep the line moving at the pace customers expect.

Jules is amazing to work with—helpful, easygoing, and kind. But the line is getting longer as the sun heats up through the big windows.

I feel for the woman at the counter right now. She's got a toddler pulling her arm in one direction and an elderly woman clinging to her other arm. I repeat her order back to her. "Okay, that's one vanilla latte, one kid's hot chocolate, one peppermint tea, one cranberry scone, and two slices of bacon quiche?"

"Veggie quiche," says the woman with a quiet sigh.

"So sorry," I reply. Darn it. I make the adjustment, but it takes a few seconds longer than I would have liked. "Here's your number. Jules will call it when drinks are ready at the counter, and we'll bring your food out to your table."

"I asked for everything to go."

Double darn it. "I am so sorry, I missed that. It's no problem, hang on to that number and we'll get everything packaged up for you."

She gives me a tight smile as she pays and declines to tip. Good for her.

The next customers are a tall, retired couple in tennis whites, rackets slung on their backs in leather bags. I brace myself for a complicated order and lots of questions about our menu.

"Two black drip coffees."

"Easy!" I say, peppy with relief. I turn to quickly fill their cups and slide them across the counter as they pay. They select the highest tip amount on the final screen. Bless their rich hearts. I quickly wipe a splash of coffee off the counter with the bar towel tucked in the tie of my apron.

"How can I help you?" I say, looking up to find myself staring into Cole's brown eyes.

"Hey, Tia, you work here?"

"My first official day," I say, breathless with the bustle of the morning.

"That's wild. I had to be over on North Island for something and needed coffee. You doing okay?" he asks.

"It's mayhem," I say with a smile. "Can I take your order?"

His neck starts to redden. "Don't judge me. Can I get a triple-shot latte with almond milk, two pumps of vanilla, two pumps of white chocolate, and one pump of raspberry? Hot, please."

I bite my lip, holding back a grin as I work through the system to add all his requests to the order, then write it down on the side of a to-go cup with a Sharpie.

"Do you want whipped cream?" I ask, pausing my writing and glancing up at him with a smile.

"I know, it's a chick drink, whatever. I got hooked on them in high school. And yes, I want whipped cream," he replies. He pays and tips generously. "Cool to run into you again and see where you work," he says. "See you Saturday."

"Yeah, see you then."

He waves as he heads down to the end of the bar to wait for his drink. He's so nice.

"Who's that?" Jules whispers over my shoulder.

"A guy from my soccer team," I whisper back.

"Oooooh…interested?"

"Not at all. He has a girlfriend, and he's in the Navy."

"Huh," Jules replies, playfully.

"Don't ‘huh' me. I'm serious."

She shrugs and goes back to making a flat white.

The rest of the week passes by at a comfortable, easy pace as I adjust to life in a new routine. I find a new running route around the island, and Aunt Mari includes me in some of her weekly events like shopping at the farmer's market on Tuesdays and getting a fresh stack of novels from the library on Thursdays. And then it's Saturday again, with another soccer game on the schedule.

This time the soccer field is a slick mess of flattened grass. Apparently, the sprinkler system flooded everything the night before. We all struggle to keep our feet underneath us as we start the game, and I slide into unintentional splits a few times too many.

"You good?" asks Cole when I'm slow to get up. "Need a minute?"

"No, no, I'm fine," I say, waving for play to continue even though it feels like I shredded my inner thigh.

Luko and I manage to hold the backfield well throughout the game, but we're both limping by the end. Thankfully, we win our first team victory, putting us on the bottom rung of the ladder to the league playoffs. Everyone has prior commitments they have to jet off to, so our celebration is a short-lived round of high-fives.

I slowly wince my way out to the parking lot afterwards, ready for a hot bath and a nap, only to be greeted with the unwelcome sight of a flat tire. Great. Thankfully, it's not a daunting occurrence, thanks to Dad's instruction and loads of practice in high school. I swear, I ran over every screw and nail in Los Angeles County. I can easily put on the spare, but today, when I'm already sore and tired? Really?

I fling my bag in the back seat and open the trunk, pulling out the spare tire and the jack. I get everything in place, raise the corner of the car to take the weight off the tire, and get the wrench on the first lug nut, twisting it with all my might to torque it off.

Nothing. It doesn't so much as budge, like it's cemented on.

I glance around the parking lot, panic setting in as I realize everyone is gone already. Wait, no.

Cole is about to get in the driver's seat of his black Camaro. The car is a gorgeous design of clean, sleek lines and gentle curves—the newest model. I bet there's a lot of horsepower under the hood. No lie, that car is sexy.

"Cole!"

"Yeah?" he shouts back.

"Could I get your help with something?"

He quickly grasps my situation and hustles over, his left leg limping a bit.

"I can't get the lug nuts off," I say, pointing to the offending tire.

"You did this all yourself?" he asks, scanning the empty trunk and the jack lifting the flat up off the ground.

"What, like it's hard?" I ask, flipping my ponytail.

"Yeah, okay." He chuckles as he lowers himself down to kneel on the asphalt. He throws his all into turning the lug wrench, his shoulders straining against his jersey, his face flushing deep red.

"Geez, that's really on there," he says, breathing hard. He tries a few more times, then leans back, sitting down on the pavement and shaking out his arms.

"Hey, scoot over, I'll take a turn," I say.

"Oh, what, like I loosened it for you?"

"You never know."

Cole moves over, and now it's a matter of pride. I'm gonna get this lug nut off or get a hernia trying. I'm a strong, independent woman, and I might need a man to help, but I'll finish the job on my own.

I nearly stab myself with the wrench as the nut gives and the wrench spins free.

"Shut up," Cole says in surprise. "No way, I totally loosened it for you."

"Sure thing," I say to him, laying into the next nut. But then I have to swallow my pride again. "Okay, this one is stuck too."

Cole gives me a smirk, but we swap positions. I can guess by the set of his jaw he's not giving up on this one until he gets it off. His face is turning close to purple as he tries to twist the wrench.

"Hang on," he says, pausing to breathe. I can hear a vibration coming from somewhere, so I dive into my bag to check. It's not my phone.

"Hey, Ripley," Cole says in a less-than-excited tone, setting his phone on speaker and leaving it on the asphalt as he flexes his hands.

"Where the hell are you?" says one angry female voice.

"At soccer," Cole says.

"You said we were getting brunch today."

"No, I said we were getting lunch."

"You think I'm lying to you? You clearly said brunch, I made reservations, and we're late already."

"Ripley, I said lunch, and I have a plan. It's all going to be?—"

"No, you're a forgetful idiot, and you're trying to gaslight me, like I'm stupid. I'm not stupid, Cole. You said brunch."

My blood heats as she yells through the phone. I knew she wasn't the nicest, but this is really bad.

And all too familiar. My mind flashes back to an eerily similar conversation Bryce and I had a few months ago, about whether we had agreed on drinks before dinner or dessert after. Such a minor thing, but he made it seem like our relationship hung in the balance, based on whether I agreed with him. Of course I gave in, even though he was wrong. I felt no taller than an ant by the end of the conversation.

Wow, it was really that bad. But the way Ripley talks is overtly mean, while Bryce was subtler. They're both awful.

Cole rubs his forehead and picks up his phone, quickly scrolling.

"Ripley, the shared calendar says ‘Lunch with Ripley' at noon."

She goes silent for a moment. "Did you just go in there and change it? You are so manipulative. I can't believe you."

"I didn't. Do you even want to get lunch? I have to go shower and change still."

"Ugh, let me guess, you're going to go all the way back to your barracks instead of coming to my place."

I hate the way she's spinning him in circles. I wonder if she would talk like this if she knew someone else was hearing her. And is that better or worse, that she would change her tune in public?

"I don't understand," says Cole. "Do you want me to come to your place?"

"No, just meet me at Snooze at noon, and then we'll go shopping after, okay? You can make it up to me."

"I have to study after?—"

She hangs up on him. He sighs and slides his phone back in his pocket, his face clouding over. I stand awkwardly to the side, my heart racing in anger over how awfully she spoke to him and how familiar it was to me.

Cole puts his all into getting the rest of the lug nuts off. They don't come easily, but I get the sense he has a lot of fury to fuel him. "Okay," he murmurs, setting the wrench down with a clatter. He moves out of the way, and I remove the flat and get the spare on, fumbling my way through the familiar steps.

I should say something to him, but I don't want to butt in. This is probably one of those things he has to figure out on his own. Why would he listen to a random girl on his soccer team give him relationship advice? What if he resents me for it, or worse, it makes things incredibly awkward from here on out? We're not close, we're barely friends, we haven't known each other that long. I shouldn't say anything. It would be weird.

But I wish someone had said something to me about Bryce. I put the lug nuts in place and wrench them on as tight as I can.

"Can you make sure I tightened them enough?" I ask Cole, buying myself some time to decide what to do.

"Yeah," he says. We swap places again. My heart is pounding, and if I held my hand out flat in front of me, it'd be shaking. I shouldn't make this awkward. It's really not my place. I'm just an acquaintance.

"Your girlfriend is kind of mean to you," I blurt out.

Cole's arms freeze mid-turn. Shoot, that's not what I wanted to say. Crap, that was really awkward.

"She shouldn't treat you that way."

No, that's not exactly it either. What am I even trying to say? "You're…don't stay with anyone who bullies you or makes you feel small. That's not how a relationship should be."

He doesn't say anything.

"I'm sorry, I'm making this so awkward, it's probably not my place to say anything."

He sighs and stares straight ahead at the tire. "Luko hates her. Denny isn't a fan."

"I think your friends care for you," I say gently. "I just don't want anyone to make the same mistake I did and hang around, thinking it's all fine. It's not."

Cole nods and finishes checking all the lug nuts. He stands and hands me the wrench with a tight-lipped smile.

"Thanks for the help," I say. "I'm sorry if I overstepped."

"No, it's okay," he says, his eyes focused on the ground. "Have a good weekend."

"You too."