COOL BEANS (3 page)

Yet another way he plays the big-brother role.

The school crowd rushes through the doors and keeps us on our toes until it finally slows way down right as Jack is taking his apron off at four.

He waves. “I’ll be back in a little bit.”

“ No rush. Say hey to Polly for me.”

He rolls his eyes as he leaves.

Nine forty-five. And Cool Beans is officially the most boring place in the whole town of Hudson, California. It’s a school night, so I knew it wouldn’t be like a Friday- or Saturday-night close, but this is ridiculous.

I lean over the counter, resting my elbows on it and cradling my cup of French roast with two shakes of cinnamon, one of nutmeg, and a smidge of cream and sugar.

Jack is busy reading a book about how to keep parrots happy and healthy. Apparently, the bird said nothing. Just sat on her perch and stared at Jack and his mutt, Canis.

Just so you know,
Canis
is the Latin name for
dog.

Nerd alert. I know.

Jack is occasionally calling out parrot facts. “Did you know that parrots can live up to a hundred years?”

“ I did not,” I say, sipping my coffee. "I hope no one leaves me a parrot when they die.”

“ Wouldn’t that be awful? Apparently, they bond extremely well with their family and have bouts of depression when they’re gone.” He looks up from the book. “Great. I’m going to have a depressed bird this weekend.”

I laugh at him.

There’s one other person in here. A woman, about thirty, is
sitting in one of the squishy chairs reading a romance novel titled
To Ache Is Life.
Without the racy cover, I would have assumed it was a book about ibuprofen or workout addicts. Every once in a while, she suddenly sniffles and grabs for a Kleenex. She’s drinking a triple-shot mocha and is only halfway through the book, so I’m assuming she’s planning on staying up tonight and reading.

The door opens, letting in a rush of cool night air. I quickly move my cup to the shelf under the counter. Drinking in front of customers is a definite no.

It’s Jen, and she’s by herself. I would take this as a bad sign except for the huge grin on her face.

“ Where’s the gent?” Jack calls from his chair.

“ Hey, Jack. Oh!” she sighs and clasps her hands at her heart. The woman reading the romance novel sets it down to watch Jen. “Oh, Maya, he’s so
dreeeamy!
He’s so sweet and nice and funny and charming and — ”

“ Not here?” Jack says again. I grin.

“ He’s parking the car, you big dolt.” She comes over to the counter and pulls off her soft brown jacket. “Maya, he’s adorable. You’ll love him.”

“ Oh yeah?” I pull my cup back out from under the counter. “I take it dinner was good.”

“ It was wonderful. We went to Gina’s.”

I nod appreciatively. “Nice, very nice.” I lean back down and grin at her conspiratorially. “You obviously like him.”

“ First impression …” She glances to make sure he isn’t inside yet and then looks back at me, voice lowered. “He’s great.”

“ Good! Yay!”

“ Hush, here he comes.” She immediately straightens, perfect posture back in place.

The door opens, and I gasp.

It’s Travis Clayton.

So not funny, God!

Jack and Jen are giving me weird looks, but I try to cover the gasp, acting like I just cracked my finger on the counter. “Ouch,” I say suddenly. “That stings.”

I look up at the guy who just walked in again. Yeah, no doubt about it. He’s definitely who I thought.

Travis Clayton. Six feet, two inches of muscle and athletic talent. Blond, blue eyes, the whole California surfer package. Slight drawl he inherited from his midwestern mom. He’s got a bad habit of playing with his class ring when he’s nervous, sings in the car to oldies music, and broke his wrist as a sophomore in high school when he crashed into his surfboard.

And he’s the guy I dated the last three years of high school and freshman year at Cal-Hudson. We broke up right before Jen and I moved in together and right after my hopes of marrying Travis Clayton were dashed like his scaphoid bone against his board.

Jen has eyes only for him, but I can feel Jack’s stare.

“Hey.” I clear my throat, waiting for him to recognize me. It’s been five years. My hair is short and its natural color, not long and blond like before. I’ve lost about fifteen pounds, and
I’ve embraced the natural makeup look as opposed to the china-doll appearance.

Travis looks exactly the same.

My heart is pounding. The adrenaline rush is making my hands tremble, so I hide them behind the counter. He looks good. He always did, but he looks especially good with the matured face, the slight stubble.

He smiles politely at me. “Hi.”

He doesn’t recognize me! Thank You, God! I’m still upset at You though. We will discuss this later.

Travis interrupts my prayer of thanksgiving. “Well, by your name tag, I take it you’re Maya, Jen’s best friend and roommate.” He holds his right hand out over the counter. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Apparently, not enough that he’s heard my last name. “Yeah. Same here.” I shake his hand lightly, disappointed in my weak grip.

Act natural. Act natural. Think natural thoughts.
Coffee. Ice cream. Sundaes. Maraschino cherries. The cute little baby jars of maraschino cherries.
I try to regulate my breathing, focusing on the Pilates core muscles.

Jack stands and comes over to meet him. “Hey, I’m Jack Dominguez. I’m a good friend of Jen’s and Maya’s.”

He’s sizing the guy up, and this makes me want to laugh. Jack is tall, yes, but big, no. Kind of on the skinnier side. Travis is not skinny. He’s still got his football-player-sized shoulders and wide back.

“Nice to meet you.” Jack nods.

“Thanks for introducing us, Jen,” Travis says sarcastically, wrapping one arm around her. I blink at the casual way he does it. This is their first date, right?

Jen rolls her eyes at Travis. “I’m sorry, okay?” Then she looks at Jack’s book and back up to Jack. “Why are you reading about parrots?” She frowns.

Jack sighs.

I force a light laugh. “It’s a long story, Jenny. So, do you guys want anything to drink? On the house.”

Jen stares at the menu for a second. “Can I have the English Dusk tea?”

Yuck.
It’s basically just a plain loose-leaf black tea with a hint of mint and some sort of flower in it. And zero caffeine. Of course, the only time I ever drink tea is when I’m sick, and I’m a firm believer that taste buds change when you’re not feeling good. So maybe the tea is decent.

It’ll never beat coffee though.

I know exactly what Travis will want. Small dark roast. Black as the refrigerator with the door closed.

“I’ll take a small dark roast, please. Black.”

I nod, fiddling with my hands, memories swimming in my head like ducks. “Okay.” I put a spoonful of English Dusk tea in a little strainer sack, attach it to the cup, and pour hot water on top of it. Then I pour Travis’s drink.

“Here you go.”

“Thanks, Maya.” Jen winks at me. “You’re closing tonight, right?”

I look at the clock and nod. “Yep. Just now.”

The woman with the aching book takes her cue and leaves, tossing her Kleenex and empty cup in the trash.

“Well, we’ll leave too, so you can clean up,” Travis says. He takes Jen’s arm. “Nice meeting you, Maya. Jack.”

“Yeah, you too,” Jack says.

“Mm-hmm.” I nod as I start running the cleaning cycle
on the espresso machine.

They leave. Jack immediately comes behind the counter and stands there staring at me, leaning against the sink.

“So?” he says after a minute.

“So what?”

“You know that guy, don’t you?”

“Yeah. He’s Jen’s date. If you’re going to be behind the counter, you can help clean.” I toss him a wet towel, and he catches it, frowning at me.

“Nutkin.”

“Jack.”

“Come on, it’s me. Talk to me.”

I hiss the steam out of the wand, run a clean towel over the wand and trays below it, and then turn the espresso machine off. I rub my hands on the towel and just look at Jack.

He’s still leaning against the sink — and still frowning.

Well, it’s not like it won’t come out eventually. Travis will probably have one of those aha moments they have in cheesy made-for-the-Hallmark-Channel Christmas movies tonight and come clean tomorrow.

I wince, thinking about the emotional repercussions of that one. Jen will be heartbroken but too loyal to me to keep dating him, even though I’ll tell her to “just keep dating the guy even though it weirds me out.”

Yucky.

“Okay. I dated that guy before,” I admit in a quiet voice.

“And … he didn’t recognize you? What was he, blind before?”

“Well, it was in high school. And freshman year at Cal.”

Jack nods. “You haven’t changed
that
much, Pattertwig.” He starts wiping the counter with the towel. I toss the few pastries
that are left in the display case into a bag for him to take home. Either Jack takes them home or we throw them away.

“You didn’t know me in the blond years.” Aka, age fifteen to nineteen. The day after Travis and I broke up, I marched to the salon and had them rinse my hair to its natural dark-chocolate brown color.

Mostly because it was Travis who kept me dying my hair for that long. He liked blonds. Still does, apparently.

“So it was like … what? Five or so years ago? Because when we became friends again, you didn’t have a boyfriend.”

I nod. “Yeah. Five years.”

“Huh.” Jack finishes with the counter and tosses the towel in the dirty hamper under the sink. “Wow. Well, that’s awkward.”

“Um,
yeah.”
I say this like
duh.

He rolls his eyes at me. “Please, Maya. Dating drama is so high school. He’ll figure out who you are eventually, and it will be fine. After all, it was five years ago.”

“Yeah …”

“And you’re both adults. And Jen’s a great girl, and she’ll be understanding about it. And you’ll be fine because you’re an optimist, and you’ve got one heck of a best friend, who is also your co-worker, so why wouldn’t you be fine?” He grins.

I smile back. “You know what? You’re right. I mean, seriously, how awkward can it get?”

I stare at my scribbled sticky note under the dome light in my Jeep. I’m parked outside my apartment building.

Well,
technically,
I’m parked outside my apartment complex. In a guest parking spot. Someone in a bright red Nissan pickup took my allotted parking space right below my apartment. I’m guessing his name begins with a
T
and ends with an
S
.

We will need to discuss this issue. I’m not the guest here; he is. So he can park a block down and across the lot.

I shove the sticky note into the pocket of my jeans and climb out of the car, grabbing for my purse — which is really just a big messenger-style bag. I loop the strap over my neck and shoulder, crossing it over my chest, and start the trek home, frowning at the pickup.

Empty car equals man in apartment. This is going blatantly against The Apartment Code Jen and I wrote three years ago. No first dates allowed inside the apartment. Keeps temptation at bay and roommate out of awkward pajama scene when she’s just trying to get a glass of water before bed.

And yes, this happened to me. With Adam actually. He brought Jen home late, and I was standing in the kitchen in a spaghetti-strap top, no bra, shorts, and slippers. The next morning, we wrote the code.

I get to the base of the apartment and hear voices above me over the iron-railed staircase. Just like Jen. Following the letter of the law, not the intent. Apparently, they are standing outside the front door, talking.

I climb the stairs and give a polite smile to both of them.
They are leaning on the rail gabbing. “Hi, guys. Good to see you again, Travis. Night, Jen.”

“Good night, Maya.”

“Nice to meet you too,” Travis says. An odd look crosses his face right before I shut the door.

No drama tonight. I’m tired.

Calvin skips over to meet me, wriggling happily. I pick up the little dog and kiss his silky ears. “Hi, baby. Did you have a good day?”

“Roo! Roo!”

“Yeah? That’s good.” I tuck him under my arm, and he kisses my chin. “How about a bedtime snack, lovey? I’m thinking a sundae. Lots of chocolate for me.”

This appeals to Calvin. I usually let him have his own bowl.

I set him down, lay my purse on the counter, scoop the vanilla ice cream, and spoon a generous helping of hot-fudge sauce on top of mine. Calvin trots behind me to my room. I set my bowl on the nightstand, his on the floor, and change into my bright pink pajama bottoms and a plain white T-shirt. I leave my bra on. Better safe than sorry, as my mom always says.

I have this theory about bright pink pajama bottoms and chocolate: The two combined can cure anything. Even the confusion I’m feeling right now.

Finishing off his bowl, Calvin jumps up on the bed next to me, and I flick on my little TV. “So, do I tell her?” I ask him.

He sighs and buries his nose in his paws, watching Stacy and Clinton on
What Not to Wear
lecture some poor girl with straggly red hair and a makeup-free face about wearing PJs in public.

I lick my spoon and squish back against the pillows on my bed, sitting right smack in the middle of the queen-size mattress, both feet stretched out in front of me.

Calvin makes a little noise, eyes still on the show.

“I know. I don’t like that outfit either.”

Calvin is a very fashion-astute dog. He carries his name well.

I’m scraping the bowl a few minutes later. Nick, the scissors-happy hairstylist, is attacking the redhead’s hair and leaving her with a shorn ’do about fifteen inches shorter than she started out with.

I flick the TV off before the makeup artist starts and slide under the covers, turning out the light, snuggling into my pillow, and shutting my eyes.

Well, Lord, today was an interesting day. Please help me not to be all dramatic about Travis and Jen. They might make a good couple.

I listen to Calvin’s breathing for a few minutes and sigh.

Travis is back. I can’t help the weird little clench in my chest even at the mention of his name. Five years is a long time, but apparently not long enough.

And God, please just help it not to get awkward. I hate awkwardness.