“You’ll think of the right thing to say. You’re just in shock right now.” She smooths her hand along my arm and offers a sympathetic head tilt before heading out to the floor.
Grabbing a full coffee carafe from a burner, I return to Isaiah’s table and flip over his empty coffee cup.
“Room for two creams, half sugar?” I ask, hating that I remember the way he takes his coffee.
His brows narrow as he gazes up at me. “Lucky guess.”
Lucky guess?
“Yeah, sometimes I think I’m psychic or something,” I say, not so much as attempting to hide the biting snark in my tone.
“Thanks.” He pulls his coffee closer and reaches for the sugar holder by the window.
“You look good,” I say. And I mean it. As much as I want to rip his hair out and smack him across his pretty boy face and tell him what an asshole he is, a part of me is glad he made it home safe and unscathed. “I like the suit. It’s a nice touch.”
And my mother always said, you can never go wrong when you take the high road.
His dark brows meet as he turns my direction, studying me. “Thank you.”
“Your eggs should be out soon.” I leave and check on my three other tables before his order comes up, and when I return with his breakfast, he’s on his phone. He doesn’t acknowledge me or thank me with a quick wave of his hand when I place his plate in front of him. He simply reaches for a fork.
My stomach hardens, unsettling.
So much for the closure.
If anything, I’m more confused than I was before.
I spend the next fifteen minutes fully immersed in work, even pre-bussing some of Rachael’s tables so I have every reason not to stand around fixating on why he’s here and why he’s pretending not to know me.
When he finally flags me down and asks for his check, a blanket of anxious heat warms my body and I will myself to find the right thing to say before he walks out of here.
“Thank you,” he says a minute later, when I hand him the leather check wallet. His total was thirteen dollars and fifty-eight cents and I watch as he slips a ten and a five-dollar bill inside and tells me to “keep the change.”
The dollar forty-two is a far cry from the hundred-dollar tip he once left.
“Why did you come here today?” I ask, hand on one hip and head cocked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Why did you come here today?” I state my question clear as fucking day, enunciating every last syllable.
Isaiah frowns. “Is this some kind of trick question?”
“Why did you request me?” I ask.
“I … didn’t.”
Pulling in a hard breath, I massage my temples before splaying my hand across my beating heart. “This doesn’t make sense.”
“Are you mad about the tip?” he asks. “I usually try to tip more, but you made me wait fifteen minutes for my check and now I’m going to be late for a client meeting.”
“Oh, so now we’re going to pretend this is about the tip and not about the way you’re treating me?” I ask. My mouth falls and I can sense the burn of cherry heat in my ears.
“The way I’m treating you?” He scoffs, sliding out of his booth and standing. “Ma’am, I think you’re confused.”
Ma’am.
He’s back to calling me ma’am.
“Did you hit your head or something?” I ask. “Is that what happened? I’m not being facetious, it’s a legitimate question. Do you have amnesia?”
Isaiah chuckles, like I’m being cute, and then he shakes his head. “Are we done here? Because I’ve got someone waiting for me back at the office.”
At the office?
He’s been back long enough to get a job in an office that requires a suit …
He’s not fresh off the military boat. Not at all. And at this point, I’m starting to wonder if he was ever really in the army. It could’ve all been a ruse, maybe something he tells girls so he can get laid and have an excuse never to see them again. Or maybe he was some method actor studying for a role?
Then again, the letters came from an APO … so that couldn’t be it.
Gram always says, “It takes all kinds,” but I never knew what she meant until now, when I’m standing in front of one of the worst ‘kinds’ I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he says, squeezing past me, his meaty hands on my shoulders. Straightening his jacket, he gives me one last look—like I’m the crazy one here—and then he turns to leave.
Gathering his dirty dishes, I take them back to the kitchen, scolding myself for all those wasted days and sleepless nights I spent worrying about that selfish prick.
When I said I wanted closure, I didn’t know it was going to feel like this, and I didn’t know it was possible to mean less than nothing to someone who meant more than something to me.