“Hey, if you’ve got this…” she begins. “Do you mind if I cut out early? I have a paper to write.”
My stomach drops. Why does she do this to me?
As I finish Anita’s drink, I consider the ways that I could just say no to Janet. I can just say no, right? Certainly I could try it.
But as soon as I am gearing up to say something that starts with the words “Hey, maybe,” which seems close enough, I see her eyes drift toward the door. Her shoulders straighten. It must be a man.
“Yeah, okay, never mind,” I mumble sarcastically as I slide Anita’s drink down the counter, then catch my breath.
“Well, hey, stranger,” comes a voice so familiar it could have erupted right from the middle of my own brain.
I sway forward, barely collecting my thoughts enough to realize what I’m seeing. It looks like a photograph. Like one of those stylized video images were someone’s avatar is placed in a new environment. Like virtual reality.
He smiles even broader, probably amused by my gape-mouthed expression. His hand drifts up to push a lock of hair off his forehead as his blue-gray eyes glitter with charming delight.
“How did you...”
“Find you?” he finishes for me. “Actually, I didn’t. I had a meeting at Northwestern and just needed some coffee.”
For some dumb reason, my mouth is completely dry. I can barely make sense of what is going on. Words. They are hard.
He grins, his cheeks dimpling into perfect brackets around his smooth, white teeth.
“Did you miss me?”
“Miss you!” I finally blurt out. “Are you kidding me? It’s been three years, Chance!”
“Oh, wow, has it really been that long?” he mutters shyly. “It really just feels like yesterday, Chels.”
My cheeks begin to burn and I realize I am grinning like a fool. It isn’t until Janet clears her throat next to me that I remember other people are in the room.
“Oh, Anita? Here’s your drink…”
Anita comes over, smiling as the dogs tug forcefully on the leashes. She looks transfixed, practically zombified as she stares at Chance like she’s never seen a handsome, self-made millionaire before. Or is he a billionaire? I forget.
“Just take your drink," I suggest, the warning clear in my voice. I want her to take those yippy beasts out of here.
“I’m Janet,” my suddenly motivated coworker announces, sticking out her hand.
“I’m Chance,” he replies. “I’m Chelsea’s brother.”
Janet shoots me that look I saw a million times in high school, the one that says: This is your brother? I want to be friends.
Not bloody likely, Janet.
“Well, can I get you a drink? On the house? What do you like?” I begin to babble, suddenly filled with bubbles and light.
“Sure, just a double shot would be great. Straight up.”
“Oh, straight up!” Janet giggles. “The hard stuff!”
I try not to roll my eyes too obviously as I start prepping his drink. Truthfully, it is a pretty bitter, strong drink. Most people go for something a little milder. But does she have to say it like that?
“Has it really been three years?” he asks, lowering his voice as he positions himself on the opposite side of the espresso machine, closer to me than to Janet.
I nod, counting back mentally. It definitely has. When our parents died in a flash flood outside of Las Vegas, Jack and Chance sold their dating app, and I went to Northwestern. That took three years to unravel. We scattered like leaves in a storm.
I know he knows all of these things, so I don’t have to say them out loud. But yes. It has been three years almost exactly.