Home for the Holidaysby Maddie James
Coffee. The heavenly smell of coffee hit her full in the face. Oh, could she use some caffeine. The dark kind with extra octane. Looking to her left, she spied the self-serve counter and smiled. The Pig was moving up. She didn’t remember this coffee service here before.
Hesitant for only a second, she glanced about. Oh, my God, that was Betty Jo still checking at the counter. How many years had she worked here? A hundred? Another quick look back to the coffee. Yes, she would risk it.
Darting toward the counter, she was actually salivating, longing for the taste of the warm and rich liquid on her tongue. “I swear, I must be addicted,” she muttered as she reached for the largest of the foam cups.
“Okay, so where is the yellow stuff?” Searching for the artificial sweeteners, she quickly spied them and tore off the tops of three packets and dumped them into her empty cup. Next, she poured the coffee on top, the aroma wafting toward her nostrils.
“Um.” She closed her eyes and inhaled and savored a moment of pleasure.
“Ahem. You going to stand there and breathe that, or drink it?”
Her eyes popped open and she jerked her gaze to her right. Shit! “Matt?”
“Yes. Mind scooting over so I can get some of that, too?”
Chelly looked where she was standing, right in front of the burners and the carafe. “Oh. Oh!” She backed up and searched for the lids. She rounded him and they switched places. In the process, she scooted her hood up a little higher to cover her face.
“I need a lid,” she said, then edged away. She fumbled with the plastic disk, couldn’t get it on straight to save her.
“Here, let me.”
Large hands reached in front of her. She tried not to look at him. After all, she was skuzzy. Hadn’t washed her face…
She ran her tongue over her teeth.
He handed her the cup.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
He didn’t move. Just stood there. She stared at her cup. “Well, I should be going.”
“Me, too.”
Finally, she did look up. He’d not gone anywhere. Move or say something, Chelly!
“Oh, Matt. Thanks for last night. I mean, you could have given me a ticket.” She swallowed and looked into his eyes, really looked into them, the first in a long, long time. She had always thought his eyes were the most beautiful color of coppery brown…
He hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the right words. “You weren’t going that much over the speed limit,” he finally said.
She shrugged and held her coffee cup in both hands in front of her, clamping her left arm tight against the wipes still tucked into her left side. “Well, that was nice of you.” She glanced at Betty Jo who was staring at them. “I should go.”
She turned, slightly.
“At least one of us plays nice.”
The tone of those words, as much as their implication, cut as deep as anything. She turned back. “Matt, that was a long time ago.”
“Four years, six months, seven days.”
Shit. He hadn’t…had he? “What are you saying? Are you still mad at me?”
He squared himself, stance broad, as if ready for action. The look on his face said he meant business. “I’m mad as hell.”
She had no clue. “I…” she glanced off. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Sorry, I think, is the appropriate word.”
Looking at him again, she shook her head. “Somehow I think my saying sorry still won’t cut it.” She sat her coffee down on the counter and reached for his forearm. “Matt…”
“It’s a start.” He jerked away, stepped back.
Surprised, she continued, “Matt, okay, I’m sorry. I know I hurt you. I know…”
He sat his coffee on the counter beside hers, although a little too hard. The bottom busted off the cup and hot coffee splattered everywhere. Both of them jumped. “Hurt?” He chortled. “You made me the laughing stock of this entire town.” His gaze narrowed and he leaned forward. “I don’t ever, ever, want to see you again. So if you are back in town for good, steer clear of me, you got that?”
Stunned, she jerked back and stared into his face. “Sure. Got it.”
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