Page 41 of Stolen Hearts
Jesus, I must look rough if even the director thinks I should keep my glasses on. Erica had convinced me that eyedrops would help, but obviously they haven’t kicked in yet. The coldpack she’d put on my face reduced some of the puffiness under my eyes, and the makeup she’d plastered underneath them, enough to fill the Grand Canyon, hid the black rings underneath.
“I was thinking I could come into the store wearing them, then take them off when I get to the counter to place my order.”
“We’ll make it work.” Tanu says, before walking toward one of the baristas. Her move leaves me alone with Christopher.
“Everything looks great in here.” I take in the rest of the store, breathing in deeply to stop my nose from running before returning my focus to Christopher.
The gold buttons on his white Burberry shirt sparkle under the artificial light, just like his hazel eyes.
“You okay?” Christopher asks.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” I try hard not to sniff once more.
I’ve had enough of my team mollycoddling me all evening, asking the same question. The last thing I need is Christopher on my back too.
“No reason.” Christopher shakes his head as his eyes study me.
A thousand thoughts swirl in my head. I’ve hoped and waited for this moment ever since I left him in June, and now that it’s here I’m messing up again, just like I did when I bumped into him unexpectedly earlier. I’d beaten myself up all day for not saying what I wanted, what Ineededto.
Connie nods at me, and I hold up my finger, asking for one more second.
“Actually, I was hoping we might find some time to talk.” I slip my hands into the back pockets of my black Prada jeans. “I owe you an apology and an explanation.” My pulse quickens and a lump forms in my throat. Every second feels like an hour, waiting for Christopher to respond.
“Alex,” Connie says.
“Just a second,” I snap back.
My focus stays locked on Christopher as I wait for an answer. I hold my breath tightly, my lungs becoming desperate for air.
“Okay, but it’ll need to be tomorrow before I leave for the airport.” His gaze leaves me and drifts to Connie, then over to Paul, who nods.
I let out a huge sigh and take in a deep breath.
I’ll take it, even if it means waiting several more hours, to say all that’s been left unsaid.
“Welcome to Brewed. What can I get for you?” the female barista asks. Her blond hair, gathered up in pigtails, bounces under her green elf hat. The rough mix ofIt’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Yearplays out through the overhead speakers.
I suddenly catch the name tag on her red apron—Betty—surely not a coincidence.
A smile forms on my face as I see the nickname I’d given Christopher staring back at me.
“I’ll take a Grinch fuel please, Betty.”
“Can I get a name?” she asks while she keys in my order. As she grabs a black and gold takeaway cup, I catch one of the taglines:One cup away from tolerating humanity.
“Alexander,” I say, removing my glasses. Shock comes over her face. “But you can call me Al,” I say, riffing off-script in response to the name tag as the song plays in my head.
“And cut!” Tanu shouts. “That was genius. Great job. Let’s reset the cameras for the next scene.”
“Is your name really Betty?” I ask, leaning on the counter.
“No, it’s Samantha. That guy over there changed it last minute.” She points at Christopher, who’s by the playback monitor watching the screen.
It’s got to be a sign, surely. A coded message from him.
Butterflies circle inside my stomach. As I walk over to myteam, I feel like I’m walking on air. The store manager’s kids, Ernesto and Paulina, wave at me from one of the round circular tables by the window where they’re sitting with their mom and dad, looking like a perfect family.
Though they all look different physically, they remind me of my own family. Their matching Christmas sweaters give off an eerily similar vibe to the ones my dad insists we wear at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Yet our Christmases weren’t filled with joy, like the emotion I see on the kids’ faces as I wave back at them. There was never enough money to go around. It always felt like we were on Santa’s naughty list, unable to get what we’d asked for. My parents regularly argued about money and my dad’s drinking habits, leaving my brother and me to hide away at the top of the stairs.
