Page 13 of When In Doubt

“But… I’m pretty on edge generally, and coffee tends to just ratchet up my anxiety.” I’m not sure why I’m sharing so much with a man whose name I don’t even know. The realization stops me in my tracks. “I don’t know who you are.” I frown up at him.

A flicker of something clouds his expression but he doesn’t speak, just nudges my elbow to keep me walking as we cross the road to Becca’s. “I’m Oscar.”

“Freya.”

“Nice to meet you.” I remember after he says it that he somehow already knew my name, but he’s a few steps ahead of me before I can question it.

We pass the parking space that had caused such problems on Wednesday, this time housing a Ford. I shoot it a quick glare. “Someone in your space again?” Oscar asks, quirking one of those thick eyebrows.

“I only need it on Wednesdays. This is just a cruel reminder that the store doesn’t come with one of its own.”

“For the library.”

“Yeah, I run a knitting circle there.”

“With Joyce?” he asks. It doesn’t surprise me that he’s familiar with her; she’s something of a Cedar Creek legend.

I sigh. “Yup.”

“Ouch,” he replies, his face half sympathy, half amusement as he pushes open the glass diner door and gestures me inside.

My back stiffens a fraction as we approach the counter, the overlapping sounds hitting me. I take a few deep breaths and try to adjust.

Becca’s Diner is decorated in shades of pale blue, offset by the pops of red from the vinyl booths. It’s pretty, but it’s hard to appreciate given how crowded it is. Every seat is full except for those by the windows. I didn’t realize quite how visible the store is from here. It makes me wonder what people have seen of me, like I’m a fish behind the glass of a tank.

“What do you want?” Oscar asks when we hit the front of the line.

“Oh, hi!” calls a bright voice from behind the counter. Becca smiles as her gaze bounces between the two of us. “You didn’t like the coffee?”

“Oh—No, I…” I start to stammer, not wanting to say anything that might insult her.

“She can’t drink coffee,” Oscar answers, cutting my spiral short.

“Well, that’s too bad. Murphy was in here trying to figure out what you’d like.”

I look up at him in question.

“My last name.” He shrugs. “It’s what everyone at the station calls me.”

“Station?”

“I’m a firefighter.”

Oh. I glance over his broad shoulders and the way his biceps are tight against the fabric. Yeah, I can see it.

He nods at the menu behind Becca and I blink up at it, feeling the pressure. I’ve been here before so I don’t know why, but the words are swimming in front of my eyes. I must spend too long deliberating because the guy behind us clears his throat, grumbling impatiently. I’m ready to apologize, but Oscar’s shooting him a look that has him turning red and staring down at his shoes as he coughs again, trying to pass it off as a sore throat.

“I’ll take a hot chocolate,” I squeak out, beyond ready to get back to huddling behind my desk.

“You got it.” Becca grins. “It’ll be just a minute.”

Oscar and I move to the side to wait for my drink.

“You know,” he says, leaning down to speak in a conspiratorial tone, his shoulder knocking against mine, “I once saw Elsie cycle through a puddle when Joyce was walking past. I’m pretty sure she was trying to splash her.”

His sudden playfulness forces a laugh out of me. “That sounds like her.”

“Did you keep in touch?”