Page 53 of Devoted
“To who?”
“Judge.”
“Your bull.”
“He’s who I’ve got.”
He hit the barn door with the flat of his hand. It went back on its track. The cold in there was the same cold as outside with the wind taken off it, and the light came through the west boards in bars across the hay.
He stopped inside the door and turned around. She was right there.
“You’ve never let me buy the coffee.”
She stopped. “What?”
“Pearl’s. Eleven years of Saturdays. You’ve got the money on the counter before I’m on the stool. I haven’t bought you one cup of coffee since your daddy died.”
“Owen, what the hell does coffee have to do with anything?”
“It’s a dollar and a half.”
That got her. One short laugh escaped before she could stop it, and she put the back of her wrist against her mouth.
His mouth twitched.
“You’re unbelievable,” she said.
“It’s a lot of coffee.”
“You’ve been keeping count?”
“Somebody has to.”
She laughed again, softer this time, and shook her head. For a second neither of them said anything.
Then she looked at him. "Fine. Buy me one. Tomorrow, seven o'clock."
“I can?”
“A coffee, Owen. Don’t get excited.”
“I’ll try to contain myself.”
She smiled despite herself, then it faded. “See, this is what I mean.”
“What is?”
“You can do this. You can stand here and make me laugh and remember eleven years of stupid coffee. But the second it matters, you stop.”
His face changed.
“There,” she said quietly. “That.”
“Liv—”
“You always stop.”
He came a step toward her, then caught himself.
