Page 60 of Naked Coffee Guy

Because no one lives here.

I park in the empty driveway, and even though I’m already late for work, I get out of my car. Peering in the windows, I see there is no furniture. The place is completely emptied out. It’s like no one has lived here for years.

I wanted a sign, and I think I got it.

I bite my lip, feeling the hot sting of tears threatening to spill down my cheeks. I force them back, swallowing hard as I turn to the street. In the distance, a woman is pushing a jogging stroller as she runs, her ponytail bouncing with each step. At a nearby house, a teenage boy wears large headphones as he mows the lawn, making perfect lines in the grass. A young girl rides her bike up and down a driveway as her dad stands nearby.

My whole world is one big ending, but life goes on.

Ain’t it fun?

I shake my head, a small laugh escaping my lips. I could go search out Mac’s house on the hill. I think I remember the way. But why? This was a momentary lapse of reason. Mac is still Mac. And me? I’m still Maren. Long after this day, I’ll still be doing what I need to do to survive. It’s a different fight than the one I battled years ago. But it’s a struggle, nonetheless.

And I’m here for it. Because I’m Maren Huerta, and I’m in charge of my own destiny. I have survived this long without Mac Dermot. I can survive forever.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Maren

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me in this shit hole.”

Nina leans against the counter as I clean the espresso machine—for the last time. It’s been two months since I started teaching music, and what was supposed to be a side gig, is now a full-time career. I have twelve private students that meet with me on a weekly basis, and a group lesson I hold every Saturday. After today, I will be able to double the number of private lessons, plus have the time I need to focus again on my music.

In my own home.

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, Maren Huerta has the keys to a house. A real house. One with a backyard and a fireplace and no shared walls. Okay, so the backyard is the size of my car, the fireplace plugs into the wall, and the rent is a small fortune. But it’s a house. I have a family room where I plan to hold my lessons, a huge bedroom with room for all my guitars, and a large walk-in closet I’ll fill with my old clothes, plus some hand-me-downs from Nina that I snagged on a donation run.

Let’s just say, life is pretty sweet.

Even if I can’t talk to… Nope, not going to even say his name. Life is sweet, the end.

Okay, fine. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t keep tabs on him. I mean, he’s not exactly out of the public eye. He has a goddamn billboard that looks over the freeway running through the center of Sunset Bay, for fuck’s sake. I’ve also stalked his social media, but all it shows are homes and businesses he’s sold, and I’m pretty sure it’s an influencer behind the house and key emojis.

So I’m keeping tabs, but there are no tabs to keep. At the very least, I know he’s alive and breathing, and we’re still not talking to each other.

My choice. This was my choice.

“Want me to grab some extra boxes from the back,” Nina asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Yeah, and grab the extra newspapers while you’re at it,” I say. I finish the cleaning job, and then look around the shop. Susan never showed up for my last day, but she did send me a card with a gift card in it, $15 for Insomniacs. It’s the thought that counts.

“Face it, you’re going to be so bored when you’re not waking up at godawful hours to make overpriced drinks for the work rush.”

“Oh, definitely,” I joke. But inside, I know I will. This is the only job I’ve ever had, and besides music, the only thing I know. While I’m moving in the right direction, a part of my identity is wrapped up in this place. Who will I be when I’m not a barista?

A musician.

I smile, then turn to Nina and engulf her in a completely uncharacteristic hug. Neither one of us is the touchy feely type, and she stiffens in my embrace. But then she reaches around and hugs me too. I even hear her sniff, and I pull back to make sure. She shakes her head, wiping at her moist eyes.

“I hate you,” she says, then shakes out a laugh.

“I hate you too.”

I’m going to miss living with Nina. I know—weird. But it’s true. These past two months, she’s kind of been my rock. Don’t get me wrong, Claire is still my best friend, and Nina is still a bitch. But she also cleared a space in her home so I could hold music lessons. She stocked the freezer with Chunky Monkey ice cream—my favorite—because my mopey mood was bumming her out and I might as well get fat. She’s even made me start performing again. Rather, she told me if I didn’t get my ass off the couch and on a stage, she was going to put hair remover in my shampoo. But once I was on stage, she was sitting in the audience, cheering me on. She even sat with Claire, even though neither one of them is a fan of the other.

Plus, she’s helping me move. I thought she’d balk at the request, but she’s been actually helpful. Not the twirl her hair kind of helpful while I do all the work, but actually helping. I thought that maybe she was just in a hurry to get me out of her house, but she assured me she wasn’t. In fact, she said she was going to miss me.

Okay, she didn’t say it. But it was implied in the way she grumbled over who was going to make the coffee now that I was leaving.

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