Page 33 of Bittersweet

I glanceback.

Elio hands some money over to a woman in front of the counter, then slides a chocolate brownie into a paper bag for her. My mouth waters at the sight of those forearms, thatsmile. . .

That smile you can’thave.

Just like that brownie, Elio is no good forme.

And drooling over things that hurt my heart and my hips won’t do me anygood.

I turn back in the direction I was headed and charge down the street. There are plenty of other cafés in Colorado Springs. I’ll just find a new one.Easy.

My phone buzzes, and I pull it from my bag as Iwalk.

Emma:How’s my favorite girl holdingup?

Miserable. Sore, after the training session fromhell.

Lonely.

Romy:Oh, you know, just the usual. On the hunt for a café that’s free from married men who lead on innocentwomen.

Emma:I still can’t believe he’s married. He doesn’t even wear aring!

Romy:He’s a baker. He probably doesn’t want to get it dirty while he’s kneading someone else’sbuns.

Emma:LOL!

Emma:Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. You’re deflecting that sadness with humor again. I know it’s hard, but you’re amazing! Don’t ever forgetthat.

I smile at my phone and tuck it back in my purse. Thank God forEmma.

After passing a few cafés I dismiss upon observation—too crowded, smells too much like bleach, too many tempting treats on display in the window—I find the perfectlocation.

Everything is white is everywhere, from the tiles to the walls to the high-gloss tables and chairs. It lines the bottom of the display cabinet that houses the sort of treats I need to drool over—the sort of food that should be on my mind after grueling workouts like the one I completed lastnight.

Fruit.

Vegetables.

There’s no reason why a smoothie bar couldn’t become my new morning normal. This is the perfect place towork.

I head inside and shove my sunglasses into my hair, then pull my cardigan tighter around me at the chill from the air-conditioner blasting overhead. It’s like an igloo in here. I inspect one of the protein balls on the counter, squinting to read the fine print on the package to see how many calories are in eachone.

“Hi!” A woman pops up from under the displaycabinet.

“Holy shit!” The protein ball flies across the room, and I clutch my hand to my chest to steady my heartbeat.Where the hell did she comefrom?

“Sorry, did I startle you?” she asks, her ponytail swinging from side to side. She looks like she’s had ten coffees already, and it’s barely nine a.m. The girl isbuzzing.

I locate the protein missile and pick it up, dust off the packaging, and set it back on the counter with a sheepish smile. “No, it’s fine. I wasjust—”

“You wanna know the specials?” she squeaks, and I nod. “Great! We are running a pick-me-up deal today, where you get one shot of wheatgrass with every large green smoothie, and for those looking for a little something on the side, we can do a protein bar discount if you join our members’club.”

“Oh. Okay.” I nod.Wheatgrass?

The old me would never have said yes to something like that. I’d have run a mile, opting instead for something with more chocolate, more pastry, moreElio.

No.

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