Page 162 of Crushing Clover

“Arabella?” a second barista called.

She turned away and shook her head at the second barista, who was trying to give her a tray of drinks.

“No, I only ordered a chai latte,” she said. “I think you got our orders confused.”

“Wow! Can you blame me?” The first barista gestured at me, and the other woman turned to look. This time she seemed to really see me.

Her brows rose. “I thought it was because we were both redheads, but…”

“Yeah.” My chest tightened. The guys were doing a last check of the tie-downs on the trailer, but if I took too long, they might come looking for me. Part of me wanted to rush her out the door, but another part of me wanted to do an in-depth interview.

“Um…” She shook her head and blinked a few times, like she might wake up. “Hi, I’m Arabella.” She held out a hand, and I shook it.

“I know.” I gave her a pained smile.

“Pardon?”

I heard the guys come in before I saw them. Lucky was laughing about something while Saint was telling him to shut up.

They came up behind me and Saint slung an arm around my shoulders, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He’d done the same thing a few days ago, but it had felt rehearsed. This time, it felt real.

“You took so long, we decided to send in a search party.”

I desperately wanted to say something clever in front of this woman, but my tongue felt like it had been coated in rapid-dry concrete.

The three of them fell silent as they saw her, and she saw them.

“Oh,” she said, taking a sip of her latte as if it were a shield. “Hi.”

We stood there in awkward silence for a few moments before Lucky jumped forward and pulled Arabella into a fierce hug that made her latte dribble on his back. He kissed her cheek, and my heart broke for him, and a little for me, too. He’d been so in love with her. She let herself melt into the embrace. Jealousy licked at my insides, making them feel like water, but I couldn’t blame her.

“It’s good to see you,” he said honestly, squeezing her even tighter before letting her go. “How are you?”

I glanced over at Rush, who was looking thoughtful, but not angry. Saint, of course, looked sullen.

Arabella turned to me. “The resemblance really is uncanny.”

Saint scoffed loudly. “You don’t look anything alike.”

“Oh, come on,” Arabella protested. “I was so shocked when I saw her that I thought I might faint.”

“Look at the shade of your eyes and hair, and the way Clover tilts her head when she’s considering something. You don’t dress the same, and you definitely don’t have the same personality.”

“Yeah,” Rush agreed. “Nothing alike. No offense, Arabella, but why are you even here?”

She raised her coffee cup at him. “I know you guys like this place, but what were the chances of running into you here so early? I assumed you’d still be asleep. Besides, it’s been long enough that I didn’t think you’d care anymore.”

“We don’t,” Rush assured her rudely.

“This is fucked up.” Saint ran an aggravated hand through his hair.

I sighed. “Can you two be polite for two fucking seconds?”

“Sorry,” Rush grumbled. “We’re headed for the East Coast. I think moving Lucky’s dresser killed my back.”

She hazarded a smile. “Wow. You’re moving? What about Cygnet?”

Saint shrugged. “We sold it.”

---