Page 6 of Monochrome Without You
Susan.
She’s been blowing up my phone since she unexpectedly showed up at the house this morning. Which makes no sense. We’ve gotten a drink once, maybe twice. We’re not dating. We’re co-workers. The only reason she knows where I live is because she had to drop off a time sensitive contract a few weeks ago.
I shove my phone into the glovebox and open the car door.
I know Jules hates confrontation, but we need to talk about last night.
The coffee shop is packed.
I step inside, scanning the room for Jules, but I don’t need to look far. Her laugh carries across the space, warm and easy, cutting through the low hum of conversation and the steady whir of the espresso machine.
She’s at the other end of the bar, passing drinks across the counter, smiling in that way that’s always been unfairly disarming.
I should have expected this. Jules in her element. Thriving. Alive.
She never did fit inside the neat, carefully labeled boxes of my world. That was always the problem.
I elbow my way through the crowd until I’m standing in front of her.
She glances up, barely missing a beat as she hands a cup to a waiting customer. Then her gaze lands on me.
Something flickers in her eyes. Annoyance? Amusement? A mix of both?
“What do you want?” she asks, arching a brow.
“We need to talk.” My eyes drift to the top of her head. Ribbons and flowers are interlaced with her gorgeous curls. Curls I want to run my fingers through over and over again. “Why are you wearing a flower crown?” I ask, curious.
Jules scoffs. “Because it’s Wednesday, Corbin.”
That… explains nothing.
I exhale, shifting my weight. “Is there somewhere quiet we can talk?”
“I’m busy.” She presses her lips together, hands off another drink, then lifts her chin. “Connie!”
A barista appears at her side, also wearing a flower crown.
I blink. “You’re wearing a flower crown.”
Connie sizes me up. “Yeah. It’s Wednesday.”
I glance between them. “That doesn’t clarify anything.”
Jules sighs, giving me a look that says I am the least fun person alive. “It means we’re busy. Let’s talk later.”
That’s code for never.
I inhale sharply. “Julianne.”
She tenses, just barely. She hates when I call her that.
“Fine,” she exhales, tossing a towel onto the counter. “Sarge! Can you cover the bar for me?”
I stiffen at the name before turning. Her brother is standing by the espresso machine, arms crossed, already glaring.
Perfect.
“What’s he doing here?” he asks, his voice sharp.
