Page 67 of Resisting You
Birdie was fast asleep in his crate and blinked his eyes open, yawning at me. Then, he promptly dropped his head and fell right back asleep.
So she was here. She must have come home to bring Birdie back. The question was, where did she go? And why was she avoiding me?
I texted her again… the third text in thirty minutes.
Nothing.
Still no response.
Not sure what to do, I headed back down to Elsa’s… the little cafe that was attached to the Maple Grove Inn.
There wasn’t much that pie from Elsa’s couldn’t fix.
Weary, I walked in and was immediately greeted with Elsa running up to me. “Well, it’s about time you showed your face in here!” she said, pulling me in for a hug.
I raked my fingers through my hair, tugged on the strands sheepishly. “Yeah,” I laughed. “Sorry. But you know I can’t come to Maple Grove without a piece of your chocolate chess pie.”
“Damn straight,” she said, smacking me with her rag, then tucking it back into her apron. “Go take a seat with your wife and I’ll bring you an extra large slice.”
I froze, my spine straight. There in the corner booth, Rosa sat, eyes cast down, like she’d been hoping I wouldn’t see her sitting there, tucked away.
I cleared my throat and tried again to flash my easy breezy smile. Everything’s fine. No one’s mad.
Right?
“Thanks, Elsa.” I crossed the cafe and slid into the bench across from Rosa where she was cradling a steaming mug of coffee in her clenched hands.
“You’ve got to try the pie,” I told her, as if she couldn’t hear the entire conversation between me and Elsa thirty seconds prior.
“I’m really more of a crumble girl,” Rosa mumbled.
“Hey Elsa!” I called out. “Add a piece of your blueberry lavender crumble to my order!”
She gave me a thumb’s up from behind the counter and I tried smiling at Rosa. But all it earned me was a deeper scowl.
I tried to ignore the scowl and lighten the mood. "This place really takes me back. I have so many great memories here. It was one of the few places where my dad would take me and Callie when we were really little. Our siblings were in school and my mom was working a nursing shift, so he’d bring us here for some pie and hot chocolate. He always told us it was our little secret because the others would get jealous.”
I smiled at Elsa as she dropped two plates of pie in front of us with a wink. She even brought me my own cup of coffee, even though I didn’t ask for it.
A warm, comforting aroma of freshly baked pie filled the air, with notes of rich chocolate and buttery pastry. It was like a hug for my senses.
Rosa lifted her eyes briefly, the hint of a smile ghosting across her face before the scowl returned.
That little glimpse of a smile gave me the courage to continue. “He’s the one who introduced me to chocolate chess pie,” I said, grabbing a fork and stabbing a corner off. “But I had this thing where I couldn’t say L’s very well and I had no idea what chess was. So I used to call it chocowate cheese pie. He and Elsa got such a kick out of it.”
I smiled at the memory and took a bite. The pie was like a velvet symphony with rich cocoa notes that danced on the tongue. And in that moment, with one of the few good memories I had of my father and the pure delight of the pie, my smile finally shifted from forced to genuine.
Rosa huffed, blowing a strand of hair off her forehead dramatically. “This is what I’m mad at!” she hissed.
I blinked at her, momentarily confused. “You’re mad that chocolate chess pie reminds me of my dad?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.
But my mind raced as I replayed the last ninety minutes or so of lunch. Yes, that lunch was uncomfortable for both of us, but I hadn’t done anything to piss her off, did I? I thought back over the last few hours, trying to pinpoint anything that could explain her attitude.
Rosa slammed her mug down on the table, sloshing coffee over the rim. I jerked, caught off guard by the outburst. “No, it’sthis!” she said, gesturing at me.
I glanced down at my shirt, still fucking clueless as to what the hell was going on. And her evasiveness was starting to pissmeoff. I didn’t share memories about my dad often; positive memories, even less.
“This is the Noah I love,” she said, quieter. “The sweet, introspective guy who opens up to me with vulnerable stories. But that asshole at lunch earlier? The guy with all his cocky swagger and strut who practically ignored me and let his friends talk to me like I was below them?” She let out a derisive laughand shook her head. “Not only don’t I love him. I think I hate him.He’sthe reason I refused to date you for years.He’sthe reason I turned you down every time you asked me out.”
