Page 48 of The Rebound
“I’m minding a coffee stall.”
“But—”
“Abby?” Luke appears to my left, carrying a crate of supplies and looking at me as though I’ve grown two heads. “Where’s Beth?”
“Peeing,” I say without thinking before I turn back to the man. “Hygienically peeing. And then washing her hands.”
Luke makes an “oh God”face and puts the crate down.
“Sorry about that,” Luke says in a cheerful voice he never uses with me. “What can I get you?”
I stand awkwardly to the side as he makes the man’s drink. And then two more for the woman after him and then a hot chocolate for an already sugar-crazed child before finally there’s a break in the line and we’re alone again.
“Beth asked me to mind the place,” I say when he turns to me. “Who’s looking after the café?”
“Ollie.”
“Right.” I watch as he does something complicated-looking with the machine. He’s dressed for the cold in a beanie and a fitted black fleece. Tightly fitted. Tightly fitted and— “I’m here with Louise,” I add before I start staring.
“You don’t have to hang around.”
“I know. But this stall is much nicer than her one.” Though just as frosty. I glance about, looking for something to do. “Do you need—”
“How are you keeping, Mike?”
I fight back a sigh as he calls out to a passerby.
“Luke,” the man greets, stopping near the table. “Not bad. Busy this morning?”
“Busy enough. The usual is it?”
“Ah, sure I’ve already had my cup today.”
“Only one?” Luke begins to make the drink before Mike can say anything further. “Brenda here too?” he asks.
“Yeah, go on. Make hers a decaf though,” Mike adds with a frown. “And I better get her one of those scones as well. She’ll say she doesn’t want it but then guess who’ll be in trouble for not getting one.”
“Always the way. I’ll just—”
He breaks off when I step up beside him, using the tongs to slip one of the large raspberry scones into a paper bag like the little helper I am.
“You’re good at that,” I say when the man goes.
Luke shrugs, rifling through a box for more cups. “It’s just talking to people.”
“That can be harder than it sounds. Did you ever think about going into sales?”
“Nope.”
Nope. I twirl the tongs in my hand, losing my patience. “So you’re not going to look at me now, is that it?”
“I’m tired, Abby. Okay? I don’t have the energy for this right now.”
“This?”
“You.”
Our eyes meet briefly but before I can snap back, I realize with some surprise that he does look tired. And not in the dark circles, bloodshot eyes, always yawning kind of way. His movements are a little slow, his frown lines more pronounced. He sounds tired too. His words not mean, more just brutally honest. When I don’t respond he turns back to the crate, unloading stacks of branded paper cups and I know I should just leave him to it but I don’t want to.
