Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 175(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 175(@200wpm)___ 140(@250wpm)___ 117(@300wpm)
stain or scuff, and her hair is perfect even in the February wind.
She sees us. Smiles. Starts walking over.
"Hey!" Her voice is bright and friendly. "It’s been a while, isn’t it?”
“Um...yes.” I do my best to sound just as friendly even though I’m mostly confused. Kimberly has never given me the time of the day, so I’m not sure why she’s acting like we’re long-lost friends all of a sudden?
“I’m so glad to bump into you. I’ve been meaning to ask—that new guy at your café.
The one who comes in every morning?"
My stomach drops.
"I'm just curious. He's been around for a while, right? Do you know anything about him?"
“I’ve never asked for his name.” At least I can say that truthfully.
"Right. Of course." Her smile widens. "It's just—I feel like I've seen him somewhere before. Can't quite place where." I hate to think this, but it’s pretty easy to tell that she’s lying. “Anyway—” She checks her phone, makes a show of looking at the time. "I should get going. But it was great seeing you guys!"
"You too," Jolie says.
Kimberly walks away, and we stand there in silence for a moment.
"That was weird," I say finally.
"Not really." Jolie watches Kimberly disappear around the corner. "She’s after him, and now she’s checking if either of us is competition.”
“That’s—” Crazy? Overkill? I’m still trying to make up my mind on how to take it all in when Jolie suddenly elbows my side, and that’s when I see...him.
Santino.
He's standing outside a store I don't recognize, and he's looking at his phone, and he's wearing the same charcoal sweater from this morning, and even from this distance I can see the strong line of his shoulders, the careful way he holds himself.
Kimberly hasn't seen him yet. She's walking in the opposite direction, already halfway down the block.
But he looks up.
And he sees us.
Sees me.
And for a second, the world goes quiet in that way it does sometimes when you lock eyes with someone and everything else fades into background noise.
Then Kimberly turns around.
She sees him.
Her whole face lights up—that bright, glossy smile that I recognize from commercials and Instagram posts, the kind of smile that knows exactly how beautiful it is.
She waves.
Big, enthusiastic, the kind of wave that demands acknowledgment.
He doesn't wave back.
He's still looking at me.
And I'm still looking at him, and I can feel Jolie tense beside me, and I can see Kimberly's arm slowly lowering as she realizes he's not looking at her, he's looking past her, at—
At me.
Kimberly follows his gaze.
Sees me standing there on the sidewalk with my secondhand coat and my
coffee-stained hands and my entire life written on my face.
Her smile dies.
Not slowly. Not gradually. Just—dies. Like someone flipped a switch, and all that brightness, all that confidence, just shuts off.
And in that moment, I understand.
For Kimberly to think of me as competition is not a good thing.
At all.
Kimberly doesn’t even bother to hide her displeasure. She’s used to being seen, but with Santino not even looking her way, it’s as if she’s invisible, and the irony is making me feel like hyperventilating.
I should be the invisible one, not her. I've spent my whole life being invisible. I've made an art of it. And now, standing on this sidewalk with Santino Aleotti's eyes on me and Kimberly's smile dying on her face, I'm suddenly, devastatingly visible.
And I don't know if I want to be.
Santino’s gaze is still holding mine captive, and my head is still reeling at the fact that this time...
It’s not just his name I know. It’s the fact that I also know who he is. And the kind of man that he is. And none of it makes sense. At all.
How can a man like him care enough to follow me home just to make sure my car doesn’t slide into a ditch?
He lifts one hand.
Not a wave. Just—a gesture. An acknowledgment.
I see you.
But somehow...I can’t make myself wave back, and instead I find myself quickly tugging at Jolie’s arm so we can walk away as quickly as possible.
I can feel Kimberly's eyes boring into my back, and it’s still not good.
At all.
Chapter Four
THE NEXT MORNING, I arrive at the café with a plan.
The plan is simple: be professional. Take his order. Bring his food. Do not think about the way he looked at me across the street yesterday while Kimberly's smile died on her face. Do not think about the fact that his name is Santino Aleotti and he races cars for a living. Do not think about anything except coffee pots and omelet orders and getting through this shift without dropping anything or saying something mortifying.
It's a good plan, but it only lasts for approximately seven minutes.
He walks in at seven-twenty-three (I'm not counting, except I am, I'm always counting), and he goes to the corner booth, and I walk over with the coffee pot and my best customer-service smile.