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“I’m not.”
Baby doesn’t break eye contact for one second.
Sighing, I say, “Okay, I am, but no one could ever replace you.” I rub her ears and she licks my hand. I’m forgiven. For a little while.
I step inside the café, and Zarah’s nowhere to be seen. I swear under my breath. I spent twenty bucks on parking for nothing.
Sierra scoots behind the counter and grins. “Hey, hot stuff.”
“Hey. A little brunette didn’t come in here, did she?”
“Yeah, she’s in the restroom. Meeting her?”
“Not really. Kind of.”
“Do you want a coffee while you ‘kind of’ meet her?”
She’s teasing, smiling, maybe flirting a little, the tip of her tongue licking her upper lip as she waits for my response.
“What’s she drinking?”
“What you ordered her the other day. The hot malt.”
“I’ll have one, too.”
I pull my wallet out of my back jeans pocket to pay, but Sierra waves me off. I met her on a job some time back, when her old man hired mine to look into who ripped off his store. The cops didn’t care about a dry cleaning place that got robbed in the middle of the night. They made a few noises, filed a report, but nothing more. We found him, and the asshole was wanted in two other states for armed robbery. Shipped his ass outta here. And now Pop gets free dry cleaning he doesn’t use.
“I can pay.”
She shrugs and starts steaming the milk for my latte. I ask her to bring it to me, and I find Zarah sitting at the same table we did before. Our positions will be swapped—she’s in my seat looking over the coffeehouse and she sees me the second I step around the corner. Her eyes widen and then she looks at her bowl, the mountain of whipped cream at a more manageable level.
“Hi,” I say, approaching her table. If she wants me to leave I will, but I don’t lie to myself. If she doesn’t let me sit down, I’ll be disappointed.
After a moment, she meets my eyes. “Hi.”
“Can I sit?”
She lifts a shoulder, and I wait her out. I’m not going to join her if she doesn’t want me to.
Zarah finally realizes this, drawing in a breath when I don’t pull the chair out and sit without her permission. “Okay.”
“Are you sure?”
“It’s okay.” She presses her lips into a thin line.
Sierra serves my coffee and scurries away.
“Is she your girlfriend?” Zarah blurts out, then hides her face behind her hands.
I wait until she looks at me to answer. “No. My dad helped hers once and we stayed friends. That’s all.”
“Oh.”
Her shoulders hunch, and she stares into her half-empty coffee bowl. A notebook sits beside the saucer, and a list I can’t read upside down runs down the page.
“Working on something?” I ask to start a conversation.
She’s going to be a tough nut to crack, and while I’ve been watching her, I gave this a lot of thought. If what Max says is true and the Blacks aren’t done making her life a living hell, I’d rather us be on talking terms than strangers if I ever need her.