Page 121 of As the Rain Falls (Sainte Madeleine #1)

SMALL STEPS TOWARDS SOMETHING GOOD

Beckett

I swallow down half of my drink and pick up the pool cue stuck at the edge of the table. Silvio’s is packed as always, and we’re struggling to find a table to eat.

Angelina wraps herself around me like a koala.

“Beckett, will you teach me how to surf?”

“You can barely walk in a straight line as it is, Angie. Let it go.” I shake her off my shoulders, but she hangs on tighter, grinning because she knows that I’m only joking.

She whines, “Everybody else gets to try it, but I never do.”

“Your talents lie elsewhere.”

I shift to the right, making space for the waitress. She hands me our order, and I start passing plates around, keeping the crowded restaurant from swallowing her whole.

“Did anyone order a plate of antojitos ?”

“I did.” Antony snatches the plate from my hands, immediately popping something that looks like a taco into his mouth, swallowing it in a single bite. “God bless Latin America!”

Mateo grimaces. “You’re supposed to chew before you swallow.”

“I don’t care.” Antony waves him off, clutching the plate protectively. “You’re not getting any of my antojitos .”

The brown-haired boy shrugs, utterly unbothered.

“Didn’t want them, anyway.”

Across the room, Kayla leans dramatically over the bar, talking the ear off a bald man who looks like he stopped caring ten minutes ago. She’s wearing a dance costume today, joining us straight from competition.

“And then Alice said that I’m the crazy one. So, you see, I’m a very scary person, sir. I slap people. I do it all the time.”

The man just blinks at her, clearly unimpressed.

She goes on, “But the bitch never told me she had a knife; she just pulled it on me. What was I supposed to do? Not slap her again?”

I debate whether I should go save her, but she seems committed.

“She gets an ounce of sugar in her system, and it’s like every bit of common sense leaves her body.” Antony says to no one in particular, stealing one of my empanadas de carne .

“Kayla has no sense of self-preservation,” Angelina agrees, lighting a cigarette. “But she’ll get us a table. I believe in her.”

“Self-preservation isn’t all she lacks,” Mateo adds with a smirk, following it up with a brilliant observation. “This is how we’re going to end up in jail.”

I frown, not appreciating the foreshadowing.

“Don’t say that!” Antony gasps, face-palming. “It’s bad juju to talk about cops. They can hear you, you know.”

“You guys are overreacting. She’s doing fine,”Cassandra chimes in, a tiny, shy grin stretching across her lips.

Something in my chest lightens at the sight. I want to bottle up that smile and keep it somewhere safe. It’s my favorite one so far.

The past few months have been rough, but she seems more relaxed now, standing close to me.I think Kayla’s presence has a lot to do with it.Cassandra adores her, no matter how conflicted she feels about being honest and telling her the truth about Nathaniel.

Mateo takes another bite, watching Antony’s growing frustration with open amusement.

“Yo, did you see his scar?”

My best friend squeaks.

I snort, “Stop trying to scare him off.”

“Guys like me can’t end up in jail, Beckett. They’ll put me in there, and I’ll become someone’s bitch.”

“I don’t look good in orange,” Angelina adds, like it’s an important piece of information we should all be keeping in mind. “And I don’t think any of you do either besides Kayla, but she looks good in anything.”

“Antony’s shirt is orange, by the way.” Mateo grins, enjoying himself. “Just thought I’d point that out.”

“Shut up, Gabriel!”

We’re pretending to be playing pool while waiting for Kayla to secure a table, but the plates take up the space where the billiard balls should be.

Cassandra hasn’t ordered anything yet.

“I like their burgers,” she muses, trailing a finger down the menu. “Without the extra sauce, of course. It’s my favorite burger in town. But I think I’ll get a salad.”

She slides the menu across the pool table, handing it to me.

“It looks pretty good, don’t you think?”

I glance at the menu and the poorly taken pictures of the meals available in it.

The salad is at the bottom, made of fresh tomatoes, red onions, red pepper, corn, black beans, and cheese, all chopped together with tortilla chips and some cilantro lime dressing.

I can’t eat lettuce because the texture gives me the chills, but it does look good.

“And I really wanted some fries, but they only come with the full menu.”

From my peripheral vision, I catch Antony rolling his eyes at us. He and Cassandra have this weird, lingering animosity, which seems to be kind of their thing.

I shrug, “You can have some of mine.”

“But then I’d be stealing your food.” Her gaze shifts to our plates, her delicate fingers pressing into the edge of the table. “And you don’t like that.”

The waitress approaches our table.

“Are you ready to order?”

“No.”

“I thought you really liked the burger.” Antony takes the lead, reopening the menu. Cassandra tenses, and I glare at him. He adds, “It comes with the fries you want and a soda.”

She tilts her head, side-eyeing him. “Yeah, I kind of know how to read.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I check who’s texting me at this time. Mateo, still chewing, watches them with interest. Angelina pinches his arm, and he scowls at her.

Antony presses, “Can’t you just get the burger?”

“The burger gets ready quickly.” The waitress chips in, her voice overly cheerful.

Cassandra exhales, her shoulders dropping. “Fine. I’ll take the burger. And I want ketchup-mayo for the fries, please.”

Antony hands the menu back to the waitress, and she leaves to put in the order.

I’ve stopped mid-text to Well’s wood supplier just to watch their exchange happen.

There’s been some issues at the port. It’s a huge mess.

Trade policies, strikes every single day leading to shipments being delayed for far too long.

This is a huge problem for anyone trying to buy from or sell to overseas territories.

Most of our clients are understanding, but there’s always one who complains too much.I need to follow up quickly and answer emails, but I’m too distracted by Cassandra’s sudden shift in mood.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to eat everything,” she mutters, visibly upset about it. “I think I’m going to the bathroom.”

She rises from her improvised seat—a lost chair we found at a corner—and glances at Angelina with pleading eyes.

Angelina frowns. “Go ahead. I’ll watch your purse until Kayla comes back to our table.”

“Thanks, Angie.”

Nobody notices how quickly Cassandra disappears right after, not towards the bathroom, but out the restaurant.Ten minutes pass. Her food arrives but remains untouched.

Antony eyes it, angsty.

He meant well.I know he did.But he was also rude as fuck.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” I point out.

“Shouldn’t have done what?”

“Ordered for her.” I shake my head. “She’s not a child.”

“We’ve been here for an hour, Beckett.” He scoffs, looking around for support. “How long does it take to order?”

Mateo starts to agree, but he ultimately shrugs, “She’s a picky eater, dude.”

“She can take another hour to order for all I care. Who’s in a rush anyway?” I mutter, tossing my napkin onto my plate. I fish my phone from my pocket, not sparing him a glance. “I have to make a call. Angie, don’t let them eat my food.”

Angelina grins knowingly, big brown eyes shining up at me. She gives me a thumbs-up. “Gotcha!”

***

I make my way from the restaurant to the parking lot. Yellow sand gathers around the building, and the leaves of the large palm tree next to it sway back and forth. Cassandra crouches beneath it, back against the trunk, face buried in her knees.

It takes me a moment to decide on what to do before lowering myself to her level, brushing my fingers against the soft skin of her elbow.

“Baby?”

The thing about Cassandra is that she wears all her emotions on her sleeve. It shows when she’s uncertain, especially when it’s about herself.

I find the signs in the little things. The dresses that reveal more skin, as if she wants to be noticed, only for her to shrink the moment she is.

The foundation she uses to cover her little imperfections, only to hate the feeling of it when the heat rises too much.

How she fights the urge to bite her nails around me but always loses herself to the nervous habit.

Cassandra second-guesses herself, particularly when she knows no one will back her up. It’s a pattern, because there was a time someone important to her didn’t. And yet, she’s always trying so hard to be digestible, posed.

It shows. I see it. I get it. The girl hiding underneath, my girl. The one who gravitates towards old bands, action movies when they come on TV, and silly jokes fighting to break through. But what happened with Nathaniel and Caleb is making her want to bury herself.

I can’t let her do that.

“Cassandra?”

She raises her head, and I’m almost relieved to see she’s not crying.

“Hi, Beckett.”

“Hi.”

Her face twists, uncertain. “Is there something wrong?”

“I was about to ask you the very same question.”

The waves crash in the distance, far away from us, their sounds carried on the wind as if they’re closer.

“I’m fine; I just needed a minute.” She bites her lip. “He made me mad, that’s all.”

“Is it about the food?” I ask, wanting to be sure.

“Yes,” she admits with a light cough, lowering her arms and leaning back against the trunk. I can see her face more clearly now. “I can’t eat all that.”

I’ve seen her eat before, twice as much as we’re eating now. I wonder what’s different about today.

“I only really wanted the fries and the salad.” She sighs, avoiding my gaze. “And now I’m… I don’t know. Nervous, I guess.”

“Okay. That’s fair. I’d be nervous, too.”

The corner of her lips twitch, cracks into a tiny smile.

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“Be nice. I’m trying to empathize here.”