Page 36 of Things We Left Behind

“So will you.”

I couldn’t snark back at him. All my focus was on willing the tears to be reabsorbed into my face. I would not be weak in front of him. Again.

“You don’t have to stay,” I said, looking everywhere but his face.

“After that guilt trip, I’d have breakfast with Rasputin.”

Even through my blurred vision, I could see him shaking his head vehemently.

“What don’t you want me to know?” I demanded. “Were you blackmailing my parents? Did you trick them into a cult or multi-­level marketing scheme?”

“Those are the only options you can come up with?” he asked.

“Psst! Is it safe to come back and take your orders?” Bean asked, tiptoeing back to the table.

“Sure, Bean.” I managed a weak smile for him. It wouldn’t do me any good to have rumors circulating about the town librarian’s public meltdown. I had a reputation to uphold. I was downright terrifying when the situation called for it. It kept my library and my life here in Knockemout running smoothly.

“You know you’ve got stains all over your shirt?” Bean pointed at my sweatshirt with his nub of a pencil.

“I had a run-­in with a coffeepot this morning. I’ll have the usual with a hot chocolate.” I deserved a comfort beverage.

“Extra marsh, extra whip?” Bean clarified.

“You know it.”

“And for you, Mr. Rollins?”

I snorted internally. This was Knockemout, for Pete’s sake, and Bean was barely a year younger than me. But it was “Mr. Rollins this and Mr. Rollins that.”

“Egg white omelet with spinach and vegetables,” Lucian ordered.

Ugh. Even his breakfast order annoyed me. And the way the man couldn’t be bothered to say please or thank you made me want to hit him in the face with the napkin dispenser. I narrowed my eyes at him.

Lucian blew out a breath through his nostrils. “Please,” he added before collecting our menus and handing them over.

“Sure thing,” Bean said.

“Thanks, Bean,” I said before he scurried back to the kitchen. Once he was gone, I returned to glaring at Lucian. “Would it kill you to be polite every once in a while? Or do those suits leach the humanity out of you?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t order the glitter pancakes off the children’s menu to go with your mug of granulated sugar.”

“Have you ever even had the diner’s hot chocolate?” I asked. “Oh, wait. I forgot. You’re violently allergic to fun and happiness. When are you flitting back to your depressing vampire lair of seriousness?”

“As soon as I make it through this breakfast with you.”

Another server appeared to top off Lucian’s black coffee and deliver my hot chocolate. It was a work of art. The thick-­handled mug was topped with a veritable tower of whipped cream. Mini marshmallows dotted the white swirl, and Bean had topped the entire thing off with a generous dusting of pink, glittery sprinkles.

I felt a tickle in my throat, another prickle behind my eyes. I was not going to cry over a cup of hot chocolate, no matter how obvious it was that it had been made with love.

That was why I loved this damn town so much. Why I never wanted to live anywhere else. We were all intimately involvedin one another’s lives. Step outside your front door, and if you looked past the leather and exhaust fumes, the luxury SUVs and designer equestrian wardrobes, you’d witness a dozen small acts of kindness every day.

“You’re ridiculous,” Lucian said as I pulled the mug to me with both hands.

“You’re jealous.”

“You can’t even drink that. You’ll end up wearing it.”

I scoffed and reached for a straw. “You’re such an amateur.” With precision, I inserted the straw from the top to ensure the proper cream to chocolate ratio. “Here,” I said, sliding the mug toward him.