Nick shook his head, closed the laptop with a sharp click, and pushed away from the desk. “Nah.”
“I don’t know why you want to hide your talent beneath a bushel.” Jon was studying to become a youth pastor and liked to spout Biblical phrases. “You have a gift. You have to let it shine.”
Nick interrupted before Jon could start singing, “This Little Light of Mine.” “No, I don’t. What I have to do is keep this shop afloat.” Nick thought about going out and wiping down tables—his standard go-to when his accounts were all caught up—but the fear that some of the guests had seen the video froze him. He paced across the room.
Concern flashed in Jon’s eyes. “We’re doing fine, right?”
“Well, yeah.” Nick stopped and clapped a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. We’re doing great.” In fact, they were doing much better than he’d projected when he’d opened the café. He’d patterned the shop after his uncle’s in Uruguay. Like any standard coffee shop, they served hot beverages and a smattering of baked goods, but what set them apart from a Starbucks was their open microphone for musicians, poets, and comedians. They also sold vinyl records and vintage sound systems.
Nick’s thoughts drifted to Jose and he fought a wave of homesickness. But moments later, the sound of his own voice jolted him back to the here and now. He glanced at the closed laptop before bolting out of the office.
He halted behind the counter and stared at the TV screen in the corner of the room. All the patrons in the shop turned to stare at him before bursting into applause and cheers. Stunned, Nick backed away. Moments later, without any real recollection of how he’d gotten there, he found himself in the service closet wedged between a shelf of cleaning supplies and a hamper of dirty aprons. He pulled out his phone, sank into a squat, typed in YouTube, and found the video of himself and Lester.
Five thousand views.
How is this happening?His head spun. There weren’t even five thousand people in Jose’s entire village. He let this process before he climbed to his feet. So, five thousand views. Everyone was watching Lester. Not him. And as Steph had said, this would be good for the shop. Publicity was publicity.
He checked his reflection in the mirror and smoothed his thick dark hair, before squaring his shoulders and heading back into the fray. The number of patrons had at least doubled. The shop had an occupancy capacity of three hundred, and while they were nowhere near that number, they still had twice as many guests as was typical for a Thursday afternoon.
He glanced outside at the weak January sun attempting to singe the edges of gray clouds. The rain was good for business. But so, apparently, were musical dog videos.
A blinding light flashed, making Nick blink. Had someone just taken his picture?
#
Adrienne gripped the steering wheel as she pulled up at a light and stared at the building in front of her. She had driven to 44 East Elm on auto-pilot. There stood the offices of Cavallero Land Development. Her eyes traveled to the top floor. Sebastian ’s office. She imagined him sitting at his big desk. She could go in and talk to him. Confide her worries. Reveal her insecurities about how they rarely talked. How seldom they touched. When had he stopped calling in the middle of the day? When had her company become an obligation to fulfill?
The driver of a Volkswagen behind her bleeped its horn. The light had turned green. When? How long had she been parked there—not really coming or going, stuck in neutral?
The Volkswagen horn bleeped louder and longer. After raising her hand in apology, Adrienne turned onto High Street, away from Seb. Irrationally upset, angry with herself for being overly emotional, she pointed the car toward her own office. But then she saw him.
Her husband had his arm flung around the shoulders of a tall, dark-haired beauty wearing a cobalt blue coat and a pair of red stiletto heels. Who dressed like that to the office? The woman turned and answered Adrienne’s question. Therese Acosta dressed like that. And Therese Acosta kissed Seb on a Seattle corner.
A Honda in front of Adrienne stopped suddenly, forcing her to slam on her brakes. The hood of her BMW came dangerously close to the Honda. A large, furry dog in the back seat of the other car stared at her. Adrienne’s heart hammered at her near miss. Had Seb seen the almost-accident? Was Therese laughing at Adrienne’s clumsy driving? Adrienne tightened her grip on the steering wheel and sped away to anywhere else.
#
Adrienne woke in the middle of the night to find Sebastian asleep beside her. Sitting up, she stared at his inert form and for the first time considered a life without him. He slept with his back to her, his dark head just poking out of the blankets. Gray light filtered in through the slats of the window blinds and cut stripes across the rumpled bedclothes.
Picturing the bed empty was easy enough. Lately, Sebastian had been gone more than he’d been home. Traveling. Business. Even on weekends. How could she have been so stupid?
She glanced at the clock. 3:00 a.m. Lying back against her pillows, she stared at the ceiling and, like a chess master, she began to plan out her next move.
“What are you doing?” Sebastian mumbled.
“Leaving you.” Adrienne rolled from the bed and padded across the room in the dark.
“You can’t.” Sebastian pulled the quilt over his shoulder. He didn’t even seem surprised by her pronouncement.
“Watch me.” She threw the words over her shoulder.
“It will kill Abuelo,” Sebastian said.
Adrienne had thought of this, and while she loved the old man, she’d long grown tired of Sebastian’s family’s hierarchy and manipulating ways. Inside her closet, she flipped on the light, pulled down her suitcase, and began to fill it. She glanced at her sweaters and jeans—Seattle winter wear—and instead chose shorts, T-shirts, and sundresses. She was going to find summer.
Three Weeks Later
“What would you like for dinner?” Aubrey asked.
