The Wrong Wright

CHAPTER 4: I’ve met your type

CHAPTER 4: I’ve met your type

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You think barging into conversations that don't concern you and calling people names is helping?”

I placed a hand over my chest in mock surprise. “Forgive me, was this a conversation? It looked a lot like you were being an asshole. And I strongly believe that belittling people over coffee spills says a lot about a person.”

Bess was shifting from foot to foot at this point. Did someone leave the kitchen door open? Why was she sweating at her brow?

The stranger tilted his head, studying me like I was a new specimen. He didn't look affected, except for the intensity in his eyes. They were almost pitch black now.

“Let me guess. You’re the small-town moral authority?”

“And you’re the arrogant outsider who thinks money excuses everything.”

In fairness to him, I had not seen him throw cash in her face. Yet.

His lips curved, not a smile. It's more like the idea of one, too cynical to be real.

“Ah. So we’ve met before. You seem to have a rich knowledge of me.”

“No,” I said tightly. “But I’ve met your type.”

His jaw tightened. “Have you?” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Then you should know, my type doesn’t respond well to self-righteous lectures from sanctimonious, small town vigilantes.”

I felt the smack of the insult. My hand curled into fists. I hated this man.

“Well, I don't care what you say or think. I’m not doing this for your response,” I snapped. “I’m doing it for her.” I nodded toward the waitress, who was still frozen by the counter.

He followed my gaze, then exhaled sharply, through his nose, not his mouth, like a man restraining a thousand things he wanted to say but didn’t trust himself to.

Then, without another word, he reached into his pocket, and I caught sight of the expensive watch on his wrist. The cost would cover my shop rent for over five years. I felt a fresh wave of resentment. I didn’t have anything against luxury, but Hattie always said I was prejudiced about rich people. He pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and placed it on the counter. Finally, the cash. I knew I couldn't be wrong.

“For the damage,” he said flatly. “And for the lesson.”

He turned to leave.

Once again, I should have let it go and walked away, but something about that, his dismissal of it all, of me, the air of arrogance and superiority. All of it made my pulse spike.

“Typical,” I muttered, just loud enough.

Time froze. He stopped. Turned halfway. “Excuse me?”

“You think everything can be fixed by throwing cash around. That’s not decency. It's not even an apology,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “Neither is it generosity. That’s guilt management. That's disgusting elitist behaviour.”

The cafe had gone completely still now. Bess, the waitress, even the espresso machine seemed to hold its breath.

“Em…,” Bess’s voice trailed off.

He looked at me for a long, long moment. I thought he was going to go off. Then he smiled, a slow, cold thing that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You must be delightful at parties.”

The nerve of him to call me a clown. He didn’t need to say it in plain words.

“I’m fantastic,” I said. “When I’m not cleaning up after entitled strangers and arrogant pricks.”

I didn’t even flinch nor care that I was using colourful words. The man was too insufferable.

“Then I’ll make sure to stay out of your radius,” he replied evenly, then added in a chilling low voice. “For your sake.”

And with that, he walked out, no raised voice, no slammed door. Just that quiet certainty of a man who didn’t lose arguments but only walked away from people he deemed unworthy of them. Once again, the dismissal stung.

The bell above the door jingled as he disappeared into the grey evening.

For a few seconds, I just stood there, every nerve buzzing. Then I realized my hands were shaking, and Bess was staring at me like I’d grown a second head.

“Em, what was that? What did you just do?” She cried, walking out from around the counter.

I walked back to my table, and she followed behind me.

“I just couldn't stop myself. That man is so insufferable.” I raised my mug of coffee to take a sip, but it was already cold. I sighed and dropped it on the table.

“I have never seen you this way. You really pissed him off.”

I snorted. “The stick that he has so up his ass is doing that just fine.” I paused. Then, in a more serious tone, “do you know him?”

She thought about it for a second, and then she shook her head. “I'd never forget seeing that face around here. Maybe he's new to town?”

Suddenly, my mouth had a sour taste. “I hope he's leaving soon.” I'd hate to have the displeasure of running into him again.

I could see the gears turning in my best friend's head.

“Is this about Jett?”

My fingers brushed the handle of the mug. “No. It has nothing to do with that cheating asshole.”

Bess nodded. She didn’t try to pry further, and I was grateful for that.

“Are you coming to the Bonfire night?”

I sighed heavily. “I don't think so. I'd rather sleep early,” I replied, my mind drifting back to the tall stranger.

“You know it's actually a good opportunity to meet potential customers who might get hitched tonight and need flowers for their big day. Not to mention that it's an opportunity to let loose a little.”

I considered her words carefully. It was just one night of watching logs of wood and anything else that could serve as fuel turn to ash. I could also meet the town sheriff tonight and ask more questions regarding Jackson's case. They may have closed the case, but I was just opening mine.

What could go wrong?

“Alright, Bess. Count me in.”