Notes Left at Table Seven

Chapter 6

Coffee, No Sugar

There are different kinds of rain. There is polite rain. The kind that taps against windows and makes people say things like perfect reading weather while holding warm mugs with both hands. There is inconvenient rain. The kind that starts five minutes after you've left home without an umbrella. And then there is the kind of rain that makes the city look as though someone has taken an eraser to it.

That was the rain we got on Thursday.

By four in the afternoon, the building across the street had disappeared behind a gray curtain.

By five, water had climbed halfway over the curb.

By six, Mr. Whitaker stood at the front window with both hands on his hips.

"This is getting bad."

Nina peered over his shoulder.

A car crawled through the intersection, sending water over the sidewalk.

"Think we should close?"

"Probably."

I looked around the café.

There were five customers left.

Three had already started packing their things after receiving weather alerts on their phones.

One was calling someone for a ride.

The fifth was Eli.

Of course.

Table Seven.

Book.

Americano.

No sugar.

He had been here since three.

I hadn't spoken to him much beyond the usual exchange at the counter.

Which was deliberate.

For the past four days, I'd been trying something new.

Distance.

Not dramatic distance.

I wasn't hiding behind shelves whenever he entered or throwing myself onto the floor when he looked toward the counter.

Just...

Less.

Fewer conversations.

Less looking.

No wondering whether he'd come in.

No noticing what he was reading.

No thinking about the tiny scar across his knuckle.

And absolutely no remembering Seven's note every time I made Eli's coffee.

When someone remembers how I take my coffee.

I hated that sentence.

Not because there was anything wrong with it.

Because it had attached itself to Eli.

Every time I reached automatically for a small cup, there it was.

Every time I handed him the Americano without asking, there it was.

Every time he smiled and said, Thanks, Mara—

There.

So I'd decided to stop being ridiculous.

Seven was Seven.

Eli was Eli.

One existed in handwriting.

One existed three tables away and occasionally left umbrellas on public transportation.

There was no problem.

Unless I created one.

"Earth to Mara."

I blinked.

Nina stood in front of me.

"What?"

"Mr. Whitaker said we're closing."

"Oh."

"You okay?"

"Fine."

She followed my eyes.

I hadn't realized I was looking toward Table Seven.

Her expression changed.

"No."

I pointed at her.

"No what?"

"Whatever you're about to say."

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"Good."

"I was going to make a facial expression."

"Don't do that either."

She smiled.

I untied my apron.

"Can you tell the customers?"

"Sure."

She walked around the counter.

Mr. Whitaker disappeared into his office to call someone about the water leaking near the stockroom.

I began clearing the pastry case.

Five minutes later, customers started leaving.

Umbrellas opened beneath the awning.

Cars pulled up.

The café emptied.

Eli remained.

I glanced toward him.

He was standing at the window now.

He looked outside.

Then at his phone.

Then outside again.

I knew that sequence.

It was the universal body language for Well, s**t.

"Problem?" I called.

He turned.

"My ride cancelled."

"Smart ride."

"Supportive."

"Have you seen outside?"

"I have eyes."

"Debatable."

He slipped his phone into his pocket.

"I'll wait until it eases up."

Mr. Whitaker emerged from the office.

"You might be waiting all night."

"That bad?"

"Road by the station's already flooded."

Eli looked toward the window again.

Mr. Whitaker grabbed his coat.

"Mara, can you finish the register?"

"Yeah."

"Nina?"

"My brother's picking me up," she said.

"Good."

Mr. Whitaker pointed at Eli.

"You can stay until she's finished. I'm not sending anyone out into that."

Eli nodded.

"Thanks."

Mr. Whitaker left.

Nina did not.

She stood beside me.

Very still.

I refused to look at her.

"Mara."

"No."

"My brother is outside."

"Congratulations."

"I have to leave."

"Then leave."

"Which means..."

I slowly turned.

Her expression was obscene.

Not literally.

But spiritually.

"Nina."

"You and—"

"Go."

"Alone—"

"Your brother is waiting."

"In a bookstore—"

"Goodbye."

"During a storm—"

I grabbed a napkin.

She ran.

"Okay! Okay!"

At the door, she turned.

"Be safe!"

"I hate you!"

"I love you!"

The bell rang.

Then she was gone.

I stood behind the counter.

Eli was trying not to laugh.

"Don't."

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to."

"She seems invested."

"She's bored."

"Same thing?"

"Apparently."

Thunder rolled outside.

The lights flickered.

Both of us looked up.

"No," I said.

Eli glanced at me.

"What?"

"If the power goes out, I'm leaving you here."

"Excellent emergency protocol."

"I'm serious."

"Where will you go?"

I considered this.

"Somewhere with electricity."

"Strong plan."

"Thank you."

I counted the register.

He returned to Table Seven.

For several minutes, we didn't speak.

The rain filled the silence for us.

At seven fifteen, the power went out.

Not dramatically.

No explosion.

No scream.

Just—

Click.

Darkness.

"Fuck."

From somewhere near Table Seven:

"Good emergency response."

"Shut up."

I reached beneath the counter for my phone.

The flashlight came on.

A second beam appeared across the room.

Eli.

"Don't move," I said.

"I wasn't planning to."

"There's a step near you."

"I've been here before."

"You also put books on the wrong shelves."

"Once."

"Your spatial judgment is compromised."

"Is that a medical diagnosis?"

"Yes."

"Should I seek a second opinion?"

"Absolutely not."

I found the emergency lantern beneath the counter and switched it on.

Warm light spread across the café.

Not enough to illuminate the whole bookstore.

Just enough to turn the nearest tables gold and leave the shelves in shadow.

The rain sounded louder without electricity.

Eli walked toward the counter.

"Very atmospheric."

"You're enjoying this."

"A little."

"Of course."

He placed his phone flashlight facedown.

The light spread beneath it.

I finished counting the cash manually.

"Need help?"

"No."

"Sure?"

"Unless you want to explain to Mr. Whitaker why the register is short tomorrow."

"I have excellent accounting skills."

"You're an architect."

"Former."

I looked up.

He'd said it casually.

Still, I caught the correction.

Former.

"Right."

He leaned against the counter.

I counted again.

Twenty.

Forty.

Sixty.

Eighty—

"You're making me nervous."

"By standing?"

"Yes."

"That's impressive."

"Go sit."

"Bossy."

"Eighty..."

He didn't move.

I looked up.

He smiled.

I lost count.

"Damn it."

"Was that my fault?"

"Yes."

"I didn't do anything."

"Exactly."

"How dare I."

I started again.

He finally moved.

Not back to Table Seven.

Behind the counter.

"Eli."

"What?"

"Customers aren't allowed back here."

"Are we still technically open?"

"No."

"Then I'm not a customer."

"That's not how rules work."

"You're very attached to rules."

I thought of Seven.

Six rules written in black ink.

My stomach tightened.

"Somebody has to be."

Eli opened one of the cabinets.

"What are you doing?"

"Looking."

"For?"

"Food."

"You can't just—"

He held up a packet of cookies.

"Found it."

"Those are inventory."

"I'll pay."

"The register is closed."

"Put me on a tab."

"You already owe us an umbrella."

"That wasn't yours."

"Emotional damages."

He tore open the packet.

I stared at him.

He held one out.

"No."

"Why?"

"Principle."

"You're hungry."

"I'm not."

My stomach growled.

Loudly.

I closed my eyes.

Eli looked at my stomach.

Then at me.

Neither of us spoke.

"Not," I said, "a word."

He held out the cookie.

I took it.

We ate sitting on the floor behind the counter.

I don't know how that happened.

One moment I was trying to close the register.

The next, Eli was sitting against the cabinet with his legs stretched out, and I was beside him eating stolen inventory beneath emergency lighting.

Technically purchased inventory.

He'd left ten dollars beside the register.

"You're overpaying," I said.

"Storm tax."

"That's not a thing."

"It is now."

I broke my cookie in half.

The chocolate had melted slightly.

Outside, thunder shook the windows.

I looked at my phone.

No signal.

"Anything?"

Eli shook his head.

"One bar."

"Same."

"Could be worse."

"How?"

He considered.

"Could be snowing."

I stared at him.

"That's your standard?"

"I'm trying to be positive."

"Poorly."

We fell quiet.

Not awkward quiet.

That was becoming a problem.

I was getting used to being quiet around him.

Usually silence made me search for something to say.

With Eli, it didn't.

He seemed comfortable letting conversations breathe.

I thought about Seven.

When someone lets me be quiet without assuming I want to be alone.

There it was again.

I shoved the rest of the cookie into my mouth.

"What?"

I looked at Eli.

"What what?"

"You made a face."

"I did not."

"You did."

"What kind?"

He attempted to imitate me.

His eyebrows pulled together. His mouth twisted.

I stared.

"I look nothing like that."

"You absolutely do."

"That's horrifying."

"I think it's charming."

The word landed between us.

Eli seemed to realize it.

So did I.

He looked down at the cookie packet.

I looked at the rain.

Something warm climbed the back of my neck.

"Your turn," I said.

"My turn for what?"

"Make a face."

"I don't make faces."

"You constantly make faces."

"Name one."

"The one where you're pretending not to laugh."

"I don't have that."

"You do."

"What does it look like?"

I demonstrated.

Badly.

He laughed.

"That looks like constipation."

"That's your face."

"That's offensive."

"Accurate, though."

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

And suddenly we were both laughing.

Not politely.

Actually laughing.

The kind that makes your stomach hurt and ruins whatever point you were trying to make.

I leaned my head back against the cabinet.

"Stop."

"You started it."

"Your face started it."

"Again, offensive."

The laughter faded.

Slowly.

Until we were sitting beside each other in the warm circle of the emergency lantern.

Close.

Closer than I'd realized.

Our shoulders almost touched.

I could smell rain on his jacket.

Coffee too.

Of course.

Coffee, no sugar.

I looked at him.

He was already looking at me.

Something shifted.

No joke.

No smile.

Just that strange, suspended second when both people realize the conversation has ended but neither moves to start another one.

My heartbeat became embarrassingly loud.

I looked away.

"So."

Excellent.

Brilliant conversational contribution.

"So," he repeated.

"How's unemployment?"

His eyebrows rose.

I covered my face.

"Oh my God."

He laughed.

"I'm sorry."

"That was incredible."

"I panicked."

"Clearly."

"I meant—"

"No, please. Continue. I'm fascinated."

"I meant what are you doing now?"

He was still laughing.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

The answer came too easily.

I looked at him.

He stopped laughing.

Again.

That shift.

Tiny.

Dangerous.

"No," I said.

Quietly.

"I don't."

His eyes held mine.

My stomach turned over.

This time, he looked away first.

"Freelance stuff," he said.

I blinked.

"What?"

"You asked what I'm doing."

"Right."

"Small projects. Drawings. Consultations. Nothing exciting."

"Do you like it?"

"More than before."

"Then maybe that's enough."

He looked at me.

"Is it?"

"For now."

"For now," he repeated.

I thought about my own life.

Maybe for now was an underrated phrase.

Not forever.

Not failure.

Just now.

Thunder rolled again.

Eli stretched one leg.

His knee bumped mine.

Neither of us moved.

I noticed that too.

At eight, the lights returned.

We both squinted.

"Terrible," Eli said.

I laughed.

"You're upset we have electricity?"

"Ruined the ambiance."

My stomach flipped.

I stood too quickly.

"Okay."

I brushed crumbs from my jeans.

"Time to go."

He looked amused.

"Subtle."

"Roads might be better."

"You're kicking me out."

"I'm closing."

"You closed an hour ago."

"Exactly."

He stood.

The world felt normal again under fluorescent lights.

I preferred it.

Normal was manageable.

Eli picked up the empty cookie packet.

"I'll throw this."

"Recycling."

"Yes, boss."

"I'm not your boss."

"Could've fooled me."

I grabbed my coat.

My phone had signal again.

Three messages from Nina.

NINA: Alive?

NINA: 👀

NINA: MARIA RANA REYES IF YOU DON'T ANSWER ME—

I locked my phone.

Absolutely not.

"Ride?" I asked.

Eli checked his.

"Still nothing."

"Same."

I looked outside.

The rain had weakened.

Still heavy, but no longer biblical.

"I can walk."

"So can I."

"Which way?"

He pointed left.

I pointed right.

"Well," I said.

"Tragic."

Why did he sound disappointed?

Worse:

Why was I?

We stepped outside.

Cold air hit my face.

Water dripped from the awning.

For a moment, we stood beneath it together.

"I have an umbrella," I said.

He looked at the small black umbrella in my hand.

"Congratulations."

"I don't abandon mine on buses."

"Show-off."

I opened it.

He looked at the rain.

Then at me.

Then at the umbrella.

"No."

I laughed.

"What?"

"You're thinking about offering."

"I wasn't."

"You were."

"I absolutely wasn't."

"Good. Because that umbrella fits one and a half people."

"What's half a person?"

"Me, apparently."

I looked at the rain.

He didn't have a jacket with a hood.

I sighed.

"Come on."

"Mara—"

"Just until the intersection."

He hesitated.

Then stepped under.

Immediately, I realized he had been correct.

One and a half people.

His shoulder pressed against mine. I tilted the umbrella.

"You're getting wet."

"I'm fine."

"You're literally not under it."

"Neither are you."

"Because you're taking up eighty percent."

"I'm taller."

"That's not how umbrellas work."

"Seems discriminatory."

We walked. The sidewalk gleamed beneath streetlights. Water gathered in cracks. Cars hissed past.

Eli took the umbrella handle from me.

"What are you doing?"

"You're terrible at this."

"It's my umbrella."

"And yet I'm the one staying dry."

He raised it higher. Now both of us fit.

Mostly.

His hand was above mine on the handle. Close enough that his fingers brushed mine when the wind shifted. I pulled my hand away.

The intersection was only half a block ahead.

Too close.

Too far.

Neither of us spoke.

When we reached it, the pedestrian light was red.

We stopped.

Rain fell around the umbrella in silver lines.

Eli was beside me.

Very close.

I became aware of stupid things.

The raindrop caught in his hair.

The dark edge of his eyelashes.

The small scar on his knuckle.

The way his breath clouded faintly in the cool air.

I looked at the traffic light.

Still red.

Of course.

"Thanks," he said.

"For?"

"Letting me steal your umbrella."

"You didn't steal it."

"Yet."

"If you leave this one on a bus, I'll actually kill you."

"Noted."

The light stayed red.

I could feel him looking at me.

I shouldn't have turned.

I did.

He was closer than I expected.

Or maybe I had moved.

I don't know.

Neither of us said anything.

There are moments when you can feel something happening before it happens.

A held breath.

A fraction of distance.

A question neither person is brave enough to ask aloud.

His eyes dropped.

Not dramatically.

Just briefly.

To my mouth.

My heartbeat stumbled.

Oh.

Oh.

This was happening.

Eli leaned closer.

Barely.

Enough that I could have pretended he hadn't.

Enough that I knew he had.

And I—

Thought of Seven.

Not his face.

He didn't have one.

Black ink.

Folded paper.

It already is.

At least there's two of us.

Being noticed matters to me too.

The guilt arrived so quickly it almost made me dizzy.

I stepped back.

The umbrella tilted.

Rain hit my shoulder.

Eli stopped immediately.

"I'm sorry."

"No."

I shook my head.

"No, you didn't—"

"I misread that."

"You didn't."

That was worse.

His expression changed.

"Mara."

"I just..."

I looked at the traffic light.

Green.

Finally.

"I can't."

He was quiet.

I hated the disappointment that crossed his face before he hid it.

"Okay."

Not angry.

Not embarrassed.

Just okay.

Which somehow made me feel worse.

"I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize."

"I do."

"No."

He adjusted the umbrella so it covered me again. That tiny gesture almost broke something.

"You said you can't," he said. "That's enough."

I looked at him.

Rain moved behind him.

"Okay."

He handed me the umbrella.

The warmth of his hand disappeared from mine.

"I'll see you around."

"Eli—"

"It's fine."

He smiled.

Small.

Not convincing.

Then he stepped into the rain.

"You'll get soaked."

He walked backward.

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"Eli."

"Good night, Mara."

Then he turned.

Crossed the street.

And disappeared into the rain.

I stood beneath the umbrella.

Watching.

My chest hurt in a way that made absolutely no sense.

I walked home alone.

Seven came with me.

Not literally.

That would've solved several problems.

He existed in my head the entire way.

Which was somehow worse.

I had almost kissed Eli.

No.

Eli had almost kissed me.

No.

We had almost kissed.

That distinction mattered.

I didn't know why.

And I had stopped it because of someone whose real name I didn't know.

Someone whose face I'd never seen.

Someone I had never technically spoken to.

This was insane.

Seven wasn't my boyfriend.

Seven wasn't even my friend in the conventional sense.

We exchanged notes inside Jane Austen.

There were no promises.

No exclusivity.

No conversation about feelings.

Nothing.

So why had kissing Eli felt like cheating?

I hated the word as soon as it appeared.

Cheating.

You couldn't cheat on someone you weren't dating.

You couldn't betray someone who had never asked for anything.

I unlocked my apartment.

Dropped my bag beside the door.

My clothes still smelled faintly of rain.

I sat on the edge of my bed.

Then noticed something.

The yellow-star bandage was gone.

It must have fallen off somewhere during the day.

For some reason, that made me sad.

I lay backward.

Covered my face with both hands.

"What are you doing, Mara?"

The ceiling offered nothing.

I thought about Eli saying:

No, you don't.

I thought about the way he'd looked at me beneath the umbrella.

Then Seven:

When someone lets me be quiet without assuming I want to be alone.

Two men.

Two almost-relationships.

Neither of which technically existed.

Excellent.

My life had become a romantic comedy written by someone who hated me.

Eli didn't come in the next day.

Or the day after.

I noticed.

Of course I noticed.

I also didn't receive a note from Seven.

That I noticed too.

By Sunday evening, both absences had begun to occupy more space than either presence ever had.

Table Seven remained empty.

Persuasion remained exactly where I'd left it.

I checked.

Once.

Fine.

Three times.

No new note.

Nina noticed Eli's absence on Monday.

"Your boyfriend hasn't been here."

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Your emotionally significant customer."

"That's worse."

"Your—"

"Nina."

She stopped.

Looked at me.

Actually looked.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Mara."

"Nothing happened."

Technically true.

Almost painfully true.

She leaned against the counter.

"You want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Okay."

And because she was Nina, she didn't ask again.

That made me want to tell her.

I didn't.

Seven finally answered Monday night.

I found Persuasion on Table Seven fifteen minutes before closing.

My pulse jumped.

I hated how relieved I felt.

I waited until the café emptied.

Then opened it.

His note was shorter than usual.

M,

I have a question, and you can invoke Rule Six if you don't want to answer.

I swallowed.

Below:

Have you ever liked someone at the wrong time?

I stopped breathing.

For several seconds, I simply stared.

Then laughed once.

Quietly.

Because apparently the universe had a sense of humor.

I sat down.

Read it again.

Have you ever liked someone at the wrong time?

Eli appeared in my mind immediately.

Of course he did.

Rain.

Umbrella.

His face close to mine.

I misread that.

You didn't.

I picked up my pen.

Put it down.

Picked it up again.

What could I say?

Yes?

Too simple.

No?

A lie.

I wrote:

I think I might right now.

My heart started beating faster.

I almost scratched it out.

Didn't.

Below it:

You?

I stared at the two words.

Then signed:

—M

I folded the note.

My fingers hesitated before placing it inside the book.

For the first time since this started, I felt like I was telling Seven something I shouldn't.

Not because it was too personal.

Because it belonged to someone else.

Eli.

I closed Persuasion.

The bookstore was silent.

Outside, the rain had finally stopped.

I placed the book on Table Seven and switched off the lamp.

Tomorrow, Seven would know I liked someone.

And somewhere else in the city, Eli Bennett probably believed I didn't like him at all.

I didn't know which misunderstanding frightened me more.