“Yeah, just got in.” He clears his throat and his eyes dart around the room behind her.
“Are you staying for long?” She slithers up to him and brushes her fingers softly over his arm. My jaw tightens as I pour her iced latte into a tumbler and dump five tablespoons of sugar into it without Penelope noticing.
“Er, not long.” He frowns.
“We must get together,” she coos.
He steps back a little and searches her face with a puzzled look. “I, I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
Watching Penelope turn red and then purple with embarrassment is so worth it. “I’m Penelope Winston. We went to high school together.”
“I see.”
Penelope nods with eager understanding. “You must have been very busy. I’ve heard about the IPO for your latest company. I’m sure it’ll be a great success! But we must have dinner while you’re still in town. We have so much to catch up on.”
“I don’t think so.” You can hear the ice particles flake off of his voice. I shiver and don’t envy the fawning woman.
I can see the disappointment melting over Penelope’s heavily made-up face and try not to laugh. “We just built the new Canyon Developments.” She places her hand over her chest. The shiny red polish on her fingernails matches the shiny red buttons on her power suit. She explains as if she cannot believe that the attention of the entire world does not revolve around her meaningless existence. “It’s all very high end. You’d love it. I’d love to show you around.”
“No, thank you. I’m not looking to buy a house at the moment,” he answers dryly. In fact, I add in my head, he’s trying to sell a house. I wonder why he is doing everything himself. If he’s so rich like Penelope hinted, why doesn’t he just hire someone to clean up the house and sell it for him? I hardly know any rich people who don’t just pay someone else to do their dirty work.
He looks down at his phone for a second. “I’m sorry, I have to take this.” Funny, I didn’t hear the phone ring.
Penelope calls after him as he walks away, “We can just do a quick lunch. Or coffee.” I shove her latte in her face so that she won’t have any more reason to dawdle. She grabs the tumbler but shuffles closer to Fletcher. When he throws her an annoyed look for hovering, she backs away obediently and quickly.
“Ah, shoot. I have a showing appointment with a very big client,” she says to no one in particular and finally leaves the cafe, but not before giving him a winsome smile over her shoulder as she walks out. “Later, Fletcher,” she mouths to him slowly and seductively.
I bite down on my knuckles to fight back a chortle as I retreat toward the back of the room, only to see Fletcher has put away his phone and looking in my direction with a thoughtful look. Fighting back a laugh, I fumble quickly and pour hot black coffee into a small paper cup. As I hand him his order, I bite down on my lower lip to keep a straight face. It’s more difficult than it looks. My jaw actually hurts from the effort. I wonder if this happens to him all the time? Unwanted attention from lousy gold-diggers. I wonder what he’s doing here.
I’m not sure how to bring it up and ask him. I don’t have any money right now and I’ll find a way, but I’m not sure how to tell him that. I don’t want to seem like I am trying to dodge my debt. My eyes dart from his Italian loafers to my white sneakers. It’s not like he needs the money from me, anyway.
He takes the coffee cup from my hand and our fingers brush momentarily. My cheeks suddenly feel warm as he raises a dark brow at me. “Is this where you work?” He asks abruptly.
My heart is beating a thousand times a minute. He recognized me! I glance over at his pressed, tailored suit and then down at my shabby uniform. He’s probably just a rich snob like the rest of them. “Just— just part-time,” I answer and then gulp. I forget to even ask him about why he’s here. We stare at each other for a few seconds, while I fidget awkwardly.
He opens his mouth to say something—
“Fletch? Is that you?” an old man calls to him. The high school gym teacher, Mr. Mark, comes up and clasps him on the shoulders lovingly like a son. He has just retired from the local high school and comes in here every day.
“Hi, Coach.” Fletcher flashes a sheepish smile that instantaneously transforms him back to the seventeen-year-old heartbreaker quarterback that he must have been.
“What are you doing back in town?” The old man grins from ear to ear. Suddenly, he looks twenty years younger, as if he is still the upstart coach with his team of young bucks.
Fletcher hesitates and looks down at his hands for a second. His long fingers are wrapped around the brown sleeve of the paper cup. He clears his throat and looks out the window for a second. “Nothing. Just wanted to spend some time in town and clean out my parents’ house.”
“Well, good to have you back.” Mr. Mark nods and pats him on the back.
Fletcher squares off his shoulders, but for some reason, he looks lonely to me. I don’t know why, but my chest feels tight. I don’t really know him. In fact, I just met him yesterday. I think of the faded family pictures and the tall figure standing among the half-filled boxes, and even
