Must Love Coffee Page 2

  Sprinted, actually.

  “I’ll be back,” he told the bearded barista.

  By four o’clock Cassidy still hadn’t received the Chairman’s letter for the latest internal newsletter and it had become clear that she wouldn’t be leaving the office until at least seven. It had also become clear that Jon wasn’t going to respond to her text message.

  What a baby. He had no problem tearing up her life, but he couldn’t man up enough to come collect his detritus from what had once been their home. How had she ever married such a wuss?

  She checked her watch. Cuppa Diem would be closing soon. In fact, she was cutting it dangerously close if she wanted a final coffee hit. There was always the pod machine in the office kitchen, but Cassidy would choose a paper cut over pod coffee, every time.

  She hustled down the stairs then out onto the street. A cold wind whipped around the corner, making her cheeks sting. Spring could not come soon enough.

  She was relieved to see there was a queue of die-hards still waiting to order when she arrived, which meant they hadn’t started cleaning the machines yet. Phew. Then she saw the frame hanging above her own and stopped in her tracks.

  She had no idea where Danny, the usurper of her rightful title, had gotten his frame, but it was large. And ornate, with black and gold curly bits. There was probably some fancy description for it. Baroque, maybe. He hadn’t bothered to mount his flyer properly, just taped it over the center of the original picture. Very slapdash.

  Funny, too. It made her effort look a little prissy and anal.

  People were taking photos of the two frames, talking and laughing about them. Cassidy watched as someone loaded them to Instagram. This little competition between her and the unknown Danny was becoming a bit of a Thing, apparently.

  “The usual?” the server asked.

  “Yes, please,” Cassidy said, distracted.

  Ari winked at her from behind the espresso machine. “Size doesn’t always matter.”

  “Sometimes it does.”

  “I guess the ball’s in your court, then,” Ari said.

  “I guess it is.”

  Thoughtful, Cassidy collected her final coffee for the day and made her way back to the office.

  How did you one-up something so over-the-top and showy?

  It was a question for the ages, but she was confident she’d have it sorted by tomorrow morning.

  Daniel let himself into his apartment, the only sounds the rustle of the plastic bag carrying his dinner and his own footsteps.

  There was no snick-snick of claws, no ridiculously happy brown eyes looking at him as though he’d hung the moon and the stars, no tail wagging in a frantic blur.

  Just silence.

  He stopped to flick the heating on, then dropped his jacket over the back of the couch. He kicked off his shoes in the bedroom, swapping out his suit trousers for track pants. His tie went over a door handle, then he padded into the kitchen to plate up his butter chicken and rice.

  He could eat out of the plastic take away containers, of course, but that felt too much like admitting defeat. At least this way he could fool himself into believing he had his shit together.

  He wondered if the mysterious challenger from the café had seen his latest effort yet as he rinsed the containers and put them in the recycle bin. He really wished he could have been there to see her face when she caught sight of his bigger, better frame. She had to have been pissed. The question was, how was she going to return fire? Because there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that she would.

  He didn’t know why he was so sure, he just was. She wasn’t going to take this lying down. Which meant he needed to have his next strategy ready to go.

  He sat on the couch and reached for the TV remote, only to find the coffee table empty. He did the usual check-behind-the-throw-cushions thing. When he still didn’t find it, he resorted to feeling down the back of the couch. He found a buck twenty in spare change, an old sock, and a half-chewed rawhide bone that still had Walter’s teeth marks in it.

  For the second time that day, grief sucker-punched him in the solar plexus, stealing his breath, making his eyes sting. He bounced to his feet and strode to the sliding door, shoving it open. Then he stood on the back deck staring at his tiny courtyard garden and tried not to blubber like a big baby.

  Fifteen years of loyalty, love, tummy scratches, walks, and hogging the bed. Fifteen years of watching footy together, arguing over whether it was time to play ball (it was always time to play ball) and napping together on the couch. Walter had always been there, in the best possible way, and now he wasn’t and it just felt wrong.

  Little buddy, I miss you so much.

  Daniel swallowed noisily and tilted his head back to stare at the stars. Only when the tight feeling in his chest had eased did he go back inside. His food was cold, but he didn’t care. He sat and ate it, very deliberately focusing on his strategy for Cuppa Diem tomorrow. She was going to come at him with something. Whatever it was, he needed to blow it out of the water.

  This was war, after all.

  It was nearly seven-thirty by the time Cassidy got home. She kicked off her shoes, stuck a frozen meal in the microwave then poured herself a glass of wine.

  She stripped out of her work suit and pulled on her fluffy dressing gown, the one with polar bears on it. The microwave chimed to tell her it was dinner time and she sat at the kitchen counter and risked burning her mouth as she ate chicken Dijon.

  It tasted like rubber, but she ate it anyway, because she had to eat something and cooking for one was too dispiriting to face just yet. She’d read countless articles advising her to just cook for two and freeze the second portion, but she wasn’t ready to be practical and pragmatic yet.

  Jon was the one who’d wanted to get married. He was the one who’d talked about “when we have kids.” But he was also the one who’d been flirting with a work colleague. He was the one who’d snuck around having an affair for a whole freaking year while he and Cassidy were talking about renovating the kitchen and maybe extending the living area.

  She stabbed her fork into her cardboard meal tray. Libby was right: Jon was a total fuck puppet. The least he could have done was tell her he wasn’t happy. After ten years of being a couple, wasn’t that the least he owed her? Some simple honesty? Instead, he’d gotten sloppy with covering his tracks and allowed her to find out about the affair. So much easier than having to man up and tell her himself.

  Then he’d just stood back and let it all fall apart before packing his bags. If only he’d taken the rest of his things that night, too. Instead, she’d had to pack it all into garbage bags and boxes and shove it into the spare bedroom so she didn’t have to look at it every day.

  “Asshole.” She stood on a surge of conviction, throwing her half-finished meal into the sink. Then she yanked the drawer open and grabbed the cool steel of the kitchen scissors.

  The metal felt reassuring as she marched up the hallway to the spare room. It only took her a moment to find Jon’s favorite shirt in one of the garbage bags. He’d paid a small fortune for it, too, because he’d known the intense blue matched his eyes.

  Conceited ass clown.

  She sliced into the fine cotton, cutting from the hem all the way to the collar. Then she did it all over again, determined to cut the thing into ribbons. Maybe she’d shred all his stuff like this, then dump it on his doorstep and set fire to it like a crazed ex from the movies.

  The fantasy playing in her mind’s eye sustained her for almost half a shirt. By then righteous revenge had morphed into something that felt a lot like hard work. By the time she’d cut the shirt completely to pieces, she was starting to feel self-consciously stupid.

  Clearly, Jon didn’t give two tosses about his bloody shirt, because he’d left it sitting in the spare room for half a year. Yet here she was in her dumb polar bear dressing gown wreaking havoc on an innocent piece of cotton.

  So pointless.

  She didn’t want to be this
person. She wanted to be as done with him as he was with her.

  She gathered up the former shirt and bundled it into a ball before stuffing it into the bin. Then she opened her laptop and bought the exact same shirt, ticking the box for expedited delivery. With a bit of luck, the new shirt would arrive before Jon got around to returning her text. She could wash it, throw it in with his other things and he’d never know she’d succumbed to a moment of scorned-woman madness.

  The thought was still echoing in her mind when the doorbell rang. She made her way to the front door and checked the spy hole. Jon stood on her doorstep, looking about as uncomfortable as it was possible for a person to be.

  Well, shit.

  Her first thought was to rush off and change out of her fluffy robe. If she’d had any say in this meeting, it would be happening when she was fresh from the hairdressers and wearing the jeans that Jon had always said made her ass look bite-worthy. She’d be all breezy and light and gracious and utterly unconcerned that he’d once promised to love her till death parted them.

  Her second thought was that she’d rather punch herself in the face than scurry off to dress to please him. Tugging the tie on her robe a little tighter, she opened the door.

  “Jon.”

  “Cassidy. I came to get my stuff.”

  “Thanks for the heads-up.”

  “It sounded like you wanted it gone.”

  “I do. Still would have liked a heads-up.” She stood back and waved him inside. “Spare room.”

  She shrank back against the door so he wouldn’t brush against her but was still hit with a wash of his aftershave as he walked past. To think, she used to associate that smell with home.

  She glanced out at the street. He’d scored a parking spot right out front and she caught his girlfriend’s eye as the other woman looked away.

  Checking out the previous model, no doubt. Super classy, Jon bringing her along to pick up his things. Cassidy wondered what the other woman would say if Cassidy marched down the garden path to confront her. She’d love to look Jon’s new girlfriend in the eye and tell her exactly how much misery she’d helped cause.

  Cassidy took a step forward, hands curled into fists. Then Jon appeared with the first stack of boxes and she had to step out of the way so he could exit. Turning her back on both of them, she walked up the hallway to the kitchen and poured herself another glass of wine.

  She was still standing at the kitchen counter five minutes later when he called down the hall.

  “All done. I assume that’s everything?”

  Cassidy glanced at the scissors lying incriminatingly on the countertop.

  “There might be a few other things here and there. I’ll let you know if anything turns up.”

  “All right. Thanks.”

  She heard the door click shut, then the sound of a car pulling away.

  She went to inspect the spare room. It was spare again now. She could do what she wanted with it. Turn it into a guest bedroom, or maybe a craft room (if she was the sort of person who had time for crafts). Maybe she could convert it into a meditation retreat, where she could play whale noises and burn relaxing candles.

  Her eyes burned and she swallowed a lump in her throat.

  Don’t-you-dare-cry-don’t-you-dare-cry-don’t-you-dare-cry.

  After a few seconds the burning feeling eased. She shut the door, then returned to her wine. Jon had hijacked her evening in more ways than one. She took a deep breath and grounded herself by grabbing a pad and pen and planning her next move against her coffee foe.

  Libby climbed into bed and pressed her cold feet against her husband’s warm calves.

  “Oh my God. Are you made of ice, woman?” Pete said.

  “Love means not complaining about cold feet,” she reminded him.

  “I thought love meant free blow jobs for the rest of my life.”

  “You were paying for them before?”

  “Spiritually, I was.”

  “Hmmm.” She wriggled her feet into a new position. “We need to talk about Daniel and Cassidy.”

  “I was wondering when you were going to bring that up.”

  “Should we tell them?”

  “Why on earth would we do that?”

  “Because they’re perfect for each other and this just proves it. It’s a meet cute. Or a cute meet. I can never remember which way that’s meant to go.”

  “We’re not getting involved. Let’s just let this play out.”

  She frowned. “Couldn’t we drop a hint or two? Nudge them in the right direction?”

  “They don’t need our help. I have a good feeling about this.”

  “Is this the same feeling you had about Federer winning Wimbledon?”

  “That’s low, even for you.”

  She snaked an arm around his middle. “Want to see how low I can go?”

  3

  The next morning, Daniel stopped at his office only long enough to offload his coat and satchel before hunting Pete down. He found his friend at his desk, clicking through emails.

  “Coffee?” Daniel asked.

  Pete checked the time. “Bit early, isn’t it?”

  “Never too early for coffee.”

  “Just admit it—you want to find out if she’s trumped you or not.”

  “I do. So get off your ass. Move it.”

  Pete gave him crap all the way to the coffee shop.

  “You know you need to get a life?”

  “You know that being this interested in my life means your life is even sadder than mine, though, right?” Daniel replied.

  Pete looked thoughtful.

  “Admit it, I’ve got a point,” Daniel said,

  “Shut up,” Pete said.

  Cuppa Diem was so busy there was a queue snaking onto the street when they arrived and they had to squeeze their way into the shop. Daniel paused respectfully when he saw his opponent’s next play—the whole wall was covered with a projected version of her certificate, her face six feet tall as she stared down at him in challenge.

  “Wow. Cool idea,” Pete said.

  Daniel narrowed his eyes. “She’s smart. And resourceful.”

  “She was probably up all night thinking of this. Planning,” Pete said.

  “Definitely.” Daniel couldn’t get the smile off his face.

  “You already have your counter-move planned, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “Are you going to tell me what it is?” Pete asked.

  “And ruin the surprise? You’ll have to wait like the rest of my fans.”

  Pete laughed. “Dickhead.”

  Daniel checked his watch. Officially, he was due to start work in half an hour. If he hustled, he could get the ball rolling on his next move before his first meeting.

  “Do me a favor? Grab me a long black?” he asked, already backing toward the door.

  Pete eyed the queue. “You realize it’ll take me twenty minutes just to get my order in?”

  “Perfect. I’ll meet you back at the office.”

  “Did you see it?” Cassidy asked the moment she arrived in Libby’s office. It was probably hideously immodest, but she couldn’t keep the smile off her face.

  “I did. Well done.”

  “I was worried they weren’t going to let me plug the projector in, but they were really cool about it,” Cassidy said. “Thank God.”

  “Right? Imagine if you couldn’t keep playing this incredibly mature game with a complete stranger. It would have been a modern tragedy.”

  Cassidy perched on the arm of Libby’s guest chair. “I’ve got a couple of ideas for my next move, but I want to see how big I need to go first. Don’t want to use a bazooka when I only need a hand grenade.”

  “Interesting choice of life or death metaphors,” Libby said.

  “This has become a matter of honor,” Cassidy said.

  “Is that what this is about? Honor?”

  Cassidy shrugged off the question. “The only thing I regret is not being able t
o see his face when he walks in.”

  “Ah. So you want to meet him?” Libby asked.

  “What? No. I want to humiliate him.”

  “After you meet him?”

  Cassidy stood. “I want my rightful recognition as Customer of the Week, Every Week.”

  Libby narrowed her eyes, studying Cassidy like she was a science project. “Did that panty-waist respond to your text yesterday?” she finally asked.

  “He came over last night, took all his stuff away. And get this—he brought her with him.”

  Libby’s breath hissed out angrily. “He did not.”

  Cassidy nodded.

  “You don’t seem that upset. I would be hulking out if I was you.”

  “It’s not like it’s news that he left me for another woman. Also, I cut his favorite shirt into little pieces,” Cassidy confessed.

  “There you go. Good girl.”

  “Meh. It was surprisingly unsatisfying. Empty calories. Plus, I had to buy him another shirt. So I’m out a hundred bucks.”

  “Interesting. How much did it cost you to hire the projector for your little stunt this morning?” Libby asked.

  “I borrowed it from HR, so all it cost me was a box of donuts. But I have to get it back to them by the end of the day.”

  “Daniel should have made his next move by then,” Libby said.

  Cassidy frowned. “Pretty sure his name is Danny.”

  “You’re right. I just assumed…Danny’s short for Daniel, isn’t it?” Libby said.

  “I guess.” Cassidy picked a bit of lint off her skirt. “It’s weird, calling him by his name. Like he’s a real person.”

  “Interesting. What do you call him?”

  “The Enemy. And sometimes The Usurper.”

  Libby laughed. “Idiot.”

  “How long do you think I need to give him to respond?” Cassidy asked.

  “Hard to say. He moved pretty quickly yesterday. Maybe till after lunch?”

  Cassidy tried to contain her impatience. “You’re probably right.”