“Where did you park your car, Maya?” he asks this morning.

“I don’t have a car, Hugo.”

“Oh, good. Good. There’s this British delegation coming to Monterey today and they’re going to pass through Carmel. They’re closing all streets in the area. You wouldn’t want it to be blocked,” he says.

Hugo knows everything happening in Monterey Bay. He’s like an encyclopedia. The only thing he doesn’t know is how to tell a good woman from a gold digger.

I have no missed calls from David yet today, which I hope is a sign he’s stopped and moved on.

The first part of the day passes so fast, I don’t even realize when it’s eleven o’clock, the tables empty out and the crowd calms down a bit. We’re in between breakfast and lunch and it should be this quiet until one or so. A breather both Celine and I need.

It’s afternoon, late afternoon, in fact, when Celine asks me if it’s OK for her to leave me alone for an hour or so, because she needs to get some supplies from Monterey.

“I have a feeling that what we already have in stock won’t last us through the weekend and my regular deliveries won’t get here until next Tuesday.”

“Go,” I say. “Don’t worry. I’ll do my best not to mess anything up.”

“You’ll be fine,” she says. “And I’ll be back quickly.”

Thirty-Six

I think I’m doing OK, but when more and more people come in and a long line forms, I begin to panic. When is she coming back? I get my cell out of my pocket and start typing a message to her, then change my mind. I don’t want her to think I can’t handle this.

“Hi,” says a man who’s been waiting patiently in line for a while.

“Hello,” I say, looking at him and putting my phone down, almost missing the counter. His eyes are mind-blowing. And just, his face… in general. He’s one of those men who capture everyone’s attention because they have a certain something. Black, wavy hair, tousled, too long for my liking, but not that long that it needs to be kept in a ponytail, a clean-shaved face with a strong, almost square jawline, and I’m back to those eyes. Green—and when I say green, I mean really green, like contacts. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and has a big tattoo of something I can’t identify on his muscular arms. I gulp and look away. Why am I staring like I haven’t seen a man before? Get a hold of yourself, Maya.

“I’ll just be a minute. Thank you for your patience,” I say as I make the last order for a group.

Even as I prepare the coffee, I keep looking to my right at him. He’s looking at me too and I realize I must be so obviously staring. I try to look away.

What was it? Macchiato, I think. Maybe. OK. I take the drink to the table and come back to the green-eyed god. “Sorry about that.” My cheeks are on fire. “What can I get for you?” I ask, still staring. There’s something about him. The way he handles himself, a particular look in his eyes.