“I’m…edgy,” I argued.

“You’re only edgy in your sketches. You’re uptight and reserved just about everywhere else. Speaking of which, what are you doing with that one you’ve got hidden in the drawer over there?”

I kept a folder of a few of my sketches at the café should an opportunity come knocking and I had a few to showcase. Troy’s sketch did end up in the pile but not for publication. Just as a sample of my work.

“I’m not hiding it. It’s my work, I’m just not submitting it.”

She shook her head in disappointment as she filled the sugar bin. “Yeah, you’re right. You should focus on more important things in life. Like obsessing over a list that gets you absolutely nowhere.” There was a bite to her tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It was sarcasm, Harp. You need to stop overthinking everything and being afraid… just be proud and screw everyone else.”

This wasn’t the first time Nic had said something along these lines to me, but it was the first time she seemed annoyed about it.

And since I had nothing to defend myself with that Nic could ever understand, I dropped it and we spent most of the afternoon working silently.

Four o’clock was a slow hour, so I moved the step stool to the blackboard and started writing tomorrow’s specials, adding a basketball hoop on the corner with a coffee cup swooshing through it.

“Can I get a large slam dunk, please?” I stilled at the customer's familiar voice behind me.

Twisting my neck, I found Troy’s large frame on the other side of the counter, his eyes moving from the blackboard menu to meet my startled eyes.

“Good afternoon,” he offered, with the corner of his mouth turned upward.

I stepped down to the register and heard Nic squeal somewhere to my left.

“Size?” I muttered.

“Large.”

“Good to know,” Nic nudged my arm with a wink. “How about the drink?”

“He did mean the drink,” I spoke low through my teeth but heard Troy clear his throat to cover a snicker.

“Coming right up.” Nic turned on her heel and got busy on his drink special.

“Four fifty, please.”

His gaze was intense as he took me in. I wore my hair up in a bun since I didn’t have a chance to wash it this morning. My black apron tied over the same clothes I wore yesterday, which Troy had dried for me just a few hours before, and nothing but tinted moisturizer on my un-made-up olive skin.

He handed me a hundred.

“Nothing smaller?” I asked in my mastered resting bitch face.

“Sorry, no.”

I handed him the change and he slipped it all into the tip jar.

“Oh, extra whip for you, buddy,” Nic called behind me. Man, that girl didn’t miss a thing.