Chapter 14: Haley

Tuesday, May 12th

“So, Brooke, what’s your story?”

Not grasping at first that Noah was speaking to me, I continued to scrub the counter before finally realizing my mistake and looking up. Get it together, Brooke, I told myself. Brooke, Brooke, Brooke.

“Sorry, what was that?” I asked as I casually leaned against the counter, trying to appear calm and confident.

“What’s your story, Miss Mysterious?”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Me, mysterious? Not likely.” And not exactly true, though that was never how I thought of myself. “There’s not much to tell. I recently moved here from the Reno area and now I’m a barista.”

Since I didn’t want to come up with another tale about my background, I had decided to stick with the one I previously used—wholly uninteresting girl from Nevada. Estranged parents. Homeschooled. Close enough to the truth that I didn’t feel too bad about lying.

“Nuh uh,” Noah scolded. “You’re not getting off that easy. There’s no way that a smart—and totally hot—girl like you doesn’t have more going on.”

I fought the blush threatening to creep up my neck. Objectively, I could admit that Noah was cute, though not really my type. He was a couple inches taller than me and skinny, with messy brown hair and a friendly-looking face. His style was what I was coming to recognize as fairly typical in Portland—skinny jeans with a cardigan or flannel shirt and boots, sometimes a beanie or glasses with thick plastic frames as accessories. A few tattoos were visible when he pushed up his sleeves, detracting from his otherwise boyish look.

As I studied him, I found myself wondering if it was even fair to say that I had a type, considering my feelings for six—well, five now—different guys. Was unbelievably good-looking and muscular my type? Annoyed at the turn of my thoughts, I pinched myself, like that might somehow deter me from thinking about . . . them.

“How do you know I’m smart?” I asked, hoping to distract Noah from his line of questioning.

“I’ve trained my share of new employees in the last couple of years, and you picked it all up faster than anyone I’ve ever seen, including experienced baristas. Not to mention how hard you work. If I’m not careful, you’ll steal my assistant manager position within a month.”

“Yeah, right,” I said, although I was pleased with his compliment.

“Boyfriend?” he asked, continuing his interrogation. Sighing at his persistence, I shook my head.

“Girlfriend, then,” he said hopefully. “Please, please say you have a girlfriend.”

Laughing softly, I said, “Sorry, but no.”

“Husband?” he asked with a horrified expression as he examined my hands like a wedding band might suddenly appear. I still wore my mom’s ring, but it remained on my right hand. “There has to be someone, because there is no way that you are single,” he said charmingly.

When I shrugged in response, Noah peered at my face as if he could see right through me. “Recent breakup,” he stated rather than questioned. “What I expected.”

No. Yes. Sort of. “How could you tell?” I finally asked, deciding that claiming a bad breakup might help deter him since he was giving off a definite interested vibe.

“I’m sorry to say it, Brooke, but you have an aura of sadness . . . I noticed it the first time you walked in here.”

I gasped. “I look sad?” It was true, but I didn’t realize it was that obvious to others. I smiled at customers and chatted with my co-workers. What else could I do?

“Not exactly, I’m just good at reading people.” He draped an arm around my shoulder in a friendly manner. “Don’t worry, after a few more weeks spent with me, you’ll forget all about your idiot ex.”

I found myself smiling at him despite the flirting. Noah was an easy guy to like and I could see us becoming friends. Only friends. Contemplating more with any guy was unthinkable, and I had a feeling it would continue that way for a long, long time.

Did Chase feel the same way about other girls? What about Liam? Considering the way girls flocked to him, it was ridiculous to expect him to wait around for me, especially since we never defined any kind of relationship. Still, I cringed at the thought of him kissing someone else . . . or more. Busying myself with work tasks, I attempted to push the idea far, far from my mind.

The rest of my shift passed quickly, and before I knew it, I was riding back to my rental on the used bike I’d purchased the week before. Although I wasn’t particularly worried about my safety, walking city streets alone was new for me, and biking at least got me to my destination faster. I had started carrying pepper spray as well, just in case.

Back at the guest house—I couldn’t bring myself to refer to it as home—I took a shower, then stood in front of the closet, staring at my meager wardrobe. In addition to the few pieces I brought with me, I’d added an array of jeans, casual tops, workout shorts, and tees that I’d picked up at a nearby thrift store. They weren’t as tailored as my usual choices, but I wanted to fit in at work and decided not to spend much money on clothes for a while.

After throwing on a clean pair of jeans with a T-shirt, I sat down on the couch with my new, inexpensive laptop. Pulling up Google, I searched for “Haley Jones” and “Kira Taylor” as I had once a day for the last twelve days. When I didn’t see any new results, I exhaled in relief. It seemed that Douglas hadn’t followed through on his threat when I failed to meet his deadline . . . so far. Did he realize that I left Santa Cruz? My instinct said yes, which led to my next question—was he now looking for me?

I logged into the e-mail address I created in San Francisco and wasn’t surprised to find that I hadn’t received any messages from my dad. Though I knew it was unlikely he would visit the safe deposit box and find the paper I’d left with the address, part of me held out hope that I would hear from him sooner rather than later.

Knowing that Jessica was probably frantic after the short e-mail I sent her before leaving the loft, I typed out a brief message to her. There were so many things I wanted to tell her, but it wasn’t the right time. I needed to find a more secure way to talk to her, preferably by phone.

Dear Caroline,

I don’t know if anyone has contacted you about me, but if they haven’t, I’m guessing they will, and I don’t want you to have to lie for me. Because of that, I can’t tell you where I am. I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but I promise that I’m safe and will tell you more when I can.

Don’t worry about me.

Love,

Elena

After hitting “send,” I closed the laptop and lay down on the couch. Evenings when I didn’t work were the worst. Since I wasn’t fond of wandering around Portland in the dark, my options for entertainment were limited. I had already decided that my next major purchase would be an e-reader since there wasn’t a library nearby. Until then, I would have to rely on my computer and guitar to keep my nights from dragging endlessly.

When I was honest with myself, I knew that all I really wanted to do was wallow in self-pity anyway. Remembering what Noah said about my “aura of sadness,” I knew he was right. I had stayed busy and distracted enough to keep from succumbing to the heartache. But, I was barely hanging on, and I found myself embracing my weakness as much as I despised it. After everything, wasn’t I entitled to a few weeks, or months, of melancholy?