Maritza

“Um, Ritz?” Rachael stands in the doorway of the galley as I mix three kid-sized chocolate milks—extra Hershey’s syrup, her face white and looking like she’s just seen a ghost. “You have a new table.”

“Okay. Give me two secs.” I give the final cup of milk an extra squeeze of chocolate.

Rach stands there, staring, watching, which is odd because she’s always moving and we’re mid-morning rush and all the other staff are go, go, going all around us.

“You okay?” I ask, loading the cups onto a plastic serving tray.

“Ritz …”

I glance up at her only to find her staring out toward table ten where a dark-haired man sits with his back toward us. He turns for a second, but only slightly and only enough for me to recognize that chiseled jaw I’d remember anywhere.

The ground wobbles beneath my feet, I swear, and I suck in a deep breath before Rach grabs my wrist. My vision fades for a single, terrifying second. I’ve never had this kind of physical reaction to anything in my life.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she says. “I know you want to let him have it—and he deserves it—but I don’t want you to get fired. I need you here. I can’t work here without you.”

She offers a smile that lets me know she’s half joking, half serious.

“I won’t make a scene,” I say, though I’m not sure if I’m trying to reassure her—or myself.

Clearing my throat and trying hard to deny the thrum and whoosh of my heartbeat in my ears, I deliver my chocolate milks with a smile before making my way to table ten.

Sliding my notepad from my apron and clicking the tip of my pen, I cock my head. “Good morning.”

Isaiah places his menu flat on his table, drawing in a deep breath before checking his watch. “Just a coffee and eggs today, please.”

My pen presses into my notepad with a slight tremble.

“Seriously?” I ask.

He glances up at me, his expression cold and distant. “I’m in a bit of a rush.”

Lingering and at a total loss for words at the fact that he’s treating me like a complete stranger, I clear my throat and let my notepad fall to my sides. My lips part as I try to say something, but the perfect words fail to find their way out of my jumbled brain.

A million thoughts spin around and there are a million things I probably should say to him right now, but I promised Rach I wouldn’t do anything stupid and at the end of the day, I’m not willing to sacrifice my job over this jackass.

God help him if I ever meet him outside these four walls though …

“No pancake today?” I ask, forcing a smile. If he wants to pretend we’re a couple of strangers, then two can play that game.

He shakes his head. “Coffee and two eggs over easy.”

“Really? Sure you don’t want two pancakes?” I offer an incredulous chuckle, wondering, for a split second, why I feel the insane need to try to jog his memory. He didn’t forget me. He couldn’t have.

Isaiah points to the sign above the register. “Heard you guys are sticklers on that one-pancake rule. Figured I’d stick to something simple today.”

The oceans and continents that once separated us have nothing on the distant gaze in his eyes when he looks at me.

Pressing my lips together and trying to stave off the stinging threat of tears, I take his menu. “I’ll put that in for you right away.”

Isaiah turns away from me, staring out the window to the sidewalk. His hair is a bit longer than it was before, which makes me think he’s been home from his deployment for a while. And he’s dressed in a navy suit with a white button down, a far departure from the fitted ripped jeans and v-neck t-shirts I only ever knew him to wear before.

“You okay?” Rachael asks when she bumps into me back at the kitchen window.

I hang his order on the line and turn to face her, squeezing my eyes tight until the burn subsides. “He looked right through me, Rach. Like he didn’t recognize me. Why would he come all the way here and pretend like we’re strangers? What’s he doing?”

Her nose wrinkles and her gaze skirts over my shoulder and lands on him. “That’s … really weird. Did you say anything to him?”

Shaking my head, I say, “What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey … do you remember me? We slept together earlier this year…’”

“You’ll think of the right thing to say. You’re just in shock right now.” She smooths her hand along my arm and offers a sympathetic head tilt before heading out to the floor.

Grabbing a full coffee carafe from a burner, I return to Isaiah’s table and flip over his empty coffee cup.

“Room for two creams, half sugar?” I ask, hating that I remember the way he takes his coffee.

His brows narrow as he gazes up at me. “Lucky guess.”

Lucky guess?

“Yeah, sometimes I think I’m psychic or something,” I say, not so much as attempting to hide the biting snark in my tone.

“Thanks.” He pulls his coffee closer and reaches for the sugar holder by the window.

“You look good,” I say. And I mean it. As much as I want to rip his hair out and smack him across his pretty boy face and tell him what an asshole he is, a part of me is glad he made it home safe and unscathed. “I like the suit. It’s a nice touch.”

And my mother always said, you can never go wrong when you take the high road.

His dark brows meet as he turns my direction, studying me. “Thank you.”

“Your eggs should be out soon.” I leave and check on my three other tables before his order comes up, and when I return with his breakfast, he’s on his phone. He doesn’t acknowledge me or thank me with a quick wave of his hand when I place his plate in front of him. He simply reaches for a fork.

My stomach hardens, unsettling.

So much for the closure.

If anything, I’m more confused than I was before.

I spend the next fifteen minutes fully immersed in work, even pre-bussing some of Rachael’s tables so I have every reason not to stand around fixating on why he’s here and why he’s pretending not to know me.

When he finally flags me down and asks for his check, a blanket of anxious heat warms my body and I will myself to find the right thing to say before he walks out of here.

“Thank you,” he says a minute later, when I hand him the leather check wallet. His total was thirteen dollars and fifty-eight cents and I watch as he slips a ten and a five-dollar bill inside and tells me to “keep the change.”

The dollar forty-two is a far cry from the hundred-dollar tip he once left.

“Why did you come here today?” I ask, hand on one hip and head cocked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why did you come here today?” I state my question clear as fucking day, enunciating every last syllable.

Isaiah frowns. “Is this some kind of trick question?”

“Why did you request me?” I ask.

“I … didn’t.”

Pulling in a hard breath, I massage my temples before splaying my hand across my beating heart. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Are you mad about the tip?” he asks. “I usually try to tip more, but you made me wait fifteen minutes for my check and now I’m going to be late for a client meeting.”

“Oh, so now we’re going to pretend this is about the tip and not about the way you’re treating me?” I ask. My mouth falls and I can sense the burn of cherry heat in my ears.

“The way I’m treating you?” He scoffs, sliding out of his booth and standing. “Ma’am, I think you’re confused.”

Ma’am.

He’s back to calling me ma’am.

“Did you hit your head or something?” I ask. “Is that what happened? I’m not being facetious, it’s a legitimate question. Do you have amnesia?”

Isaiah chuckles, like I’m being cute, and then he shakes his head. “Are we done here? Because I’ve got someone waiting for me back at the office.”

At the office?

He’s been back long enough to get a job in an office that requires a suit …

He’s not fresh off the military boat. Not at all. And at this point, I’m starting to wonder if he was ever really in the army. It could’ve all been a ruse, maybe something he tells girls so he can get laid and have an excuse never to see them again. Or maybe he was some method actor studying for a role?

Then again, the letters came from an APO … so that couldn’t be it.

Gram always says, “It takes all kinds,” but I never knew what she meant until now, when I’m standing in front of one of the worst ‘kinds’ I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he says, squeezing past me, his meaty hands on my shoulders. Straightening his jacket, he gives me one last look—like I’m the crazy one here—and then he turns to leave.

Gathering his dirty dishes, I take them back to the kitchen, scolding myself for all those wasted days and sleepless nights I spent worrying about that selfish prick.

When I said I wanted closure, I didn’t know it was going to feel like this, and I didn’t know it was possible to mean less than nothing to someone who meant more than something to me.