AS I STEPPED foot into the small café that had become more like a second home over the last several years, the bell chiming above me, I inhaled the sweet smell of butter, sugar, and exotic coffee beans.
“Morning, Sam!” Addy’s jovial tone burst through the early morning chatter that filled the quaint space, and I immediately followed the sound, my gaze landing on the rosy-cheeked, silver-haired beauty managing the counter. With a beaming smile on her face and a fresh pot of coffee in her hand, she lifted her head in my direction. “What will it be today? The usual?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
Navigating around the occupied tables, I acknowledged the “good mornings” and “how are yous” being tossed my way by the regular patrons and sat on one of the free stools, shrugging my jacket from my shoulders and draping it across the empty seat beside me.
A hole in the wall location, The Coffee Cave had been my go-to coffeehouse for as long as I could remember. Red brick walls met hardwood floors. Black metal fixtures hung from the ceiling and handmade artwork covered the walls. The ambient lighting provided a comfort that was different from most of the upscale coffee shops around town, and the friendly staff, as well as the vast selection of delicious coffee and baked goods, meant it was a favorite among many.
“How are you this morning, sweetie?”
A mug filled to the brim with hazelnut decaf was set down in front of me, and as I picked it up and brought it to my lips, my throat lusting for that first sip, I couldn't help the teasing smirk working its way onto my face. “I'm alive and breathing, so I must be good, right?”
Smiling at my dry humor, Addy patted my free arm lying stretched across the wooden countertop. “That’s right, love. Absolutely right.” She turned and busied herself at one of the several coffee machines lining the rear wall, talking over her shoulder as she filled the other orders being shouted out to her. “Any exciting plans for today?”
“Um …” My stomach rolled, partially out of hunger but mainly because I was dreading today—or more precisely, that evening. Setting my cup down, my fingers still clenching the handle, I licked the hesitation from my lips. “I, uh … yeah, actually. Remember that event I was telling you about, the one the hospital was organizing?”
Twisting on her heels, she placed a daily newspaper on the counter beside me. Her brows bunched together. The corners of her eyes crinkled, and her fingers tapped along the brown granite as she searched her thoughts. Despite being in her late sixties, Addy had a fairly good memory and, by far, one of the sharpest minds I knew. It was no wonder her coffee shop continuously thrived in an economy that had several others closing their doors.
“Yes. I do. Are you nervous about it?”
My chest tightened uncomfortably, and I breathed in deeply, pushing the air out on a long and controlled exhale. Nervous didn’t begin to describe it. “You could say that.” I took another sip of coffee, feeling the anxiety lying in the pit of my stomach swirl. My next thought formulated rather quickly, slipping from the tip of my tongue before I realized it had done so. “What if they don't show up?”
Sitting with my shoulders hunched forward, I waited for Addy to bestow me with her wisdom even though I secretly hoped my verbalized concern did in fact turn out to be the case. While I had rehearsed my lines one hundred times over, I knew the moment they stood in front of me, whoever they were, my speech was going to be shot to hell. I was going to stumble and choke on the words I’d spent the last sixteen months of my life trying to find.
“Well, my dear, that is entirely their choice, isn’t it? I can’t imagine going to this event will be any easier for them than it is for you. The only thing we can hope is that they are interested in hearing what you have to say.”
What the hell did I say? How did I express my gratitude knowing it had caused them pain and heartache? How could I possibly look at them and smile and expect them to look back at me and do the same? How did I say thank you to the person who had lost everything and saved my life in the midst of their hell?
Nodding, I stared at my now half-empty mug, my fingers fiddling with the corner of the white napkin positioned beneath it. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“Listen to me, Sam.” Fragile hands squeezed mine in a reassuring manner. “I know what is working in that head of yours—I've known you far too long not to—but, sweetheart, you of all people are aware that life is not always easy. That is something that is never promised to us, and as difficult as it may be to accept at times, we need to take the good with the bad.”
I tilted my chin up, meeting Addy’s soft gray eyes.
“You've been blessed, my dear, and you can't live your life feeling guilty over something that was beyond your control. Very few times are we offered second chances in this life. It’s up to you now to make something out of yours.”
My chest deflated as a huff of air pushed from my nose. “I know. I know. It’s just …” I clamped my jaw shut and shook my head, letting the thought float away. She was right. I needed to stop feeling guilty and be grateful for the life I now got to live. “How is it that you always know exactly what to say?”
She gifted me another warm smile before turning on her heels and removing a muffin from the grill, placing it on a plate in front of the customer who had just sat down. Her hands worked quickly as she slathered a knife full of butter across the top, and without having to be asked, she grabbed the coffee pot and refilled my mug. “I like to think I’ve learned a lot in my lifetime, as will you. I’m a firm believer that things happen for a reason. You just have to trust that no matter what, everything will always work out, even if not how we originally planned.”
I allowed her words to seep in and nodded appreciatively. “Thanks, Addy. I needed that this morning.”
“Anytime, love. Anytime.”
DRAGGING IN A deep breath, I took hold of the handle on the door and stepped into the banquet hall already bustling full of people. My gaze surveyed the carefully decorated interior, noting the dark burgundy carpet and the hardwood dance floor. Ornate crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow of light over the entire room, and quiet, classical music played through speakers mounted and hidden within the walls. Round, strategically placed tables were draped in heavy white linen and adorned with fine tableware and pretty floral arrangements, and for a moment, I was convinced I’d stumbled into someone’s private reception, but then I noticed the registration table off to my right—the one the invitation instructed we visit upon arrival.
Balling my hands into fists and shoving them into my coat pockets, I ambled over to the small rectangular table and stood in line behind an elderly gentleman. A thin layer of sweat slickened my palms, and my pulse quickened.
Relax, Sam. Just relax.
Curious if the person I was supposed to meet had arrived, I took another inconspicuous look around, this time paying closer attention to the bodies milling about. People mingled in small circles, chatting quietly among themselves, while others raided the buffet table, balancing plates full of food as they made their way to their seats. Some were older, a few young, yet every single individual in the room radiated enough tension to stifle the air.
Who the hell’s brilliant idea was this anyway? Throwing a gathering, a meet and greet to—
“Next, please.”
My silent chastisement was cut short by the lady working the check-in table, her bleach-blonde hair twisted into loose curls around her face. She was pretty in that overly perky and upbeat way. Bright blue eyes stared directly at me, inviting me to take a step forward, and I stiffened, a wave of nausea and apprehension crashing into me.
What the hell was I doing there?
Panic gripped my insides, and my natural flight instinct kicked in, a trait I’d adopted soon after the death of my mother. I momentarily contemplated escaping out the door. This was a bad idea. A stupid idea, even. Everything about this situation was daunting, and the longer I waited, the more desperate I became to remove myself from its suffocating confines.
Turning, I willed my feet in the direction they’d come from but found myself unable to move as Carmen strolled toward me.
Painted their signature red, her lips curled high on her cheeks. “My, my …” She opened her arms wide, welcoming me into a friendly hug. “Look at this handsome fella the wind has blown in.”
I buried my face into her shoulder and inhaled her familiar scent of jasmine and orange blossom, the silky strands of her mocha-brown hair tickling my nose.
The uneasiness swirling and rising from my stomach receded. “Mrs. Rojas.”
“Sam.” Carmen broke our embrace. She patted my stubbled cheek with her red-gloved hand, and the caring green eyes I’d spent a month's time under constant supervision of sparkled warmly up at me. “I'm so glad you’ve decided to come.”
A sincere smile crept its way onto my face, and as if she were capable of reading my mind and my need to leave, she continued to speak.
“It takes a lot of courage to show up to these types of events, but take my word for it, you’ll leave here feeling much better than you did when you arrived.”
Would I? I wasn’t convinced.
Disbelieving laughter floated from my mouth, the reaction brought on by my highly strung-out nerves. “Well, that's if they even show up, right?”
“You'd be surprised. Even so, it's good to get out and socialize, especially with people who have walked in your shoes. They know what it's like to be in your position.”
I gave her a small nod, her words providing me with the encouragement I needed to make it through the rest of the evening—or so I hoped.
She placed her hand on my forearm. “I'm going to go say hello to some of my other previous patients. I'll catch up with you a little later, okay?”
“Yeah, okay. It was good to see you.”
“Likewise, Sam. And if for some reason I don’t see you again before the evening is over, you take care of yourself, you hear?”
“Thanks, Carmen. You, too.”
On the breath of wind that left my lips, she was off, disappearing into the ever-growing crowd, leaving me to turn around and check in with the lady who had been patiently waiting.
“Your name, please?”
Let’s get this over with.
“Sam. Samuel Copeland.”
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Copeland. My name is Natalie.” Her gaze followed the path of her manicured finger as it trailed down the list of names on the paper in front of her. Locating mine, she stopped to highlight it. Mere seconds lapsed before she rose from her seat, handing me a black marker and a blue and white “Hello, my name is” badge, and pointed across the hall. “You’ll be sitting at table four. If you need anything, anything at all, please let me know.”
She flashed me a beaming smile, and I gave her an attempted one in return. I was on my way to my assigned table when I realized I had no idea who I was meant to be meeting. Hesitating, I glanced at Natalie, my anxiety now at an all-time high and completely evident in my tone. “I’m sorry, but how do I know who I’m supposed to be meeting?”
“Oh, silly me. My apologies. Everyone I’ve checked in so far this evening has already previously connected or met up with each other.” She shook her head and leaned over the table, her fingers sliding along the silver chain adorning her neck as she quickly flipped through the stapled papers. “Let’s see, Mr. Copeland, right?”
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, reminding myself that Natalie was more than likely a volunteer who had willingly given up her Friday night to be there. “Right.”
“It looks as if you will be meeting with a Ms. Cassidy Porter.” Her face swung to mine, and something in my chest pulled unexpectedly at the frown that had fallen on her once joyous expression. “Unfortunately, Ms. Porter hasn’t notified us as to whether or not she will be attending, but I encourage you to stay. While we ask the guests to kindly RSVP, it’s not a requirement, so there is a possibility she may still arrive. Invitations are only sent to those who have expressed explicit interest in meeting the organ recipients, but we’ve come to find events like these are ones people struggle to—”
“Of course.” I nodded tightly. “Thank you, Natalie.”
I turned and walked away.
Guilt struck me for cutting her off and being so rude, but the truth of the matter was, she didn’t need to elaborate. I didn’t need her understanding or empathy. Being there, even contemplating the decision, was tough. Not just for me, but for everybody in attendance. If Ms. Porter decided not to make an appearance, I couldn’t blame her, and I certainly wouldn’t hold it against her.
Crossing the hall, I weaved myself around the tables until I located the one I’d been assigned. Eight chairs were tucked underneath, only one occupied. I sighed, unsure if it was out of relief or disappointment. Outside of visiting Addy at the coffeehouse, and occasionally interacting with the neighbor boy who watched my dog, my social life was nonexistent, which some might find rather pathetic for a twenty-eight-year-old man, but lately, I hadn’t had the desire. The people I’d once called close friends were off living their lives, getting settled in their careers, and tying the knot. A few had even crossed into parenthood.
Me?
I took it one day at a time, attempting to appreciate everything life had to offer from a different angle.
A new outlook, so to speak.
Upon reaching the table, I wormed my way out of my jacket and gestured at an empty chair. “Anyone sitting here?”
The elderly man, who I now recognized as the same gentleman I’d been standing behind in the registration line, straightened himself and waved his arm, inviting me to have a seat. “Nope. It's all yours, son.”
“Thank you.” I draped my jacket over the back of the chair and sat down, self-consciously adjusting the buttons near the collar of my shirt, a mannerism that had become second nature. “Lovely evening.”
Lovely evening? What the hell?
This was exactly why I didn’t make small talk.
Snapping his chin in a militant nod, the man reached his frail arm across the table. “Bob Kissell.”
“Sam Copeland.” I took hold of his hand and shook it firmly before pulling back.
We both sat in edgy silence for a few minutes, my gaze drifting lazily around the room as my fingers traced the utensils resting on the table. For the hundredth time that evening, I wondered what I was doing there and contemplated how rude it would be if I were to stand up and leave.
Nobody would notice, much less care, would they?
The opportunity to act on my thoughts became lost, however, as Bob finally decided to speak. His voice shattered our soundless barrier as he started to freely share with me bits of his life: the time he’d spent in the army and his wife, who had unexpectedly passed away two years ago.
Not missing the sadness in his tone or the slight frown tugging at his lips, I briefly imagined what it must be like to love someone for most of your life and then lose them suddenly.
Of course, I had lost my mother at a young age, and while her death had a profound impact on me, it was an unconditional love. A given love. A love accepted and not willingly sought.
The idea of a love like my mother and father had shared—or even Bob and his wife had shared—wasn’t something I could quite wrap my head around. I’d never allowed myself to truly get close enough to anybody to allow such emotion to form.
Sure, there had been women, even one in particular, but when your life was filled with so much uncertainty, there was no space for selfishness.
No time for falling in love.
No time for living.
I listened a while longer, learning that Bob’s wife had been an organ donor and that he was attending the evening’s event in hopes of meeting the individuals who received her kidneys and liver, but other than that small piece of information, my mind was not entirely focused on the words leaving his mouth.
It’s not that I had no interest in the information he shared; I just felt as if I was wasting my time. An hour had already passed, and Ms. Porter had yet to make an appearance.
Excusing himself to the restroom, Bob stood from the table and disappeared.
I pulled in a shallow breath at the momentary reprieve, my hand coming up and sliding across my breastbone as if it would magically release the pressure sitting there, and something caused my eyes to shift. I glanced over at the door, watching as a woman entered the hall.
Could this be? No. No way. She’s too…
What? What the hell was she?
Looking hesitant—her hand clenched around the strap of her purse—she padded over to the registration table. Natalie greeted her in much the same way she’d greeted me, and as she pointed in my direction, my gut somersaulted.
My muscles tensed.
A small, authoritative voice ordered me to look away, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
Brown hair, a few shades lighter than black, framed the gentle curves of her face, resting on her shoulders and along her back. Equally dark lashes blinked in what I assumed was nervousness as warm chocolate eyes peered into the distance.
I swallowed the sudden lump of “oh fuck” in my throat, as she walked straight toward table number four, and forced my gaze away from her.
My heart beat like a drum, my leg and knee twitching as my pulse sped up beneath my skin.
God, please don’t let this be her. Please don’t let this be her.
I focused my attention on my empty plate, concentrating all my thoughts on anything but this girl, this woman, who continued to carefully maneuver her petite frame around the scattered tables.
It wasn’t until I smelled the sweet combination of vanilla and sugar that I sensed she was right beside me, and I gingerly turned my head to look at her, eager to catch another glimpse.
Jesus, she was beautiful.
In the direct glow of the light, her fair complexion resembled that of a porcelain doll, and the absence of any heavy makeup confirmed her age wasn’t far from my own.
There was something almost delicate about her, as if she were splintered glass on the verge of breaking, and for reasons I couldn't fathom or explain, I had this unusual urge to be the one to keep her together, to prevent her from falling completely apart.
Biting on the corner of her lip, she shifted restlessly on her feet, and if possible, the hold she had on the strap of her bag tightened further, turning the thin skin on her knuckles ghost white. “Is”—she lifted her chin, gesturing at the chair two over from mine, her voice low and unsure—“is this chair free?”
In the time it had taken for Bob to leave me alone and for her to walk in the door, I’d managed to lose my ability to speak. My mouth fell open, but nothing came out. I quickly snapped my jaw shut and nodded, silently informing her the seat was free for the taking.
She stood for a few lengthy moments, her eyes darting to the main door—as if she were mentally calculating how quickly she could disappear out of it—and then slowly pulled the chair out, sitting herself down. Her gaze lingered on her purse, now resting on her lap, and the uneasiness coursing through her tiny frame was thick and palpable in the small space between us.
I watched as she uncapped the marker, her hand shaking as she wrote her name on the obnoxious badge we’d been given to wear, and my breath hitched.
“Ms. Porter.” Her name dropped off my tongue sounding more like a question than an acknowledgment.
Casting a glance in my direction, she turned her head slowly until our eyes met, and when they did, it was as if everything stopped: the orchestrated music, the soft chatter from the people surrounding us, and, I swear, even for a few brief seconds, the beats of my heart. My chest constricted as I stared at her—my voice robbed from me and my mind unable to form a cohesive thought—because somehow, I had drifted into this beautiful woman’s world of heartache and pain.
Glassy tears quickly lined the surface of her eyes, and before my brain had a chance to kick-start, to command me to reach my hand over and properly introduce myself, she shoved her chair back and stood.
“I’m sorry.” Voice trembling and lower lip quivering, she shook her head. “I can’t—I can’t do this.” She swung her purse over her shoulder and took off across the floor at lightning speed, nearly knocking into another guest and tripping over a chair as she bolted for the exit door.
I was instantly on my feet, and although my heart called out to her, begged me to run after her and find her, I didn’t move.
I didn’t move because it wasn’t really my heart at all.
It was his.