Chapter 3: Three Months Early
The bell over the door was still swinging when Ethan took two steps inside and stopped just past the welcome mat. He didn't come to the counter. He left space, like he'd been taught to, his boots planted on the tile where customers were supposed to wait to be seated. His eyes stayed on me.
Mrs. Alvarez at the corner table coughed politely and went back to her coffee, but the other two regulars kept watching. I felt the heat of their attention on the back of my neck. I couldn't stay frozen behind the counter with the towel in my fist. I had to move. I had to say something that sounded normal.
I slipped the towel onto the edge of the register and forced my hands flat on the metal counter.
"You're not supposed to be here until February," I whispered. It came out thinner than I wanted, barely louder than the hum of the fridge.
Ethan heard me. He tipped his head just enough that I knew he did. His voice was low and even, the way he got when he was trying not to be overheard.
"Orders changed yesterday," he said. "We flew into Fort Cavazos last night. I came straight here."
Yesterday. The word knocked the air out of me. I'd counted on four more months. Four more months of the deployment calendar we'd taped to the inside of our kitchen cabinet, the one I'd been marking off with a black check every Sunday. February had been the date his lieutenant gave me on the phone. February was safe. February was after the holidays, after the lease, after everything.
I stared at his uniform and realized my text from last week was now sitting in his phone like a lit fuse. Don't worry about coming here for the holidays, I'd written. Save your leave. We’ll be busy at the cafe. I'd sent it at 11:14 p.m. on Tuesday after I'd already told his mom he wouldn't be home for Christmas because the Army was keeping him. I'd told myself it was kinder to let him down easy before I was gone.
He must have gotten it on the bus. He must have read it after he'd already decided to come early.
Ethan shifted his weight and his gaze dropped for a second. It landed on my chest and then on the counter beside me.
My name tag was crooked. MAYA, white plastic, pinned too low on my shirt. He'd always fixed it for me, tapped it straight with two fingers. He didn't fix it now. He looked past it to the small cardboard sign I'd made that morning before my shift and tucked next to the napkin dispenser.
CLOSED 2PM - 5PM FOR INVENTORY. Back at 5.
It wasn't inventory. Marisol had let me write it so I could cash out early, drop my keys, and catch the 3:40 Greyhound. My suitcase was already packed and sitting behind the break-room door. I'd planned to leave the sign up and text her that I was sick.
"You closing early?" he asked. His tone didn't accuse me. It was just a question, quiet and flat. He was looking at the sign like he was reading the handwriting and recognizing it.
I swallowed. My throat was dry. "We had to, for—" I started, then stopped. The lie wouldn't come out with him standing there in his OCPs and his flag patch. The regulars were still listening. I could feel Mrs. Alvarez's eyes flicking between us.
I needed to get him away from the counter, away from them, but I was still on the clock and the clock was loud. The espresso machine hissed behind me. The door was open and cold air was coming in and Ethan was just standing there holding his duffel strap with both hands like he didn't know where to put it down.
"I told you not to visit," I said finally, so soft I wasn't sure he'd hear it. "In my text. Last week."
"I know," he said. "I got it."
May you like
The way he said I know made my stomach drop. He hadn't argued about it over text. He'd just replied Okay. with a period. I'd thought that meant he understood, that he agreed. Now I understood he'd replied after his orders had already changed, after he was already coming home.
We just looked at each other across the metal counter, the towel bunched between my hands again without me remembering picking it up. He hadn't been welcome in that last message and now he was here, three months early, standing in the cafe where I was supposed to disappear from that afternoon. And he knew.
