Chapter 5 - The Husband I Buried

Now

I felt closer to Luis the moment I stepped inside. We’d been here together plenty of times before.

Walking in, I squeezed through the doorway so there was room for him beside me, my muscle memory reacting before my brain had time to remind me that he wasn’t here anymore, that I could take up the whole entrance without squeezing by to avoid letting go of his hand.

The bell above the door chimed softly as it swung shut behind me, sealing me inside Bodhi’s. Warmth wrapped around me, heavy with roasted coffee and something faintly sweet. Cinnamon, maybe. Or burnt sugar. Luis used to say this place smelled like comfort pretending to be sophistication.

A hipster place, selling organic food and coffee.

The counter gleamed. Pale wood. Potted plants near the windows that somehow survived the inconsistent watering schedules of overworked baristas. The chalkboard menu still listed the same drinks, written in looping script that never quite matched the clean minimalism of the rest of the space.

It was mid-morning quiet. Not empty, but subdued.

A couple sat by the window, laptops open, murmuring like they were sharing secrets instead of spreadsheets. A woman near the back stirred her drink over and over without lifting it to her mouth, eyes unfocused. Waiting for someone, or something, I guessed.

Audrey looked up from behind the counter and softened when she saw me.

‘Kenzie,’ she said, smiling. ‘What can I get you?’

I hesitated, the way I sometimes did now, as if choosing wrong would somehow confirm that everything had shifted beyond repair. ‘I’ll have Luis’s usual,’ I said, trying to hide how much it burned, not having him here to enjoy it with me.

Audrey nodded and got to work on the machine, tamping the beans, steam hissing as the grinder kicked into life. The sound of the machine as the espresso pulled soothed me. The smell of coffee wrapped around me, dark and grounding.

Luis always said coffee tasted better when you needed it.

I waited near the end of the counter, fingers curled around the strap of my bag instead of his hand. I checked my phone, more out of habit than necessity. No new messages. No missed calls. Nothing demanding my attention.

That’s when I felt it.

Not a stare.

Just . . . a gaze.

The kind you noticed only because it didn’t wander.

I shifted my weight slightly and glanced toward the seating area.

In the corner, half hidden behind a structural column and a trailing plant, a man sat alone. He was dressed casually. Deliberately so. Worn sneakers. Soft cotton shirt. Jeans that looked broken in, not styled to look that way. Nothing about him screamed for attention. If anything, he blended in too well.

But his posture was alert.

His gaze didn’t drift to the menu. Didn’t flick to his phone. Didn’t skim the room the way people did when killing time.

It stayed on me. Not leering in an obvious way. He wasn’t checking me out, he was tracking me.

My chest tightened.

He walked towards the counter, holding a menu. Probably about to order. In a few seconds he would walk right past.

I focused on my phone again, pretending to scroll, even though my thumb barely moved.

Something brushed my wrist. I flinched before I could stop myself.

‘Sorry,’ the man said, already holding something out toward me. ‘You dropped this.’

I turned slowly, my pulse loud in my ears.

In his hand was a small, folded piece of paper. A receipt, maybe. Plain. Unremarkable.

I didn’t take it. ‘That’s not mine,’ I said.

He didn’t pull his hand back.

‘Are you sure?’ he asked, stepping a fraction closer. Close enough that I could smell the soap he used.

I glanced down at my bag. Zipped. Nothing loose. Nothing missing.

‘Yes,’ I said. Firmer this time. ‘I’m sure.’

He hesitated, like he was recalibrating. Then he moved his hand forward again, encouraging me to take it. Almost pushy.

For a moment, I considered it. Not because I thought it was mine, but because curiosity tugged harder than caution. Why was he so insistent? This wasn’t a clumsy flirtation. There was no smile, no angle.

This felt like a test.

‘Hey,’ Audrey called from behind the counter, sharp enough to cut through the moment. ‘Your coffee’s ready. To go.’

Relief hit so fast it made me dizzy.

I withdrew my hand immediately, my heart thudding. The moment stretched behind me, taut and unfinished.

When I turned back to the counter, Audrey was watching the man with an expression that wasn’t quite polite.

She handed me the cup, fingers brushing mine. ‘Careful. It’s hot.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, wrapping both hands around it gratefully.

I turned back to look at the man.

He was still staring.

But there was something else there now. Something I couldn’t place, that I wasn’t understanding. I looked at him more closely. His eyes flicked to my face again. Searching. Measuring.

I knew that look. I’d seen it from witnesses who weren’t sure how much they should say, or defendants gauging whether honesty or silence would serve them better.

‘Do I know you?’ I asked.

An unreadable expression passed over his face. Then he smiled, warm and apologetic.

‘No, I don’t think so.’ He held up the folded piece of paper before pocketing it. ‘My mistake,’ he said.

‘From court, maybe?’ I asked before I could stop myself. I passed a lot of people every day. It was impossible to remember everyone, unless they gave you a reason. I might not remember this guy unless he gave me a reason to.

Like he had today.

His brows lifted. Surprise this time. Real or practiced, I couldn’t tell.

‘No,’ he said.

The mention of court made a lot of people nervous. Especially when they had something to hide.

Audrey watched us, holding out a drink. Another barista had replaced her at the register, while she waited on the man to take his order with an impatience that said he was holding up the line.

He went to the counter and picked up his coffee. Audrey leaned across to say something to him. I was just out of earshot, but her face was tense.

He moved past me then, making an effort to walk around me, pushing the door open and disappearing onto the street.

Audrey exhaled. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Yeah,’ I said, though my grip on the cup had tightened. ‘Thanks for . . . stepping in.’

She shrugged. ‘That guy was acting pushy. What was he trying to give you?’

‘Just a piece of paper,’ I said, stumped.

‘I told him it might be time to leave,’ she said.

‘I appreciate it.’

She gave me a small smile. ‘Any time.’

I left the store with a strange feeling that the man had been lying. He knew exactly who I was. Maybe he wanted to tell me something and the paper was his way of doing so.

Shit.

Outside, I looked around, hoping I could catch up to him, maybe ask what he wanted.

But there was no sign of him.

He was gone.