“You look so different.” The dapper man flashed an innocent, affectionate smile and reached across the table for a lock of Iris’s purple hair, only for her to duck back from the advance. “What did you do to your—”
“What do you want, Ethan?” Iris tensed her body, until a shiver forced its way down her limbs. “I’d rather not talk to you, and, frankly, don’t want to hear anything you have to say to me.”
“Aww, come on.” Ethan Landsent oozed charismatically. Iris remembered how frequently he’d smoldered his way into her heart in the past, and it pained her to watch him try this tired schtick again. “That’s no way to treat an old friend.”
“We’re not friends.” Iris insisted. “We’re more like strangers now, who know each other’s birthdays. Wait, do you even remember mine?”
The muscles at the corners of his mouth twitched slightly at the remark, as Ethan labored mightily without success. He had a poor memory for such trivial dates, and he quietly resented Iris for picking at such a sore spot in his disposition. Instead of replying with a half-baked guess, Ethan opted for a more roundabout approach.
“Are you telling me that that’s why we broke up?” Ethan forced his hand on top of Iris’s, relentlessly pressing her frigid palm to the tabletop. “You’re upset over me missing a lousy birthday? I can’t believe you’d throw away five years of dating over something so stupid.”
Mr. Cavendish spotted Ethan pinning Iris’s hand to the table, and tried to figure out what was going on at the little booth by the window. The young man was rather insistent about being heard by Iris, and she tugged fruitlessly to try and free herself from his entanglement. Her brows tented and shoulders raised at the contact, riling up an untenable agitation in Mr. Cavendish. He snatched a recyclable drink caddy with a sweaty hand, which threatened to tear the cardboard to shreds under his grip as he waited for their order to finish.
A spike of pain shot through Iris’s right temple, signifying the onset of another stressful headache. She shook and shuddered from touching Ethan again, as if her body was rejecting a deadly toxin that seeped in through her skin. Ethan still had the slimy, calculating silver tongue she remembered, but was wise enough now not to fall for his manipulations.
“It was for any of a thousand and one reasons, Ethan.” Iris shook her head and tried to pry her hand from underneath his oppressive grasp. “The missed birthdays, the constant stream of cancelled plans, the gaslighting, and the lies. I still remember all the times you sent me straight to voicemail when I just needed to hear your voice. Everything.”
“Come on, you can’t be serious. You’re misremembering things again.” Ethan raised his voice, drawing the eyes of the coffee shop patrons and staff. “Besides, things are different now, and I might be willing to take you back, if you made a few changes here and there—”
“Hey, sweetheart. Sorry for the wait.” Mr. Cavendish approached with the beverages and scooched into the booth beside Iris. He handed her a sweetened iced coffee and offered her a bag of cookies with her drink, much to Iris’s confusion. “They gave us free snacks as an apology for the delay. Will you share them with me? Oh, who’s your friend?”
“No one.” Iris tugged her hand from Ethan’s distracted chokehold with a jerk, then rubbed the soreness from her wrist as she looked to Mr. Cavendish for insight. Ethan sat opposite the delightful pair, with his face scrunched up from confusion and mounting rage. “He was just leaving.”
“Who the hell are you?” Ethan erupted ruefully.
“I’m with Iris.” Mr. Cavendish replied with a potent iciness that left Ethan stammering to retort. His glacier blue eyes bore into Ethan, leaving him freezer burned and avoidant of the aggressive glare across the table. Mr. Cavendish placed an arm around Iris but made certain not to press too hard or frighten her. “Would you mind leaving, please? You’re interrupting our coffee date.”
“Wait a minute.” Ethan turned to Iris with his lip curled with disgust. “It’s been what, five months, and you’re already with someone else?”
“You’re not a part of my life anymore, Ethan.” Iris pressed as she set the bag of cookies down to prevent crushing them in her tensed grip. “It’s really none of your business.”
“Like hell, it isn’t!” Ethan fumed before slamming his hands onto the tabletop, rattling the drink caddy and spooking the other coffee shop patrons. “Who do you think hung around all that time you were off moping about, huh? What, does your new fling know about how moody you were for years?”
Iris’s body trembled faintly under Mr. Cavendish’s arm, but he was unsure if she shook from fear or rage. Out of concern for her wellbeing, Mr. Cavendish glanced down at Iris to find a stoic, stone-faced woman who outwardly seemed immune to anything her ex-boyfriend had to say.
“You know why, Ethan.” Iris replied in a low, even tone. “In a way, it was a gift. It opened my eyes to who you really are, and I’m grateful every day we’re apart.”
“Oh yeah, well—”
“Come on, honey. Let’s go...” Iris hugged Mr. Cavendish and tapped twice against his back to indicate her intentions. “We’re done here.”
Ethan sputtered and stammered as Mr. Cavendish rose from the booth to help Iris up, before they tossed their drinks in the waste bin. Collecting what few wits he still had, Ethan fogged up his fancy glasses, balled his hands into fists, and lashed out at his ex-girlfriend one more time, hoping to ruin the rest of her day.
“Tramp.” Ethan muttered loudly enough for them to hear.
The word raked across her ears and slithered its way into her mind, forcing Iris to flinch where she stood. She turned her back on Ethan and shook faintly as she reached for Mr. Cavendish’s hand. Iris needed something, anything, to ground her in the coffee shop and keep herself from spiraling into despair. To her surprise, Mr. Cavendish clasped her hand firmly, interlocking their fingers as they strode out of the shop together with their heads held high.
Ethan remained in the stuffy booth, stewing in his own resentment until he was startled by the unexpected approach of a friendly young woman with a cheery disposition and vibrant smile. She took Iris’s place in the booth, settled herself with her beverage, and tilted her head to one side to figure out what was wrong with him.
“Everything okay?” Evelyn Parkes asked as she nudged a croissant towards Ethan. “I’m not late, am I?”
“No.” Ethan grumbled and snatched the pastry from the delicate ceramic plate and angrily pressed one of the ends flat between his thumb and index finger. “Looks like I am, though.”
Despite his generous strides, Mr. Cavendish had great difficulty keeping up with Iris as she raced outside towards a shaded bench that lingered a good distance away from the GC&S office building. Her hand was still meshed with his, and the coolness of it mingled with his own substantial warmth. Iris practically tugged on Mr. Cavendish in her attempts to flee the coffee shop, and she released him from her grasp once she’d realized what she’d done.
“Thank you, sir, for playing along back there.” Iris drew her hand close to her quaking body and shrank away from him. “I didn’t expect to run into my ex, and—”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have barged in like I did.” Mr. Cavendish ran his hand through his auburn hair to smooth it back in place. “When I saw him hanging on you at the table, I just… I hope you’re not offended.”
“Not at all. That was awfully decent of you, sir.” Iris smiled weakly. “You didn’t have to do that for me. I appreciate it.”
“It was my pleasure.” Mr. Cavendish sat beside Iris on the creaky wooden bench and fiddled with his hands as he spoke. "I’m just sorry you didn’t get to enjoy your drink. I promised to treat you before work, and here we are, empty-handed.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Iris scoffed as she produced the half-crumpled bag of snack cookies from the coffee shop and pulled the seal open. She held out the open pouch for him to take one, and stifled a laugh as he stuck his enormous hand into the tiny bag. “There, I’d say that’s a win, wouldn’t you? Besides, you helped me shake off an old barnacle that’d been bothering me for ages…”
Mr. Cavendish snickered at the apt description of the grumpy ex they’d left festering in Valencia’s. “Indeed. What a charmer.”
“He really was, back in the day.” Iris gave him a playful nudge with a gentle hand. For a moment, she forgot how lofty and important Mr. Cavendish’s position was, and that she should take more care with her interactions with him. Right now, he was a friendly ear and a shoulder to lean on. “At least to a young, foolish post-grad looking for love, he checked a lot of boxes. Now I feel foolish for even looking his way for so long.”
“But you’re not looking his way now.” Mr. Cavendish comforted. “And given the circumstances, I’d say you’re a better person than I am. If it were me, I’d have decked him right there.”
“Granted, but you’re not me, sir.” Iris beamed at Mr. Cavendish with an affable smirk, which he met with a curious stare. “Otherwise, you’d know all about my sweet Kung Fu moves. Ethan wouldn’t have stood a chance, and I couldn’t afford to have you miss work just to bail me out of jail.”
He couldn’t help but laugh at the optics of it all. Iris, a martial arts master? She was a whisper-thin woman with the ruthlessness of a stuffed rabbit plushie. But she had said it with such a straight face that Mr. Cavendish couldn’t stop chuckling.
“I guess we were lucky then.” He managed to say after the laughter subsided. “I’ll have to have you teach me sometime. I’m not much of a fighter, really.”
They rested on the wooden bench, bantering back and forth until traffic picked up and workers arrived for their shifts. Hanging out together felt so natural and easy that Mr. Cavendish dropped formalities and spoke comfortably with Iris. The creaky bench became a refuge, not for supervisors and subordinates, but for friends to meet as equals.
“What’s this?” Iris’s phone vibrated to indicate that it was time to start work, and she flushed at the realization that they had forgotten to do any work this morning. “Oh no, we forgot to review the briefs. I’m so sorry I wasted our time with—”
“It wasn’t a waste. Not to me.” Mr. Cavendish leaned back on the bench and inhaled deeply before adding. “I needed the fresh air anyway. It helps clear my head. Plus, I got to learn a little bit about you, so it was definitely a win.”
“I wish I could do this more often.” Iris admitted absentmindedly.
“Would you like to try again tomorrow?” Mr. Cavendish replied without thinking. His breath left him once he snapped back to his senses, and a lingering dread crept over him again, anticipating her refusal. “I mean, that guy kinda spoiled it for you today, so I was thinking…”
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