Yours to love

Chapter six: Lillian

"A black iced coffee for Josh," I call out, and a guy about my age stands up from his table to come and get his drink.

He thanks me before going back to his computer.

I turn around to take my next customer's order and I find my brother standing at the counter, Blake and another guy who I assume is their friend, waiting a little further back.

Blake winks at me.

"Hi, there, what can I get for you?"

"Who's Gale Anderson?"

I shrug my eyebrows, confused about where that comes from. How does he not remember Gale? And why does he sound so worried?

"Well, hello to you, brother."

"Stop messing around, Lillian. Who. Is. Gale. Anderson?" he repeats, over pronouncing each word of that last sentence.

"No one you need to beat up or worry about," I comfort him as his face slowly turns tomato red.

I get that he is worried. He's my big brother, I went through horrible stuff, and he wants to keep me safe, he wants to be my savior. But I don't need a hero. I'm doing just fine on my own, I have been for the past six months. He can't just show up at my workplace, and get mad or stressed out every time he hears about me seeing someone, especially when I'm not seeing anyone. Gale is a friend, has been for as long as I can remember. And if Adam could get over his protectiveness and worriedness, he would remember Gale.

"Gale Anderson," I repeat his name, because I don't think Adam has said it or heard it enough for it to ring a bell.

"Oh," he finally realizes and I smile, proud of myself.

"Yeah, now if you'll excuse me, I have customers that would like to actually order."

He steps aside without adding anything else. Embarrassed enough. I hope this will serve him a lesson. I love my brother, I like that he cares this much. But sometimes, much is just too much. What happened happened, we can't go back in time, we can't change a thing, and I would like to simply move forward, but there are just so many things holding me back.

One step forward.

Three damn steps back.

"Hi, welcome to The Coffeehouse, what can I get for you?" I get back into character for the sweet, old lady standing in front of me.

"I'll have a..." she thinks about it for over a minute, while staring at the menu behind me, "a peach green tea."

"Would you like it cold or hot?"

"Hot, with a chocolate chip cookie."

I get her tea started, giving her her cookie, before going back to the cash register to serve my next client.

"Hi, welc-"

I look up and find Blake standing in front of me, a smirk on his face.

"You know what I'll get," he says, handing me a ten-dollar bill. "Keep the change, sweetface."

I have no idea what is going on with him. This morning, it was angel. Now, it's sweetface. I can't comprehend what he is trying to do, but I am going to get to the bottom of this.

"A peach green tea for Rejeanne," I call out, watching him join my brother and their friend at the back of the shop. "There you go, ma'am, have a good day."

"You too, dear, and I really hope this tea is as hot as your boyfriend over there."

"Oh, he's not my..."

I don't have the time to finish my sentence that she is already heading towards the exit. I don't bother, getting started with Blake's white mocha. I mix a shot of espresso with milk and chopped white chocolate chips, pour it in a paper cup half filled with ice, throw some whipped cream on top of that, before popping the top on.

"A white chocolate mocha for Blake," I call out his name and the three guys head in my direction.

His drink in his hand, he leans in and whispers for only me to hear, "Thanks, cupcake."

Frustration. Pure frustration travels my body. What is up with him?

I watch them walk out the coffeeshop and I don't go back to work until they're out of sight.

Half an hour later, my shift is over and I couldn't be more relieved. Saturdays are always the busiest. And right now, my feet are hurting, my back threatens to give up on me, and I'm tired, so tired. When I walk out the store, I sigh at the idea of having to walk all the way home, and as if he read my mind, Blake's car comes to a stop in front of me.

"Get in loser, we're going home," he quotes Mean girls through his rolled-down window.

I don't question the fact that he is here, I simply get in, and appreciate the comfort of his leather seats, completely forgetting about the nicknames he's been giving me all day. I'll let it slip for this time.