The Double

𝒪𝓃𝑒

"He's smart about." I sat stiffly in the chair, humiliated at having to tell another human being about how I'd et this level of harassment happen to me. I'd had so much on my plate that at first it was easier to simply ignore Ben's behavior and tell myself it wasn't that big of a deal.

"Then you need to be smarter."

"That's not fair."

"No," he agreed. "It's how the law works. Once you get me that proof, we can nail his sorry ass to the wall. Can you quit?"

Not an option, not right now. I can't jeopardize my employment, and so far I haven't been able to find a new job. I let out a long sigh. Definitely not problems that can be solved by a chocolate muffin.

"I'll take a the Bluebell Blueberry Muffin," I tell Yulisa, directing my attention to a decision I can control. It's vegan and bran, more of a refueling puck than sweet treat, but thanks to Danell's selfish toddler, it's the only muffin left except for cardamom quash. Which is also bran.

As I mentally resign myself to a healthy dose of insoluble fiber, a blinding light explodes to my left. Stars dance in my eyes for several seconds and then slowly fade away to reveal a small man wearing a Pink Panther-esque trench coat and trilby hat. "Smile, beautiful."

I automatically obey with a reflexive grin that falls off right away, because what the fuck? He takes another picture, then a tsunami of clicks wash over me as his camera snaps and the flash pings in rapid succession. I squeeze my eyes shut and throw up my arms, holding the muffin in front of my face as protection.

Yulisa chucks her dirty dishcloth at the photographer, who yelps loudly when it lands smack on his chest, covering his raincoat with coffee grounds.

"Yo, Ansel Adams. Get the hell out of my café and stop hounding my customers. You're trespassing."

He opens his mouth to argue, but she threateningly grabs a pot of freshly brewed coffee and leans over the counter as if daring him to speak. With an angry shrug, he blows me a kiss and walks out.

I turn to Yulisa. "Ansel Adams?"

She puts down the pot and hands over my latte with a half-turned smile. "Couldn't think of another photographer."

"Ansel Adams did landscapes, didn't he? Not people?"

"Like I said. Couldn't think of another one. Also, that's very judgmental talk coming from a woman who used muffin as a shield."

I bristle. "He surprised me."

"Right." Safe in her victory, Yulisa twirls her curly hair around her finger. "What was that about? You got caught up in some naughty scandal?"

Deeply skeptical, I check my phone. The only alert is a notification from Checklist about the second load of laundry I should be doing. "Nope."

"Huh. Must have mistaken you for someone else. Makes sense—there's always a lot of filming in Orange County. Oh, speaking of, did I tell you I saw Will Ferrell last week?" She wipes the counter with passionate strokes. "What a god. There's no one else as gorgeous as him around here."

"Uh, Yulisa?" It's Danell, who is packing Little Daniella into her stroller as her wife tidies the table. "Outside." She points.

we look out the front window. "Shit," I say. "There are two of them." Inspector-turned-paparazzo Clouseau now has a buddy standing with him outside the café. They're both sporting seriously intense cameras around their necks and gesturing wildly.

"Quick. Go out the back way," Yulisa advises in a hiss.

This is bizarre and not on my to-do list. I hesitate, wondering who on earth they think I am, before I duck into the hall and sneak out, feeling pleasantly important. The buzz of acting like a celebrity lasts until I step right into an oil-slicked puddle that smells like raccoon pee. Aish, fuuuck. There's a patch of grass at the end of the alley, so I walk over and wipe my shoe. Once reasonably clean, I sip my latte as I decide what to do. I faked being sick to get out of work so I could meet the lawyer, which means there's no need to go to the office. That I'm Ben-free the rest of the day lightens my mood.