Chapter 4:

Truce

The sun was only starting to rise when Isabella pulled into the Starbucks parking lot. It was a few minutes before six-thirty. The town was surprisingly silent. Traffic was light. It was the morning where she was supposed to do the opening, turning on the coffee machines and baking the scones and other treats the gourmet coffee shop offered. Johanna, Tristan and Mari always forgot to start the baking when they arrived. It was Isabella's pet peeve about her three friends, but after being there for so long, Isabella just made the morning baking a part of her routine.

Even though she had spent the entire night trying to ignore it, Isabella was still angry about her exchange with the former WWE Champion the morning before. After he left her in the parking lot, she found herself embarrassed and ashamed to walk back into a building where everyone had just witnessed her being reamed out. Most people understood; even more had their own theories about what had happened to the man who so proudly used to "Rise Above Hate".

"God. What a jerk. I don't even know what the hell is his deal," Isabella mused, killing the ignition. Looking out the window, she was stunned to find John standing in front of the locked door. He wasn't dressed for winter. Long denim shorts, running shoes and a grey hooded sweatshirt made him look like he was more suited for a workout. A thick band of brilliant purple was visible from the bottom of his hooded sweatshirt. He wore dark sunglasses over his eyes and a Boston Red Sox baseball cap on his head. She shook her head in disgust. "Sunglasses at this time...he's probably hung-over."

Part of her wanted to get out of the car and confront him, but another part of her felt a tinge of fear. With nobody else around, she knew that she was defenseless if he decided to get violent with her. She squashed the fear quickly as if it were an ant underneath her shoe. Grabbing the black knitted purse from the passenger's seat, she got out of the car, unlocked it and slammed the door. Mari and Johanna would be along in a half hour, with Tristan following two hours after that.

"I know that you know this place doesn't open until seven," she said dryly as she approached, her keys in hand. He nodded.

"Can we talk for a minute?" he asked. Isabella looked up at his face. She wished she could see behind his glasses and get a gauge on his demeanor.

"Are you going to get violent?" she asked. John was genuinely taken aback by the statement. He took a step back.

"What? No! What the hell kind of guy do you think I am?" he asked with a snort.

"I don't even know you." Isabella could tell, through the beard, the disheveled nature of his appearance and the smell of whiskey that resonated from him like a fermented fog, that there was something going on inside of his head. He needed help. Isabella knew it would be cold-hearted of her to ignore that in the name of her petty grudge. She was surprised that she had let his outburst get to her so much. It was clear he was in his own world of heartache and despair, clawing through darkness in hopes of one day finding his way out. She put the key in the lock. With the key in place, she stilled and sighed. "Look, I'm sorry I offended you yesterday," she told him. "It wasn't my intention. It won't happen again. I promise."

"No, no. You don't have a reason to be sorry at all. I'm the one who should be apologizing. I was a real dick yesterday. I know it's no real excuse, but...this time of year...it's rough for me. Real rough." He rubbed the back of his head with his left hand, the right one extending to her. "John Cena."

"I know who you are. I saw you in that movie...The Marine." He smiled. She noted he had a warm, beautiful smile. "I'm a huge fan of Kelly Carlson. Love Nip/Tuck. I'm Isabella Evans, but most people call me Izzie, Bell or Bella."

"You look like you suit Bella," he informed her. She blushed. He was a charmer. He let go of her hand as if her touch burned him, taking her by surprise. She looked at him, alarmed.

"If you want to come in early for a coffee, I'll fire the machines up. It'll take a couple of minutes..." John nodded and she trailed off.

"Sure. That's if it's okay. I can wait." Isabella nodded. Turning the key, she opened the door and he followed her into the empty Starbucks. She flicked the light switch. It took five seconds for all the bulbs to flood the place with light. Even though he was being nice to her, she still felt like she was walking on eggshells. He took off his sunglasses, allowing her a nice view of the blue eyes that had stuck with her the night before. He slipped his glasses into the pocket of his hooded sweatshirt.

"What can I get for you?" she asked.

"The usual," he informed her. She nodded, putting her apron on over her head and tying it up at the back. She turned on the machines. "And maybe one of those cranberry lemon scones," he added quickly. She stopped for a second, surprised, but nodded. His stomach had been rumbling for hours. His steady diet of hard liquor was good when he was drunk, but when he was sober he got hungry. As a man who studied nutrition in college, he knew that drinking all three meals wasn't healthy, but he hadn't given it much thought until he'd looked in the mirror that morning. He noted his face had looked gaunt, weathered.

"Of course. Um, but these scones are from yesterday and are probably a little stale, so I'm not going to charge you for a stale scone." He nodded. Isabella felt a surge of relief when she realized he wasn't going to make a scene about it. It was only the two of them in there; she figured that had a lot to do with it. He struck her as a proud man, a guy who earned his way and didn't like to take things for free. She turned on the oven to preheat and disappeared into the kitchen, emerging with baking sheets that already had gobs of pre-made dough on them. With the quickness reserved for an experienced, multi-tasking barista, Isabella put the baking sheet on the counter, got the scone on a plate and handed it to him and grabbed a venti cup to start his coffee.

"Let me ask you something, Mr. Cena, and forgive me for being so blunt, but don't you ever miss wrestling?" she asked. She filled up his cup and added the two espresso shots. He watched her, mulling over his answer as she put the lid on his cup and slid it across the counter to him. He thanked her quietly.

"Yeah. I do miss it sometimes," he confessed. "It's like a drug. Once it's in the bloodstream..." He trailed off. She noted the reverie and the helplessness in his eyes. "But I can't go back right now. I need to get my shit together first. In case you haven't noticed." He noticed that she was unruffled by his colorful language. "One of these days I'll go back." He took a sip. Isabella was his favorite barista; she always made his coffee just right. The other blonde, known to him as Johanna, always made the coffee too weak.

He leaned over the counter, his hands rested around his coffee cup. "If you don't mind me asking, what is your big plan in the game of life, Bella? I'm sure you don't plan on doing this for the rest of your life."

"You'd be right about that," she said with a laugh, sliding the baking sheet into the oven. "I'm in college right now. I have a year left."

"What are you studying?"

"Music production. I have a year left."

"You do music?"

"Yeah. I can play just about anything I can get my hands on. Violins, drums, guitars...My dad and my grandfather taught me. They're both musicians, so I guess I didn't have much choice in picking up an instrument." She laughed.

"What kind of music do you play?"

"Blues, jazz...whatever I feel like when I pick it up, I guess."

"I released a rap album a few years back," John confessed. She looked at him, amusement sparkling in her deep brown eyes. He didn't know why he had thrown it out there, but he had. He looked down at the coffee cup. "I used to love doing the rap thing," he recalled, his voice wistful. She noticed how vacant and distant his eyes had become, lost in a reverie. He bit the inside of his cheek; she had been one of his biggest supporters.

Before Isabella could say anything, she was startled by the timer on the oven going off. She slid on the oven mitts and pulled the sheet out, placing it on the counter to cool. Before she set about fixing up the muffin batter, she took off the mitts and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. She wrote her number on it. Sliding it across the counter, John took the card. He looked at it, startled. He looked at her.

"What's this?"

"Please don't be offended, but I think you could use a friend. If you ever need to talk to somebody...just give me a call. There's no catch and I won't judge. I promise." He nodded. John could feel his eyes welling with tears, but he managed to keep them from spilling over. Isabella felt a little embarrassed that she had invoked such a reaction out of him, and she could tell the feeling was mutual.

"Thank you." He shoved the number into his pocket. The door swung open and Johanna walked in. Her colorless bleached hair was in braided pigtails. She rubbed her hands together and blew her breath into her cupped hands.

"Holy Hell, it's cold outside!" she laughed. "Good morning, Bella!" Johanna stopped in her tracks when she saw John leaning over the counter. She turned to Isabella.

"It's fine," Isabella assured her co-worker. She turned to John.

"I'm gonna go have a seat. Thanks for the scone," he said, his words almost a murmur. She nodded, watching as John took his place at his regular table. He stared out the window, watching the world pass him by. Johanna took her place beside Isabella, putting on her apron.

"Is everything okay?" Johanna asked, keeping her tone hushed. Isabella nodded as she began to mix carrot muffin batter. "Are you sure? Do I need to call the police?"

"God no! Jeez, Johanna, you are such a drama queen sometimes." There was a beat of silence as Isabella began spooning the batter into the muffin cups. "We talked. It's fine. He apologized. He's having a rough winter."

"Doesn't give him an excuse to be a total dick hole," Johanna whispered. Isabella rolled her eyes. "Bella, you are too nice for your own good sometimes. People like him...they just enjoy being dicks. They're entitled dicks, too. It's not good."

It didn't take very long for Isabella to realize that she didn't want to talk about this with Johanna. Especially with John in the store. Before Isabella could say anything, the doors opened, Mari entered and the morning rush followed behind her. Isabella put the muffins in the oven and began to wipe down the coffee counter. She looked over at John, who was staring out the window. He never acknowledged her.