Chapter 4
The Risk of Raisin
Tessa
I braced myself as Ryder Vaughn leaned an elbow on the counter and said, "Two black coffees. And a dozen pastries to go."
If he were anyone else, I might've kissed him. Black coffees I could do in my sleep. And aside from the muffin incident, even I could bundle up pastries. As the thought hit, my traitorous eyes dipped to his lips, which yes, did look annoyingly kissable.
Damn it.
I gave myself a mental kick. He wasn't some hottie to swoon over. He was in league with the enemy. Maybe.
With an effort, I pasted on my best barista smile. "What kind of pastries?" I gestured to the display case, praying they'd choose quickly and be gone. "We've got cookies, muffins, bagels…"
Ryder turned to his friend. "What do you want?"
The friend shrugged. "You pick."
Ryder turned back to me. "What he really means is you pick, because I'm not doing jack."
A smarter gal would've just grabbed whatever and called it good. But my stupid mouth had a mind of its own, and the words tumbled out before I could stop them. "You sure you wanna do that?"
He grinned. "Why wouldn't I?"
Oh. My. God. That grin – it might've melted my panties if I weren't scared out of my wits. This guy was seriously dangerous – and not only because of his connection to Chicago.
And yet, the longer he lingered, the more it felt possible – heck, maybe even probable – that his visit was a total coincidence. The knot in my chest loosened just a little.
Throwing caution to the wind, I lowered my voice to a mock whisper. "Because if I pick, you run the risk of raisin."
His eyes crinkled with amusement, and he barked out a laugh. "Man, that's cold."
In spite of everything, I smiled – a real smile, because apparently, my body hadn't gotten the memo that this was a crisis. "Not if you like raisins."
Next to him, his hungover friend made a sound low in his throat, like the mere thought of raisins made him want to gag. He gave me a serious look before gritting out, "No raisins. Just grab whatever lasts the longest."
I wasn't following. "Sorry…what?"
Before he could clarify, Ryder jumped in with, "He means grab whatever takes the longest to rot."
I stiffened. Rot?
Seriously?
Call me stubborn, but I couldn't let it go. "Nothing we serve rots." I hitched my thumb toward the health inspection notice, posted on the wall directly behind me. "See? Perfect score."
I was actually pretty proud of that score, because it was me – not my boss – who'd been in charge when the inspection had occurred. I'd been on the job for only two days when the inspector had come in, looking for violations.
He'd found exactly zero, thank you very much. Thus, the score of 100, posted for everyone to see.
But Ryder Vaughn didn't even look. He just leaned in farther, with that lazy grin still in place. "Sure, not right away. But give it time."
Behind him, a heavyset man was glaring daggers into Ryder's back, like he'd been waiting for so long that our baked goods had rotted.
Great. One more happy customer.
But this time, I had no one to blame but myself – well, me and my boss, who was still MIA even as the line grew. If only I'd been quicker, the Chicago duo would've been long gone, pastries and all.
Even so, pride made me ask, "Is that a joke?" Good Lord. Wasn't that the same thing Muffin Man had said to me?
Ryder's gaze, sharper now, locked on mine. As our gazes held, I had the distinct impression that he knew exactly who I was – and what I was doing here.
My breath caught, and I waited. For what, I didn't even know.
When he finally spoke, his tone was teasing with something sharper underneath. "I'm just saying, even raisins were grapes once." He leaned back and crossed his arms, giving me a look that pierced my soul. "Think about that."
I blinked. Was that a joke?
Or some sort of weird threat?
And let's say it was a threat, what did it mean?
Was I the grape?
Was he going to squash me?
No. That was silly.
A squashing would turn me into wine, not a raisin.
I was still blinking stupidly when his friend looked to me with a sigh. "Just ignore him. That's what I do."
My gaze flicked back to Ryder, and I waited for some sign that he was only kidding. I saw nothing of the sort, not even when his lips curved into a knowing smile, like my barista act wasn't fooling him one bit.
I opened my mouth to say something – I didn't even know what – when the friend added, "Make it half cookies, half muffins, alright? You pick the flavors – whatever's best. Just no raisin, okay?"
Once again, I looked to Ryder, whose gaze had gone steely, even if his mouth was still curved into that maddening smile. Talk about a mixed message.
As for my own mouth, it felt tight and dry, like it was about to go on strike. Still, I managed to say, "Perfect. I'll be right back with your order."
And then, I turned and fled into the back, leaving the crowd of customers waiting – maybe forever if I made a break for it.