Chapter 6
To Bluff or Bolt
Tessa
As I turned and fled the front counter, my thoughts churned like curdled cream.
I had options. Okay, no good options. But it's not like I was cornered. Not yet.
All I needed was thirty seconds to catch my breath, get a grip, and decide whether to bluff it out with Ryder Vaughn or bolt out the rear exit and catch the next ferry off the island.
I pushed through the swinging door so hard that it slammed into the wall with a bang.
Somewhere to my right, an all-too-familiar voice groaned, "Hey, not so loud!" The voice was male, younger than mine, and groggy, like I'd just interrupted a nap.
It was my boss.
Technically, his name was Ted – Ted Plimpton, to be exact. Apparently, he was named after his grandfather, but everyone called him Skip, probably because that's exactly what he liked to do with work.
I whirled toward his voice, and sure enough, spotted him relaxing near the supply shelves. He was sprawled out in his recliner – yes, an actual recliner that he'd lugged in yesterday.
Without bothering to get up, he gave me a look that suggested I was the one goofing off.
I gave him a look right back. "Were you sleeping?"
"No." He frowned like I'd just asked him to lift something heavier than his cellphone. "I was thinking."
Yeah, right.
Skip was tall and lanky, with dark brown hair that flopped into his eyes and a crisp white polo that had never seen a coffee stain.
He was kicked all the way back like he owned the place – which, unfortunately, he did, thanks to his parents, who'd bought him the coffee shop as a college graduation gift.
Apparently, they thought that running a small business would be the perfect use of his bachelor's degree – in philosophy, no less.
Except he wasn't running it.
Instead, he was running me ragged while he coasted on the fact he couldn't be fired.
And me? I couldn't quit, because I wasn't here for the money. Or at least, I hadn't been until two days ago, when I'd discovered that my roommate was in financial trouble.
But that was a problem for another time.
Right now, there was Skip. But maybe this wasn't all bad. Maybe, for once, the universe was throwing me a bone.
I tried to look casual – normal, even – as I said, "Hey…there's kind of a situation out front."
He squinted. "What kind of situation?"
"The, uh, people kind." I waved vaguely toward the swinging door. "Lots of them. Waiting. Getting restless."
His only reply was a slow, sleepy blink.
I stepped closer, forcing a bright tone. "So I was thinking maybe you could…you know…help?"
That got his attention – except now he looked annoyed. "You mean work the counter?"
Apparently, annoyance was contagious, because I couldn't stop myself from telling him, "You can't be on break forever, you know."
He shifted in his seat. "I'm not 'on break.' I'm brainstorming."
I almost rolled my eyes. "About what?"
"Management stuff."
"Fine. Then you might want to 'manage' the two guys up front. They seem…important."
Skip sighed, like I'd just asked him to donate a kidney. "Are they complaining?"
"Not yet. But they should be. They've been waiting forever. Everyone has."
He glanced toward the front. "Then what are you doing back here?"
"Well, maybe I came looking for you." It wasn't a lie if I said maybe, right? But then, guilt got the better of me and I added a dash of truth. "Plus, I need to box up some pastries."
"So box away," he said. "I'm not stopping you."
I stared. "So…you're just gonna sit in your recliner?"
"Yup."
I waited, hoping he'd elaborate. He didn't. Instead, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, mumbling something about team morale, which was adorable, since the team was me, myself, and I.
"Fine," I repeated. "But if you don't come out eventually, you're gonna lose customers. You do realize that, right?"
His only reply was another sigh, a longer one, like I was demanding two kidneys and a raise.
A raise was definitely out of the question, considering that he wasn't paying me at all. But that, like so many other things, was something to ponder later.
Now, I had Ryder Vaughn plus a line of customers so long, they could've started their own conga line.
I stared at my boss for another beat as I considered pelting him with the nearest muffin. But that would only waste another pastry, this time, for good. I mean, it's not like I had a dog.
Whatever. If Skip wasn't going to help, I had two choices – bluff it out with Ryder Vaughn or flee out the back.
I eyed the rear exit. And then I eyed the swinging door to the front.
My jaw clenched. By now, I'd just about had it. I'd spent the last month looking over my shoulder and watching every step.
This wasn't me.
At least, not usually.
When exactly had I become a coward?
That did it. I straightened my spine and gave the connecting door a long, determined look. Screw leaving.
What would the old Tessa do?
The old Tessa would march straight out there and deal with Ryder Vaughn head-on. And she wouldn't be a pushover either.
But I couldn't walk out there empty-handed – not after staying so long in the back. And I couldn't be stupid about it. I needed proof of progress, something boxed up, something that said, hey, I was just grabbing pastries, not hiding out.
Moving quickly, I grabbed a pastry box and yanked open the nearest rack of baked goods. Then I froze. My eyes narrowed, and a slow grin tugged at my lips. No raisins, huh?
On the rack, a few dozen cranberry muffins sat like a silent challenge, daring me to be bold. Nearby, I spotted a fresh batch of cranberry cookies, which I'd pulled from the oven just an hour ago.
Perfect.
I grabbed four of the muffins and then four of the cookies – placing them neatly into the box. And because my sanity had apparently left the building, I grabbed four plain bagels, slathered them with cream cheese, and sprinkled them with cranberries. Lots of cranberries.
There. No raisins.
I snapped the lid shut and sealed it with plenty of white tape. Finally, I squared my shoulders and turned toward the front.
It was time to face the music – or in this case, Ryder Vaughn.