Brunette? What Brunette?
Griff
As Ryder and I headed into the java joint, the smell of coffee hit me hard – and not in a bad way. For the first time since stepping off that ferry, I felt almost human – until Ryder ruined it by saying, "You still look like hell, by the way."
I rubbed at my eyes. "Yeah, because I didn't sleep."
As we joined the long line at the counter, he gave me a curious glance. "Not even in the limo?"
Especially not in the limo. I'd spent most of that long-ass drive cursing my own stupidity. "No."
"Why?" he laughed. "Because you were still drunk?"
"No. Because I had better things to do."
This wasn't far-fetched. Throughout the years, I'd done plenty of business on the road. It was amazing what a guy could accomplish with a simple cell phone. Of course, this latest trip had occurred in the middle of the night with zero traffic, taking me to a place I hadn't wanted to go.
What a cluster.
Next to me, Ryder said, "Things to do, huh?" He chuckled. "Like what? Drink yourself stupid?" But then he paused. "Nah, you were already drunk."
No shit.
Ryder was still talking. "If I know you – and I'm pretty sure I do – you spent most of that drive trying to figure a way out of it."
He was only half right. Cursing aside, I'd spent the first half looking for a way out and the second half sulking. I'm not proud to say it . I wasn't a sulker by nature, but sometimes, a guy had to do what a guy had to do.
And me? I'd had to sulk – if only to get it out of my system.
But it was time to shake it off. I hadn't clawed my way up just to cry uncle when the cards took a turn for the worse. And now that I was here, my wheels were already turning.
Step one. Conserve cash.
To Ryder, I said, "Buy me a pastry while you're at it."
He smirked. "I'll do better than that. I'll buy you a dozen."
I was too exhausted to roll my eyes. "You're a hell of a guy."
He clapped a hand over his heart. "Don't I know it."
When we finally reached the counter, Ryder ordered two black coffees along with a dozen pastries to go.
The lone barista – a pretty blue-eyed blonde – gave him a winning smile. "What kind of pastries?" She gestured toward the display case. "We've got cookies, muffins, bagels…"
When Ryder turned to me with a questioning look, I only shrugged. Normally, I had an iron stomach, but not today. With a hard swallow, I told him, "You pick."
Ryder turned back to the barista. "What he really means is you pick, because I'm not doing jack."
She cocked an eyebrow. "You sure you wanna do that?"
"Why wouldn't I?" Ryder asked.
She lowered her voice to a mock whisper. "Because if I pick, you run the risk of raisin."
Ryder barked a laugh. "Man, that's cold."
She smiled. "Not if you like raisins."
Which I didn't. My stomach roiled, and I spoke up. "No raisins. Just grab whatever lasts the longest."
Her smile faltered. "Sorry…I'm not quite following."
"He means," Ryder said, "grab whatever takes the longest to rot."
Her smile vanished. " Nothing we serve 'rots.'" She hitched a thumb toward the wall behind her. "See?" I followed the thumb and spotted the latest health inspection notice, which boasted a score of 100 percent.
But Ryder didn't even look. Instead, he leaned casually over the glass counter and said, "Sure, not right away. But give it time."
Her eyes narrowed. "Is that a joke?"
"I'm just saying, even raisins were grapes once ." He leaned back and crossed his arms. "Think about that ."
The barista blinked slowly, like the only thing she was thinking was how far she could toss him if he said another word.
I spoke up. "Just ignore him. That's what I do." I tried for a friendly smile. "Make it half cookies, half muffins, alright?" When she opened her mouth to ask what kind, I added, "You pick the flavors – whatever's best." But then I paused. "Just no raisin, okay?"
Her gaze shifted to Ryder, and her mouth thinned. "Perfect. I'll be right back with your order." With that, she turned and marched into the back room.
I looked down at the glass case full of pastries. Why not grab some of those? I leaned toward Ryder and hissed, "If there's spit in my coffee, it'll be your fault."
With a laugh, he pointed to the coffee dispenser, just a few feet away. "She can't. We'd see her."
Unlike Ryder, I wasn't so trusting. Plus, there was the matter of the pastries. The line behind us was only growing, and she still hadn't returned. I glanced around the crowded shop. Was she working here alone? It sure looked that way.
I looked back to Ryder. "Then why'd she disappear?"
Before he could answer, Raisin Girl emerged from the back, carrying a white pastry box. She handed the box to Ryder, saying, "I grabbed some cookies fresh from the oven. I figured since you wanted them to last, I'd make sure you had the newest."
Ryder tossed her a grin. "Smart move."
She laughed. "Oh, you have no idea."
Damn it. Laughing or not, she was still annoyed. I could see it in her eyes – even if she was working hard to hide it.
As Ryder handed me the box, I gave it a long wary look. She'd sealed it with white tape in multiple places. If I were a dick – which I tried not to be – I would open the box right now and give its contents a thorough inspection.
But at the thought of doing anything related to food, my stomach gave an ominous lurch. The box, I decided, would need to stay closed – at least until I'd choked down some coffee.
I almost sighed. Great. I was going soft already.
A moment later, she was handing both of us our coffees, filled from the nearby dispenser, just as Ryder had predicted.
He elbowed me in the ribs. "See? No spit."
At the comment, the barista's gaze sharpened – even as her smile remained fixed.
She made no comment as Ryder paid with cash, tossed an extra hundred onto the counter, and told her to keep the change. "For the trouble," he explained with a grin.
She stared at the hundred. "I shouldn't take this."
Ryder laughed. "Why not?"
Her gaze strayed to the box, and she hesitated. "It's too much."
"Or maybe ," Ryder said, "it's not enough."
"But – "
Just then, an elderly woman called out, "Oh, for God's sake! Just take the money so I can get my damn coffee, alright?"
Ryder grinned. "Hey, you heard the woman."
The barista paused for only a moment before pocketing the hundred and mumbling, "Uh…thanks." With a final glance at the box, she said with a wobbly smile, "Enjoy the pastries."
Call it intuition, but I had the distinct impression that I wouldn't. Still, I tried to look on the bright side. The way I felt now , I wouldn't be eating today, anyway.
And tomorrow? By then, who knows? If things went South, I'd be ready to choke down anything.
I took a long sip of my coffee, not giving a damn that I should've let it cool. Some might say the day was looking up.
But me? I wasn't so sure.
As we left the shop, I stopped just outside the front window and looked toward the dock. By now, another ferry was disembarking, releasing a whole new crowd of people – all of whom looked happier to be here than I was.
I was still staring when Ryder asked, "So… who was the brunette?"
Good question. I didn't know her name, but I did have a clue. Pickett's Pedals.
Yeah, I'd clocked the shirt – just as I'd clocked the sweet curves underneath. But unlike that jackass in blue, I'd had the good sense not to stare.
I hadn't liked him staring either. Asshole .
Thinking about it now wasn't helping my mood. Still, I kept my voice level as I turned to Ryder and asked, "What brunette?"
This made him smirk. "The one on the dock. Cute, dark hair, nice ass..."
I stiffened. "I don't know who you mean."
"Bullshit," he said. "And she looked so damned earnest. Small-towners, am I right?"
He wasn't wrong about that . She'd been nicer than I deserved. And that went double for the jackass in blue.
But there was no way I'd be saying any of this to Ryder, so I replied with a shrug that he could take however he wanted.
And of course, Ryder refused to let it drop. "Did she say if she was single?"
The question rubbed me raw, and I couldn't say why. My jaw flexed as I replied, "No. She didn't."
Ryder chuckled. "Easy there. Just curious."
"Yeah, well don't be," I grumbled. "I owe her an apology, thanks to you."
"Me?" he scoffed. "I wasn't even there."
I pointed down toward our feet. It was no coincidence that we were standing on the same stretch of sidewalk where I'd spotted Ryder from the dock. "Right. Because you were standing here , gawking like a jackass."
"So?"
"So it distracted the hell out of me." No lie. I'd been so shocked to see him that I'd missed half of whatever the brunette had been saying.
As usual, Ryder had no shame. "Yeah, I could tell."
When I replied with barely a grunt, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver key attached to a rustic keychain. He gave the key a quick dangle and said, "Now c'mon, I'll show you the place."
I gave the key a tired look. "Terrific. I can't wait." As we turned to leave, I glanced down at the pastry box in my hands. The box looked harmless enough. And hey, it wasn't ticking, so that was good at least.
Still, I'd be a fool to trust it.
If I were a betting man – and apparently I was – I'd bet on raisins all the way down.