8. Lovable Quirks #2
Great. First, I nearly destroyed the espresso machine, and now I’m insulting customers to other customers.
My only saving grace is that Owen isn’t here to witness my full-scale meltdown, though I’ll have to confess eventually.
The thought of admitting I couldn’t handle one morning rush by myself makes my eyes sting, and a lump forms fast in my throat.
I was such an idiot to think I could do this. Why hadn’t Owen told me no?
My knight in plum yoga pants gets to work, pulling out compartments and pressing buttons in a precise, practiced order.
The machine whirs to life, mercifully quieter this time.
I sincerely hope she knows what she’s doing, since I’m never touching that thing again.
I drag in a few steadying breaths and turn back to the counter, letting her work her magic.
“Just the two bagels,” Mrs. Patterson says, like she hasn’t just witnessed the freak-out of the century.
She grabs her selections from the basket as I punch in her order.
At least one part of my plan for the morning worked.
“Unless Grace has managed to get that contraption going again. I told Owen the old regular pot worked fine. No one in this town cares about Americanos and mocha whatevers.”
“Speak for yourself,” my new helper—Grace, apparently—laughs. “It’s up and running. Plain boring black coffee for you, then?”
Mrs. Patterson hesitates. “Well…since you worked hard to fix it… Maybe a hazelnut macchiato?”
Grace rolls her eyes, and I hide my laugh by pretending to be extremely focused on counting change.
By the time Owen texts to say he’s a few minutes out, Grace and I have the cafe back under control, and I’ve officially made friends with the espresso machine again.
“You should’ve seen Owen’s face the first time it did that to him,” she laughs around a bite of complimentary blueberry muffin. Honestly, she deserves a whole basket. Bushel? Whatever the collective noun for muffin is. “I thought the man might actually cry.”
I snort. The idea of anything truly rattling Owen feels impossible, but it’s comforting to know I’m not the only one Grace has had to rescue. Apparently, nearly blowing up the espresso machine is a rite of passage at Delilah’s, and I should feel honored to have survived my initiation mostly intact.
She’s kind enough not to mention that without her, I’d still be hyperventilating behind the counter.
“How’d you even know how to fix it?” I ask, sliding into the chair across from her, now the rush has died down. I angle myself so I can still see the counter in case someone needs me.
“I help out here and there over the summers. Believe me, I’m well acquainted with all its lovable quirks.”
Lovable is an interesting choice of words.
“I haven’t seen you ‘round here before,” she adds. “How long have you been in town?”
“About a month. Owen rescued me from the literal side of the road and has let me squat ever since. I work here to earn my keep.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Huh.”
“What?” I ask.
“Oh. Nothing. He’s known for likin’ his space, is all.” She shrugs. “Until Annabelle, he’s always lived alone. Never had a girlfriend. Or a roommate.”
She says roommate with a definitely implied tone, and I get stuck on the small, knowing smirk that follows. Before I can ask what that’s about, the door chimes, and the man himself walks in. His eyes sweep the cafe first, likely checking everything is still in one piece, before they land on us.
“Grace!” The name carries more inflection than I’ve ever heard from him. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”
“Got in last night. Lucky thing, too—Finley almost had his ass handed to him by Old McSteamy.”
I gasp, clutching my chest. “I thought it was going to be our little secret.”
She doesn’t look even remotely sorry for outing me. Owen, on the other hand, looks genuinely mortified. “Ah, shit. I forgot to warn you about that. You doing okay?”
Refusing to let him off the hook yet, I purse my lips and nod forlornly. “I’m probably going to need a raise to cover therapy.”
He sees right through my little show but sets his hand on my shoulder as he passes, sending sparks you’d think I’d be immune to by now racing down my spine.
“A raise might be arranged, considering how much I owe you. Annabelle was so excited when I dropped her off. I didn’t even get a goodbye. She took one look at her teacher and bolted.”
“Can I come with you later to pick her up?”
The smile he gives me curls low in my stomach. “She’d love that.”
The bell over the door rings again, stealing his attention before I’m ready, and he strides off to greet the new arrival.
It’s possible I watch his ass move and flex in his tight jeans the entire way back to the counter.
When it tragically disappears behind the display cases, I let out a sigh and refocus on Grace, who’s watching me, her expression deeply amused.
“What?” I whisper behind my hands. “He’s hot. Sue me.”
“Didn’t say a word.” She stands, grinning at me, and brushes muffin crumbs from her leggings. “I should probably head out. Would you wanna grab dinner later this week? I know you’re enjoyin’ Owen’s company,” she adds lightly, “but it’s always good to have another local friend.”
The word friend lands with such possibility, it sets a wave of excitement rushing through me. “Yeah,” I say, a little too fast. “That’d be awesome.”
She hands me her phone so I can punch in my number, before pulling me into a quick hug, and pressing a kiss to my cheek on the way out. “Bye, Finley.”
When I turn back toward the counter, Owen is watching me. There’s something in his expression I can’t read—gone almost as soon as I notice it. Not anger. Not sadness, exactly. Something like confusion, maybe, flickers beneath the surface before he schools his features into a careful smile.
It was probably unprofessional of me to hug a customer. I make a mental note not to do that again and start wiping down tables. Still, I feel every time Owen’s eyes land on me like a brand for the rest of the morning.