Chapter 11 #2
“The best way to get to know me is by meeting the rest of the town,” I said honestly. “Eleven minutes,” I reminded him, quickly moving on so that he wouldn’t have time to stew.
“Right.” Joe nodded seriously. His ears were practically glowing as I handed him the inventory list.
“I’ve already gone through food and clothing.
The last things I need to move are the bigger items. Here, I’ll show you where they’re at.
” Joe followed me to the stockroom, and his eyebrows shot up when he saw the number of TVs that needed carrying.
“I figure we can tackle them toge—oh.” And there he was.
Lifting up one of the massive boxes like it was nothing.
Without straining even an iota, Joe marched out of the stockroom, muscles bulging.
This was going to be easier than I thought.
“You got it?” I called after him.
He ignored me, striding with purpose back to the front without bothering to reply.
“Okay.” I blew out a breath.
When he returned, I offered to help, and the stink face he gave me was legendary.
So, I retired to the register at the front to enjoy the show.
I was content to take a break, as I’d been up for hours already doing everything else.
God, my body hated this. My stomach was turning inside out from the lack of sleep, and I desperately needed a snack.
“I’m going to grab some food from the break room,” I offered as Joe stalked past me with another giant TV box. “I am dying.” I laid a hand over my stomach to demonstrate, but he didn’t look. “You want anything? I’ve got donuts, orange juice, cocoa, coffee.”
“Cocoa,” Joe said immediately. “Please.”
“Alright. One cocoa coming right up.” I headed off quickly, eager to get something in my stomach so I’d feel slightly less like a zombie.
When I returned, I had my handy-dandy tumbler—a gift from Marybeth last Christmas—in hand, as well as a mug of cocoa.
Two donuts were balanced on top of my tumbler, wobbling with every step.
Joe twisted to look at me, all dark blue eyes, and adorable frown. He brushed his hands off, straightening from where he’d neatly stacked the last of the TVs. He was quick to reach out to help me, snagging the mug from me.
“A donut too, big guy,” I urged, always eager to feed him.
His stomach growled and he scowled like it was doing it on purpose. He did grab the donut, though, and muffled a thank you around his first bite.
“Sure thing. Sugar probably isn’t the best thing to load up on this early in the morning, but it sure as hell beats an empty stomach.
” I leaned against the register again, eating my food far slower than he did.
God, you’d think he was raised in a pack of wolves, fighting for every scrap of food.
I sipped my coffee, relaxing as the caffeine seeped into my bones.
“Ah, sweet, sweet bean juice,” I sighed. “My favorite.”
“Why do you call it that?” Joe asked, swallowing another bite. He took a sip of his cocoa and his eyes drifted shut. It was the packaged kind. Nothing special. Just hot water and powder. He didn’t seem to mind.
“Call it what? Bean juice?”
“Yeah.” He took another bite. There was icing on his lower lip, and I wanted to lick it off. I shivered at the thought. A glance at the clock showed we had less than five minutes before the first guests would arrive. He’d made record time.
“Because coffee is a bean,” I retorted.
Joe stared at me like I was insane. “No.”
“Yes.”
“It’s not a bean, Jason.” Joe laughed, incredulous. I stood up a little straighter, memorizing this moment. I was pretty sure I’d never heard him laugh before. It was soft, sweet, shy almost. Raspy.
“Sure it is,” I said.
“But it’s not.” There was this annoyed twitch to his brow that I fucking loved.
“Then what is it?” I was messing with him. He knew it, I knew it. But for the first time, it didn’t feel mean. It just felt…fun? Joe was having fun too, if the spark in his grouchy eyes could be believed.
He enjoyed the fight.
The challenge.
Especially because he knew he was right.
“Coffee comes from a fruit. A seed from a fruit.”
I knew he was right. But watching the almost befuddled expression on his face was the highlight of my day.
“That can’t be right,” I teased. “Then, why do they call them coffee beans?”
“Because of the shape, probably.” Joe’s face crinkled. “It’s a fruit, Jason,” he repeated, indignant. “If you don’t believe me, Google it.”
“I don’t know how that works.”
“You don’t know how to Google?” Joe seemed to find this even more perplexing. “How can you not know how to Google?”
“Those of us from the Jurassic era got our information other ways.”
“Yeah, right.” Joe rolled his eyes.
“I’m serious—” I pointed out. “You were born in an age with unlimited internet. Cellphones. You don’t understand what we went through.”
“You’re messing with me.”
“About cellphones?”
“About beans,” Joe shoved the last bite of donut in his mouth. “About—” His voice was muffled now, good manners thrown out the window apparently. “Google.”
“You’re right,” I confessed, throwing a hand over my forehead for dramatic effect. “I am messing with you. He triumphantly took a sip of his cocoa to wash down the donut.
“I do know how to Google,” I admitted. “But the bean thing—”
“Jesus Christ.” I’d never seen him so grouchy, or so amused. He pulled his phone out after swiping a hand over the back of his mouth to clear that pesky (delicious) icing away. “I’m gonna prove you wrong right now—”
Before he could, the door swung open.
I put my coffee and donut down and twisted to greet our first guest.
Right on time.
Joe and I were spurred into action. To his credit, Joe did pretty good with the strangers.
He was quiet, yes. Serious as ever. But he had this gentility about him that everyone seemed to gravitate toward.
It was that same part of him that allowed wild animals to approach, I’m sure.
The first customers, the shiest, the ones most in need went to him.
Like they could sense his gentle spirit.
Like he made them feel safe.
He was good with everyone of all ages too, when he wasn’t overwhelmed.
Young adults, teens, children.
The fossils, like me.
When all the early guests were gone and we had a lull between then and the real start of things, I made a quick dash for more coffee. I chugged what I could on my way back and was startled, but not surprised, when Joe’s hand shot in front of my face the second I was at my register.
More accurately, his phone shot in front of my face.
With an article pulled up.
About coffee beans.
I nearly spit my coffee out, and only through sheer love of the drink managed not to. I swallowed, setting my cup down with a laugh.
“Alright, alright. I concede defeat, Mr. Smarty Pants.”
Joe looked triumphant. He shoved his phone back in the pocket of his tight, tight jeans. His hands went to his hips, chest puffing up as he nodded.
“This time—” I jabbed one of those delightfully bouncy pecs. Ah. Youthful testosterone. What a gift. “But, I reserve the right to continue to call it bean juice.”
I’d never seen him this way, so eager and pleased. He was beaming at me, despite my words. “Okay,” he said. “So long as you know you’re wrong every time you do it.”
You’d think no one had ever called him smart before, he looked so damn happy.
“You’re such a brat,” I laughed, delighted. “Never change.”
Joe made trying easier than it’d ever been before.