Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
CHLOE
Conversation buzzes through Mugs, most of it revolving around our new range of T-shirts.
Willow had this great idea to create a few “masculine” shirts with fishing puns on them, and boy, was she right.
The barnacles each bought one and are currently wearing them over their own shirts.
Our stock is already down to three larges, and now she wants to design a matching travel mug to add to our yellow one.
Hopefully, we’ll have them ready for the start of the season.
With the way shipping is on this island, only time will tell.
I drag my gaze from my customers back to our newest barista, Tilly, right as she shoves the wand into the milk just a little too deep. “Remember, you’re trying to foam the top, not boil it from the bottom,” I remind her for what feels like the hundredth time.
She’ll get it eventually.
Grimacing, she lowers the milk a little at a time, until she hits that perfect note.
“Right there,” I say, chuckling as she freezes. “Do you hear the difference?”
All I get is a nod. I tried her with customers yesterday, but she’s so quiet, she can barely be heard over the ding of the register. Hence, her “promotion” to coffee extraordinaire.
“You’re doing so great,” I tell her. Sometimes all it takes is one person to boost you up and make their perception of you a reality in your own mind.
I want to be that person for these kids.
Heck, for everyone. The world beats you down enough.
Folks don’t need that nonsense over their morning coffee.
Tilly mutters a quiet, “Thanks,” her grimace slowly melting into a smile.
The door chimes, and I leave Tilly to her milk, keeping an ear out to make sure she doesn’t boil the crap out of it. Lily Jane steps through the entrance, the fringes on her jacket swishing as she makes her way through the tables.
“Good morning, Chloe,” she says with a smile. Her fringes whack the edge of the counter as she pops the lids off of not one, but two travel mugs.
“Morning. Here for the usual?” It’s her lucky day—there’s a fresh batch of blueberry scones just out of the oven.
“Yes, please. And if I could also have a black coffee in this one, and a Reuben to go, that would be great.”
Hmm. She came in for the same thing yesterday as well.
Interesting.
“That’s no problem,” I reply. “Is Peter in town?” Lily Jane’s son lives just outside of Nashville now, but he comes back from time to time.
Her smile widens. “Nope.”
Very interesting.
“You don’t usually get coffee.” And not once in all my years of owning Mugs have I heard of her ordering a Reuben. Her wife is vegan and doesn’t drink caffeine, so this must be for someone else.
Come to think of it, there’s been a streak of Reubens ordered nice and early. Almost suspiciously so. I’d dare to say there’s been one for every day since Mr. Punctuality arrived.
“Oh, it’s not for me.” She beams as she tosses a twenty onto the counter, offering nothing more.
It’d be super weird if I were to keep asking, but I’m dying to know how in the world my neighbor convinced her to be his coffee mule.
She tells me to keep the change, then sits down beside Old Tom to enjoy her scone and wait for the sandwich. I have half a mind to push the subject, but then Mrs. Paulson comes in with her friend Winnie, ordering green tea and blueberry muffins.
Willow disappears into the back, returning with Lily Jane’s Reuben.
Discretely, I slip out from behind the counter, leaving enough distance that she doesn’t even realize I’m following her.
Through the window, I watch as she brings the brown paper sack and extra travel mug over to a certain truck with Pennsylvania plates.
Looks like the instant coffee and Lucky Charms weren’t enough for my dear neighbor.
The thought of him going through all this trouble to eat my food and drink my coffee leaves me grinning.
It feels good to win.
I cannot wait for the opportunity to rub this into his grumpy face.
Between training Tilly and helping customers, the morning flies by. Unlike the other day, this time I’m prepared when a text buzzes through from Rick at around one.
Rick
Can’t wait to see u 2nite! Wanna grab dinner at the Sand Dollar?
Not really. But I haven’t seen Rick since last Christmas, so I do the right thing and text back, letting him know I’ll be ready by four-thirty.
“Hey, Tom?” I call out.
My favorite customer pushes off his chair, shuffling over to the counter with his freshly topped-up coffee clutched in his weathered hand, his blue fish T-shirt still proudly on display. “What do you need, Sunshine?”
The week has gotten away from me, so I haven’t had a chance to get my car fixed. With Rick coming by tonight, I won’t have time after work today either. That leaves only one other option. “Would you mind asking Young Tom to swing by my place and take a look at my tire?”
“Would I?” He chuckles. “I’d be pleased as punch—and so will he.”
“Thanks, Tom.” I’m regretting my choice already.
The rest of the day passes quickly, and by the time my bike squeaks into my driveway, I’m ready for a surf and a snooze.
Unfortunately, the latter isn’t on the cards.
The wind whips my hair into my face when I knock my kickstand into place. A high-pitched mechanical whirr screams from my neighbor’s house. He’s kneeling on his back deck with a piece of wood and a drill in his hand.
Shirtless.
His smuggled coffee and Reubens appear to have served him a little too well.
It really is such a shame he’s a jerk because never have I ever seen shoulders or arms or abs like that. There aren’t six. There are eight. I know because I count them. Twice.
Either he loves the gym or he’s related to Thor.
Don’t even get me started on the light dusting of dark hair covering his extremely toned chest. If you looked up “manly” in the dictionary, his picture would be right next to it.
All that exposed skin has the tell-tale pink glow from too much sun. He probably thinks that a cloudy sky means you can’t get sunburnt. Fool. It’s none of my business if he wants to end up looking like a lobster.
I’m still in my driveway not staring at my neighbor when Young Tom shows up to fix my tire.
He climbs down out of his faded blue pickup, a bright smile on his thin face that reminds me a little too much of his grandfather. “Hey, Chloe. You’re lookin’ as fine as ever.”
Young Tom may be young, but he’s also good for my ego. “Nice to see you, Tom. Thanks for coming over on such short notice.”
“There’s no need to thank me. I’m more than happy to help you out anytime you want.” When he winks, I have to bite back my laugh. Who taught him to flirt? His grandpa?
Tom is all bravado, retrieving the tools from my trunk and laying them out next to the tire he brought with him. Then it comes time to stick the jack under the car, and he can’t seem to figure out how to make the thing go up.
“Do you know how to change a tire, Tom?” I ask.
His face pales. “Of course I do. There’s just something wrong with this jack.”
I have a feeling the problem isn’t with the jack.
“How about I look it up?” YouTube DIY videos and I are well-acquainted.
“There’s no need for that. You just put this right under here and… um…”
After five minutes of watching Tom struggle, I drag out my phone so we can both watch the video. This is something I should probably know how to do anyway.
Thirty seconds in, my very grumpy—and very shirtless—neighbor stomps down his stairs, strolls over to where we stand, and kneels beside the car.
Tom looks pointedly at me, then at my neighbor, and back at me. I can’t introduce them because I still don’t know the butthead’s name, and calling him “the butthead” right now seems in bad taste considering he’s actually doing something helpful for the first time since we met.
Why is he being so helpful, anyway? He’s not supposed to have any redeeming qualities.
“So… um…” Tom moves a little closer to me, his smile strained. “Do you know this guy?”
Besides the fact that he’s grumpier than a crab and has a thing for burnt coffee, Reubens, and Lucky Charms? Nope. “He’s my new neighbor.”
Tom frowns down at him, then turns pointedly back to me. “How’s… um… work?”
“Work is wonderful.”
“I… um… like your shirt.”
“What? Oh, thank you.” The giant sunshine mug on the front is one of my favorite graphics that Willow has drawn.
For some reason, Tom’s compliment makes my neighbor snort.
Poor Tom’s face turns bright pink, and I have to resist the urge to kick my neighbor while he’s removing the nuts on the wheel. Or are they bolts? Whatever they’re called, he’s taking them off.
The fact that he still hasn’t said a word only makes this whole scenario more bizarre.
He could have given us his name when Tom asked, but no. It’s like he’s enjoying the awkwardness.
Tom turns away from me, asking if my neighbor needs any help, which earns him a clipped, “Nope,” in return.
Did this guy work as part of a pit crew in a past life? He has the tire changed already. Looks like there wasn’t anything wrong with the jack after all.
Tom mutters his thanks, and my neighbor nods in acknowledgement as he brings the jack and wrench around to my trunk and slips them back into place.
I drag my gaze away from him, finding Tom bending the bill of his baseball cap between his hands, a hopeful look on his youthful face.
“So, Chloe, if you’re not… um… busy later,” he mumbles, “I’d love to take you out.”
There it is, the moment I was hoping to avoid.
“It’s sweet of you to ask, but I have dinner plans tonight.” And thank goodness for that. If he’d come over any other day this week, I’d probably have said yes to keep from disappointing him.
Tom hikes his thumb toward the back of the car, his voice low. “With that guy?”
“Ha. No. Definitely not.” I prefer men who know how to smile, thank you very much.
Mr. Punctuality slaps my trunk closed.
“Oh… Maybe next time.” Tom fits his hat back onto his head, then beelines for his truck.
I’m not sure what the heck just happened, but since my neighbor is already climbing his stairs, I don’t bother asking.
Guess I’ll just stand back and enjoy the view.