Don’t Fool Yourself (Falling for a Bridger #1)

1. Rose

rose

Contrary to popular belief, Reed Bridger isn’t a gargoyle.

Sure, my boss occasionally scares customers away with his grumpy attitude and he once made a little girl cry just by looking at her.

But he’s not made of stone. After working with him for a year and a half, I’ve learned to spot the subtle differences in his ever-present scowls.

A twitch at the corners of his mouth says, “I got your joke, but I refuse to laugh.”

Eyebrows tugged down and an accompanying groan says, “That’s enough Harry Styles talk for the day.”

The scowl he’s currently wearing, his lips slanted at an angle with one eyebrow raised, says, “Yes, Rose, your plan to have Perk Me Up join in the fun at Sunshine at Sunset is a fantastic idea. I can’t wait to give you a raise to thank you for such a forward-thinking plan. You are my favorite employee.”

Reed crosses his arms, his deep brown eyes never wavering from mine. “No.”

Okay, discerning his scowls isn’t an exact science.

I move closer, flashing my brightest “I refuse to accept your refusal” smile. I use that one a lot with him. “Don’t be so stubborn. It’s a great opportunity for the coffee shop.”

Lila Parrish—wait, Lila Irwin now—Sunshine’s tourism coordinator, just left after inviting us to be a vendor at the new summer concert series starting soon.

She’s been revitalizing our community events, and her plan to showcase local bands once a week at a park in town is just the latest exciting addition.

Everyone in Sunshine is looking forward to it.

Well. Everyone except my boss, Mr. Grumpy Bear.

Reed is only a few years older than I am, but he acts like an old man guarding his perfectly manicured lawn from pesky neighborhood children.

For working in retail, he’s got a terrible customer service face.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice face. Tousled dark hair that’s perpetually falling across his thick eyebrows, full lips beneath a short beard, and expressive eyes.

Unfortunately, those eyes are usually expressing annoyance. Like right now.

“We’ve never done a coffee cart before,” he says.

“And we never served boba tea before Lila and I convinced you to bring that on board. Look at how successful that’s been.”

His frown flattens, proof my enthusiasm’s not getting through to him. “It’s too short notice. We don’t have time to get it on the calendar.”

I scoff. “My Thursday nights are free.”

I’m currently sitting on a surplus of free nights. My social calendar is so dusty, it’s an allergy hazard.

I already wanted to go to the concert series to listen to the bands. This way, instead of sitting on a picnic blanket by myself, I’ll be running Perk Me Up’s coffee cart, talking with townies and tourists, and forgetting how lonely I am for a few hours.

And making a little money, I guess, but the main draw is the social aspect.

It’s why I like working in the coffee shop in the first place. I’ve worked everything from retail to corporate, but this is my favorite by far. It’s usually fast-paced, I get to talk to people all day, and I like my coworkers. Even the grouchy one.

“Troy has classes in the evenings,” Reed says.

That’s another thing I like about working here.

Reed might wear a perma-frown, but he’s a solid boss.

He pays us great wages and listens well enough to know that our third coworker, Troy, is taking night classes to get a certification in website design.

I’ve had bosses who couldn’t bother to remember my name.

“It’s only a couple of hours once a week. I can run the coffee cart by myself.”

His mouth thins. “You don’t even know how big the crowds will be. It might be too much for just you.”

“What do your Thursday nights look like?” I ask with a syrupy smile.

I’m pretty sure his nights are as wide-open as mine, but he’s so tight-lipped, it’s hard to say for certain. He could have a girlfriend, a side hustle, or a pet goat, and I’d never know.

He should really tell me about his pet goat if he has one.

He just stares at me like he’s calculating something. He’s awful at small talk, but staring is one of his special skills. I don’t bother trying to differentiate his stares. They’re all the same: piercing.

My “win Reed over” scheme gets interrupted when a couple of regulars walk in.

“We’re not done,” I tell him before he can disappear into the back office the way he typically does when conversations go on longer than he likes. Meaning, more than three sentences.

He looms behind the counter while I prepare drinks for Ada and Isabel, two older busybodies whose lively antics make me laugh.

Before she left to travel the world, Mom was part of their wider friend group.

Today, the ladies are chattering about a book character and debating the definition of a “himbo.”

At least, I hope they’re talking about a book character.

My skin tingles as if Reed’s watching my every move. While he can make the complicated drinks we’re known for—and that he lets me select for our seasonal menu—he’s more comfortable with Americano orders. If he is watching me, it’s purely for educational purposes.

Obviously.

Once I’ve served the vanilla Frappuccino and iced caramel latte, and our guests are back out the door, I turn to him, my long skirt swishing around my calves.

He’s still in frowny mode, but I like to think I know Reed pretty well by now.

He can’t stand change, he thinks surprises are the worst, and he loves a good plan. So I’ll meet him on his turf.

“We’ll offer a pared-down menu to keep it easy to manage.

” I launch in, ticking ideas off on my fingers.

“We’ll take the small back-up espresso machine, a cooler for pitchers of cold brew and milk, and a few flavoring syrups.

We can pick up a folding table and an awning, and we should probably have a banner made.

The rest is just cups, straws, and napkins. ”

His eyebrows twitch in what I’m going to file under “surprise.” “When did you plan all this?”

“While I was listening to Ada and Isabel.” It might sound like planning, but really, it’s just running wild with an impulsive whim. That’s my favorite kind of plan.

His mouth tugs at both corners. Amusement. A good sign!

“Come on.” If Reed was a touchy-feely type of man and also not my boss, I would grab both his biceps to drive my point home.

In addition to his perma-frown, Reed dresses in perma-flannel, and I just know that blue check is the softest thing ever.

But I restrain myself. “It’s a great opportunity. You want us to succeed, don’t you?”

Sometimes, I’m not entirely positive he does.

I’ve heard enough from Troy to know the coffee shop fell into Reed’s hands unexpectedly.

Which goes back to my point about him not liking surprises.

I can never be sure he wouldn’t be secretly relieved if the whole place burned down.

He’d probably be sleeping peacefully with the matches under his pillow.

“You said it yourself,” he rumbles out. “It’s only a few hours one night a week. That’s not going to make or break the business.”

I grin up at him. “That means it’s the perfect low-stress chance to try out this coffee cart idea.”

He stares at me so long, the back of my neck gets warm, like he’s testing out Superman’s laser beam eyes. Or like he’s resting his hand there. Which, obviously, he wouldn’t because he’s my boss and we’re not like that.

“You really want to do this?” he finally says.

“Yes! It will be fun to serve coffee while listening to live music.” A concert in the park at twilight sounds magical to me, but some of us are less whimsical than others.

“From what I’ve heard of the lineup, Lila’s giving everyone time who wants it. Your eardrums will regret your choices after two weeks, guaranteed.”

I gesture up at him. “How long have you been a grouchy eighty-five-year-old man?”

“Thirty-four years.”

Sounds about right. I bet he was the grumpiest baby. With absurdly broad shoulders and a frustration line between his eyebrows from birth.

“How about this? If it turns out to be a bust, I promise not to bring up paint chips and color schemes for a whole year.”

One dark eyebrow lifts as though I’ve got him on the hook.

I should have thought of a bribe from the start.

Perk Me Up is all shiny white walls, drab gray cement floors, and dark-stained wood.

I’m a maximalist at heart, and the lack of oomph in here gets to me.

I’ve tried to convince Reed to add some color to the place, but I haven’t brought him around yet.

“A year?” he confirms.

“You’re right. Six months.”

He exhales an approximation of a laugh. He shakes his head, and I’m about to dive into Round Two of my pro-coffee cart arguments when he cuts me off.

“Okay. We’ll do it.”

I freeze. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He sounds like he’s agreeing to cater a morgue, but I will take the reluctant acceptance.

“Yes!” I pump my fists in quick celebration. “This is going to be so much fun.”

“So much fun,” he repeats, deadpan.

I hold out my hand to shake on our obviously very official business deal. “Thanks for agreeing to it, coffee buddy.”

His gaze dips down to my hand, and he stifles another would-be laugh. I half expect him to walk away from my silliness, but he takes my hand in his. His hand is big and warm, the perfect mix of strong and soft.

On a scale from one to ten, how bad is it that tingles rush up my arm while I’m shaking my boss’s hand? I’m guessing at least a nine. But I smile even wider and pump his hand a few times for good measure.

“Coffee buddy,” he echoes.