5. Reed
reed
I never should have agreed to the coffee cart idea.
First, working at a single folding table means cramped quarters. Rose and I are constantly brushing against each other as we serve drinks. Touching her this much without really touching her has me on edge. I’m a bomb that’s one delicate arm sliding against mine away from going off.
Second, Rose keeps dancing to the music. She does sometimes in the shop if a song she loves comes on over the sound system. But putting a brief bounce in her step has nothing on this.
She’s shimmying. Hips swaying, shoulders moving in time to music I’m actively trying to block out. It’s like she searched my brain for the exact motions that would get me to short-circuit and she’s made it her mission to check off every one.
I’m trying not to look, I swear. But I’ve memorized the shape of her in that pale blue sundress anyway. The curve of her neck, exposed with her hair up in a bun. The maddening dark tendrils hanging down, demanding I touch them.
I won’t. But my fingers flex as I resist the urge.
Maybe the worst part are the happy grins she keeps shooting my way. She’s overjoyed to be here and wants to be sure I’m enjoying myself, too.
I am enjoying myself. But not for the reasons she thinks.
“This band’s pretty good, right?” She’s close, of course, her shoulder touching my arm as she gazes up at me.
“Better than the opener.”
“Oh, stop.” She darts out a hand to lightly smack my arm but must change her mind halfway there. Her hand grazes over my flannel shirt, the soft non-touch somehow worse than an actual caress. “They tried their best.”
“I think that’s the problem.” High schoolers squawking into a microphone and banging wildly at their instruments don’t make for the most satisfying songs. Yet Rose still danced.
I might have hated the music, but I can’t deny I appreciated the results.
To be fair, she’s not the only one caught up in the moment. Between picnic blankets and lawn chairs, people are on their feet, gyrating like it’s Coachella instead of a concert in the park. Or Sunshine at Sunset, as the flyers around town call it.
“I don’t listen to much bluegrass.” She shimmies again, a movement I struggle not to fixate on. Her black Perk Me Up apron conceals most of the motion, but I can’t miss the jut of her hips and how her skirt sways around her. “But the banjo player knows what he’s doing.”
“Could you tell if he didn’t?”
She shakes her head at my empty negativity and greets the customers approaching our table.
My doubts about how busy we would be tonight were crushed by the line that formed before we finished setting up our faux cart.
We’ve been slammed all evening, with only brief breaks to catch our breath.
I would think it’s too late in the day and too warm of an evening to serve up this much coffee, but I’ve always misjudged the chokehold caffeine has on people.
We serve half a dozen more customers before we get another moment to ourselves. Rose keeps flashing me her wide, beautiful grin. I can’t tell if she’s gloating or nudging me to admit I was wrong. Both seem too self-serving for her.
“What?” I finally say.
“I’m just glad we’re doing this. Isn’t it more fun than sitting at home alone?”
“You underestimate how much I like being alone.”
For a second, her smile falters. Barely a drop of her lips, but I know her full grin well enough to spot the change. I don’t know what it’s like to be made of sunshine the way she is, but I hate that I’m the guy who would be a storm cloud, ready to drown out her light.
“You’re right, though,” I hear myself grumble. “It’s not bad.”
Her smile shines even brighter. I might be an idiot, but I know when to bask in a moment.
Unfortunately, that moment is ruined when another idiot walks up to our table.
Nathan’s wearing a red, skintight shirt with Medic emblazoned across his pecs, the short sleeves revealing the colorful tattoos that line both his arms. If the women turning their heads to get a good look at him are any indication, his tan slacks are tight across the back, too.
His gaze skates from me to our menu board, but his grin is only for Rose.
“We’re closed.” I cross my arms over my chest, stepping to the side to block her from his view.
His smile goes supernova. “Even for your baby brother?”
“Especially for him.”
Rose’s laughter is more melodic than anything coming out of the speakers on the stage at the far end of the park. With one hand on my shoulder and the other lightly gripping my bare forearm, she maneuvers me to step aside.
“We’re not closed,” she tells him. “What can I get for you, Nathan?”
“An iced chai latte, please.” He bats his thick eyelashes at her, but she’s already focused on pouring his drink. A good thing, since I’ve listened to women moon over his eyelashes too many times to count.
I have thick eyelashes, too, but nobody’s ever mentioned them. Probably because they’re usually accompanied by a scowl.
“Don’t you have bee stings to bandage?” I ask him.
“I’m on a break. But yes, there have been two bee stings tonight.”
I ignore his provoking grins and help the person behind him. I pour chilled mocha over ice and spray canned whipped cream over the top, my attention glued on Nathan’s interaction with Rose.
She hands him his drink, but he doesn’t walk away. He moves to the end of the table, out of the way of the line forming, but still close by. To do what, exactly? Wait for an opportunity to flirt? Is he actually planning on asking her out?
Maybe I should get him to play Risk. I need a non-jealousy-based reason to punch him in the face.
Luke and Jovie get in line, too. They stopped by to say hello earlier, Jovie taking pictures of everything on her phone.
Baby’s first concert, such as it is. Rose and I move back and forth behind the table preparing drinks, each touch zipping along my nerve endings.
I keep Nathan in my peripheral vision, counting down the minutes until his break ends.
Two older women step up, beaming at Rose and me. Greasy unease coats my stomach for reasons I can’t put my finger on. These women have been in Perk Me Up dozens of times, but tonight, their smiles remind me an awful lot of Lucy’s when she’s up to something.
“Hi, Nora,” Rose says. “Fran. Are you enjoying the concert?”
“Oh, we’re enjoying more than that.” Fran winks at me.
Okay. I’m going to assume she meant to aim that Nathan’s way.
They place their orders, and Rose and I get started on their drinks.
I’m not as great with our regulars as Troy and Rose are, but these two are familiar, and I at least know their names.
I think I do, anyway. Fran’s graying black hair has remnants of pink highlights in it that match the bright shirt she wears.
Nora is more subdued, in everything from hair, makeup, and demeanor, but she keeps eyeing me weirdly, too.
I get this bizarre sense that they’re sharks, and I’m the chum.
Fran’s smile shows an awful lot of teeth. “We’re delighted to hear you finally made a move.”
Her friend nudges her with an elbow. “We talked about this. Be subtle.”
Fran nudges her back. “I am being subtle.”
She’s really not. Everyone in line can hear her. Apparently, the whole town has thoughts on us branching out and starting a coffee cart. I didn’t know it was such a popular subject.
“It’s all because of Rose’s enthusiasm,” I tell her honestly. No sense pretending it was my idea.
The two women titter together, sharing a look I’m out of my depth to decipher.
“I’ll bet she’s enthusiastic.” Fran’s gaze tracks over my body in a slow glide. I suddenly feel like my Perk Me Up T-shirt, flannel shirt, and jeans have disappeared, and I’m standing here in my underwear.
Maybe not even that, the way her mouth curls as she takes me in.
Nora sighs. “You looked into her beautiful face and couldn’t resist, hmm?”
I mean…yeah. But it wouldn’t be very professional to admit that was my motivation behind a business decision.
“Your mother called us right away,” Nora says to Rose. “Lydia told us you’re very happy.”
Rose pops the lid on the drink she made and passes it over. “She’s right. I am.”
“You’re glowing.” Fran shifts her attention to wink at me again. Maybe this is an elderly person eye thing? “Getting the good stuff.”
“Thank you?” Rose sounds as confused by this conversation as I am.
“Lydia’s been hoping for this for a long time,” Nora tells her. “Your mom’s thrilled you two are finally dating.”
I freeze, gripping the milk jug tight in one hand. Synapses misfire in my brain in quick succession. They think we’re dating? I’d almost assume she meant we’re dating other people, but their gazes are too avid for that to make any sense.
They think we’re dating.
“Oh, that’s not…” Rose glances my way. Her pink cheeks lose their color, transforming into a sickly pale shade right before my eyes.
Staring like a deer caught by rapidly approaching headlights, her mouth pulls into the worst fake smile I’ve ever seen.
If I had to guess, I’d say she’s careening toward a full-blown panic. “She told you?”
“She couldn’t wait to share the good news.”
Rose might be turning green. “I-I think there’s been some confusion.”
“What confusion?” In case Fran being louder than the man on the banjo isn’t enough, she juts a bony finger at me. “You told your mother he’s your boyfriend. That’s a pretty clear claim.”
I’m dimly aware of Jovie’s squeal of delight ringing through my ears.
Luke stares at us as if he can gather all the information he needs in one look.
At the edge of my vision, Nathan’s turned into a statue, his straw paused on its way to his open mouth.
Half a dozen other people nearby have also heard this very loud, very confusing proclamation.
Rose’s gaze hits mine again, silently pleading. Just what she wants, I can’t say. Acceptance? Forgiveness?
All I know is that my heart convulses in my chest so hard I might need to visit Nathan’s medic tent when this is over. Rose told her mom that I’m her boyfriend? For one brief moment, my ribcage expands like a starburst. In Fran’s words, she claimed me.
But a hundred more questions crash in behind the first. Is that what she wants? Why didn’t she tell me? Am I dreaming?
“We’re happy for you.” Nora takes a sip of her drink. “Lydia told us how hard it’s been for you to find someone new, and look! He was right here all along.”
Rose’s smile is like the weakest coffee: flat and ineffective. “Here he is.”
“And it has to be rough.” Fran shoots a pitiful look Rose’s way. “Seeing Shepherd and Wren get engaged while you’re still single.”
Nora gasps. “Don’t point that out.”
I don’t know why they’re bringing that up, but I can hazard a guess. I’ve never had a problem with Shepherd Callahan before, but now I don’t like the guy. I especially don’t like these women acting like Rose should take his happiness as some kind of failure of her own.
“I’m just saying women can’t stay young and single forever. Soon we’re old and single, and that’s not nearly as much fun.” She nods at Rose like she’s looking for commiseration.
Rose is what, thirty? She’s hardly an old maid. Implying she’s in the same boat as a divorcée in her seventies is way out of line. I’m ready to put myself between her and these women when they go on talking as if they aren’t holding up the other customers and confusing the hell out of us.
“Your parents are so glad you have a man in your life,” Nora says.
Rose starts to speak, but these two aren’t interested in giving up their platform.
Fran shakes the ice in her drink. “Can’t even enjoy their retirement, they’re so worried about you.”
Rose flinches, her mouth snapping shut on whatever she might have said. She runs her palms down her apron, barely holding onto the veneer of nonchalance she’s aiming for.
“Your mom asked us to come see the young love for ourselves and report back.” Nora glances from Rose to me. “Get the details straight from the source.”
“Please,” Fran says, “spare no details.”
Rose looks at me over her shoulder. As soon as our gazes lock, I can predict what’s going to happen like I’m looking in a crystal ball.
If I know anything about Rose Rainey, it’s that she sees letting people down as a personal failing.
She makes off-menu specialty drinks to keep customers happy and covers for Troy every time he asks to switch shifts, even when she has other plans.
She never corrects people when they get her name wrong, and it’s only four letters, for goodness’ sake.
She can’t tell these women we’re not dating. If anyone’s going to set the record straight, it’ll have to be me. Just look them in the eyes and shut this whole thing down.
Except I can’t tear my gaze away from Rose.
I don’t know why she told her parents that we’re dating, but she must have had a good reason. I can’t think of one, but there must be something. As if it matters. She could have had a bad reason, for all I care. When she looks up at me with those bright, blue eyes, I’m lost.
I step closer, sliding my hand along her back until it rests on her hip, drawing her into me. She presses against my side with a soft exhale, her eyes swimming with confusion. Her mouth drops open to ask a question, but I get there first.
“You heard right. I am her boyfriend.”