9. Rose
rose
The biggest downside to working a job in customer service and being friendly with everyone all the time is the small percentage of men who take that friendliness as a personal invitation. Men who are sure my good attitude is flirtation and my smiles are for them alone.
Like the man standing in front of me, for example.
He walked in at five minutes to close on Saturday and ordered an iced London fog. Kind of a jerk move already, to be totally honest. But the guy gets worse at every turn.
“What are you doing after this, Rose?” His gaze lingers on my name tag, then does a full lap across my breasts. I’m suddenly grateful for the plain Perk Me Up apron that does nothing for my figure.
I would never try to pretend that everyone in Sunshine is a sweetheart and there are no bad apples here. But this guy is a tourist. I know because he’s told me twice already that he’s only in town for one more night. He doesn’t say “hint hint,” but he’s not being very subtle.
He looks to be in his mid-thirties, and I guess he’s attractive in an aggressive, Glen Powell kind of way. A little too slick and perfect for my taste.
Wait. My taste. At last, I have the perfect way to shut down this type of pushy chatter once and for all.
“My boyfriend and I are having dinner later.” There. Goodbye poor man’s Glen.
His smirk doesn’t reassure me he’s on his way out. “Do you just say you have a boyfriend to try to weed out the riff raff? Because I’m an exec for a tech firm. Six figures. Not every girl gets a chance like this.”
Look, I think of myself as a kind person, but barf.
“You’re done hitting on my girlfriend.”
Reed’s deep voice booming from behind me sparks up my spine like a Fourth of July firework. He’s pretty much always low-level annoyed, but I’ve never heard him threaten anyone before. He’s giving a command not a suggestion, and Mr. Tech Exec had better listen up or he won’t like consequences.
I’ve read a few possessive heroes in my time, but I’ve never actually lived out the fantasy. I have to say, it’s quickly becoming a favorite.
The guy’s gaze flicks over my shoulder. Reed’s presence immediately settles the anxiety that was churning up my stomach just a minute ago. I knew he was in the office, of course, but having him here proving he’s got my back is so much better.
When he lightly settles a hand at my waist, reassuring me this guy is handled? The absolute best.
The tourist flashes a sleek smile. “Relax. I’m just making conversation.”
“Conversation’s over.” Reed’s so close, I swear his voice rumbles through me, shaking up my cells with its vibrations.
A fake laugh rustles out of the guy. “Ego trip. I wasn’t interested.”
He turns and leaves, shaking his head the whole time as if we’re the ones causing problems.
I watch him stroll away to spoil some other woman’s day. “He’s probably going to leave us a bad review complaining about our poor customer service.”
“I can take it.” Reed crosses the shop to lock the front door and switch off the Open sign. He returns to me, leaning against the front counter in front of me with his hands at either side of his waist. Facing off but giving me space.
He’s been giving me space all day. I came into work today thinking we would hash out a few of the details of our fake dating plan. At least talk at some point. But he’s been in the back all shift, only coming out when we needed the extra hands over lunch.
Which was especially fun when a couple of our younger customers took a table and watched us a little too eagerly, laughing behind their hands. They even had their phones out, although I doubt anything they captured today resembled that viral video.
Which now has over a million views.
About a thousand of those were from me watching it on repeat last night. If I memorized the soft look on his face in the video, it’s only to help me be a better fake girlfriend. Or something like that.
Reed dips his head, leveling me a look like he’s trying to see through my skull. I’m not sure I want him to know what’s been on my mind.
“Does that happen very often?”
Oh. We’re still talking about the jerk. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Not the answer I wanted. And it is a big deal. You’re here by yourself sometimes. Do you ever feel unsafe?”
My instinct is to brush off his concern with an awkward laugh, but the sincerity in his eyes stops me. He’s taking this seriously. He’s taking me seriously, and that dries up my impulse for self-deprecating laughter.
“Guys like that are really rare.” And, unfortunately, exist no matter where you work. I’m sure creepy women are out there somewhere, but I haven’t run into any.
He keeps that intense gaze trained on me. “Not rare enough.”
I get the feeling he’s about three seconds away from storming up the street to give the guy a piece of his mind. Possibly through mild violence. I appreciate having my own personal Doberman, but it’s time to rein him in.
I run my hand over his arm as if I can caress his worries away. “I’m fine. Come on. You can help me close.”
I offer like it’s a prize instead of a chore, but he accepts the distraction.
We work through our end-of-day cleaning and sanitizing checklist together.
It’s not glamorous, but it’s satisfying to get the coffee shop sparkling again.
We’re closed on Sundays, but Reed will come in to prep the cold brew and get everything ready for the Monday morning rush.
“What do you want to do for dinner?” he asks when we’re down to the last few steps.
I hadn’t thought that far ahead. My only real plan this evening is trying to coax my cat out from under my bed. “I’ll probably eat leftovers in front of the TV.”
He gives me a funny look. It takes me a second to figure out why.
“Oh. Oh. Were you serious about us having plans tonight? Like a date?” I thought he was just avoiding Lucy, not that he might actually want to have dinner together.
His nod is glacier slow. “We should talk about how this is going to go between us.”
I refuse to be disappointed he doesn’t specifically call it a date. Obviously, pretend dates fall into a different category. Gatherings. Assemblies. Meetings. A nice, impersonal congress.
Wait. Not that one.
“Do you want to come to my house? That way we can talk in private without anyone overhearing our nefarious schemes.”
His mouth twitches at the edges. “Good idea. I’ll pick up takeout. What do you like?”
“Oh, whatever you like.”
For some reason, that makes his mouth tip down. “I’m asking what you like.”
“Anything you do. I don’t have food allergies.”
That frustration line I know so well creases between his eyebrows. “But you do have food preferences.”
“Nope. I’ll eat whatever you eat.”
“Five-star spicy Pad Kee Mao?”
“Sure.” I’ve burned the inside of my mouth before, and I can do it again.
“Pizza with nothing but anchovies?”
“Okay.” At least that way, my cat will get a special treat, too.
He frowns harder. “Fried octopus skewers?”
Oh. That sounds horrible. But I don’t like to judge foods other people enjoy. Yucking someone’s yum isn’t cool. I force a smile. “If you want it.”
Reed narrows his eyes at me, his grip tightening on the counter behind him. “What’s happening here? Why are you agreeing to anything I say?”
My parents’ voices echo in my head like a movie montage. Be agreeable. Men don’t like to be contradicted. Telling guys what you want makes you look high maintenance. They’ve offered me similar dating advice since I was sixteen years old.
“I’m being polite,” I tell him.
I haven’t measured, but I think we just reached Reed’s Maximum Frown Level.
My parents have instilled in me for years that I need to go along to get along. I’ve tried especially hard when it comes to the men I date. But how will I figure out how to do that with someone who seems to hate getting along?