15. Rose #2
She grimaces but still manages to look like a runway model.
“‘Put a bug in your ear?’ That’s a gross phrase.
Anyway, I’m sure you know it, but the small business community is really supportive and encouraging.
And if you want to be included in festival planning or other events, it might be a good idea to join in the meetings. ”
I turn to Reed, but he’s wearing his “done with this conversation” scowl. He’s not a community meeting kind of guy.
“We’ll talk it over,” I tell her.
“I’d love to get you down for the fall festival, too. I need to get all that sorted earlier than I did the summer concert stuff.”
“We just might. Since the coffee cart last week was a big success.” I nudge Reed again with my hip because I’m as subtle as Fran and Nora.
Lila makes a jazzy celebration with her free hand.
“That’s great to hear.” She looks along the front counter as if it’s full of Blackbird’s pies and cupcakes instead of plain butcher block with just espresso machines and containers full of straws on it.
“I could use a little something to eat. Like a pastry or a cookie. Or a ham and cheese sandwich. It’s been forever since lunch. ”
I shoot a meaningful look at Reed, who stares back. She’s singing all my favorite songs. “It would be so great if we served something like that. Wouldn’t it?”
He’s unmoved by my prodding. Fine. Maybe he’s half gargoyle.
“I’ll go find something.” Lila slings her bag over her shoulder. “Anyway, think about the small business association. And put the fall festival on your calendar!”
“We will.” I wave as she leaves. When she’s gone, I ply Reed with my “refusing isn’t an option” smile.
He stares back. “It won’t work.”
“It sometimes does.” My averages are pretty good, honestly.
“The small business community isn’t for me. This business is barely for me.”
I lean one hand on the front counter, angling myself to see him better. “Why, though? I don’t get why you’re so aggressively uninterested in this. If I owned a company, I’d be doing everything I could to make it a success.”
The small business community seems supportive and encouraging. They band together to lift everyone up through events, joint sales, and even the occasional block party. For some reason, Reed thinks Perk Me Up doesn’t have a place in that.
“This isn’t…” His gaze tracks through the coffee shop as if he’s searching for answers. “Can you imagine me sitting quietly through a committee meeting full of asinine questions and petty suggestions?”
I can’t help the smile that bursts across my face. I’ve seen Gilmore Girls. I have some idea how Reed would do in that situation. “You probably wouldn’t have much fun.”
And he’d make sure nobody else had fun, either.
“Is it the committee you don’t like, or people in general?” I tease.
“Both.”
This crab. “Surely you like some specific people.”
This time, I miss “teasing” and hit “attempt at flirting with my fake boyfriend.” A dangerous game, whether I win or lose. His focus lands on me like a weighted blanket. His gaze was sharp and stabby before, but now it softens like rich, velvety smooth chocolate.
He steps closer, almost looming over me. My heart gallops so fast in my chest I have to grip the edge of the countertop behind me to hold myself upright. He drops one hand to the counter next to mine, his thumb splaying over my fingers.
He hovers above me, not quite within kissing distance but definitely within thinking about kissing distance.
“I like some people. Specifically.” His low, rumbling voice is like being snuggled in a cozy bed with the exact right number of blankets on it. I never want him to stop talking.
I lick my lips, my brain completely blank. His gaze dives and locks on my mouth as his thumb rubs a slow circle across my knuckles.
“I just don’t like committees telling me what to do.” He pushes off the counter, cool air rushing to fill the space he just occupied in front of my body. His attention moves to the door behind me, and he clears his throat.
The chimes on the door ring again, bringing me out of the eye-contact stupor I’d fallen into. I tell my insides that now is not the time to go all wiggly like they’re made of jello. My organs need to re-solidify so I can greet the woman who just walked in.
She’s got her phone out like she’s following a maps app instructions to get here.
It’s possible she’s watching our video, but a mid-thirties woman wearing business casual doesn’t seem like the right demographic for that.
Her gaze flits around the space as she approaches the counter with cautious optimism.
“Hi. I have an order for several drinks. I didn’t see a way to order online, so I hope it’s okay to dump these on you all at once.”
“We can handle it,” I tell her. “What do you have?”
She reads off six drink orders, and I mark cups as she goes. I save the more complex ones for myself and pass the others to Reed.
Troy and I have developed a rhythm when we’re prepping drinks side by side. A kind of coworker’s intuition that helps us maneuver around each other smoothly without any bumps or interruptions. We’re quick and efficient, and we stay in our own personal bubbles.