28. Noelle #2
I earned my fair share of stares as I served up drinks. According to Mrs. Klein, I was good for business because everyone wanted to see if the news was true. But I kept my head down, ignoring their less-than-subtle jabs, and served coffee with a practiced smile. I had a lifetime of practice.
At least, until the shenanigans picked up midafternoon, right before my shift ended. The front bells jangled fiercely, followed by a yowl.
A lanky teen pelted across the shop like Dracula was on his heels and vaulted over the counter to join me.
As a former long jump champion in high school, colour me impressed.
A streak of fluffy fur followed through the door and launched himself at the counter. Okay, so maybe the Dracula comparison wasn’t too far off.
“No!” Arms flailing, I grabbed the feline missile midair. I stared at him. He stared right back at me, dangling in air jail. “Hello, Jerry. We remeet at last.”
“Meow.” He grumbled, following it up with a hiss. When I didn’t release him, he glared at me with all the derision of his twisted little heart. His tufted ears flattened with disapproval.
“I’ve got him.” Greyson strode towards me and snagged Jerry from my grasp. I hadn’t even noticed Greyson slip inside. It must have been after the runaway teen.
With a sigh, Greyson tossed the feline (read: gently set him down) outside unceremoniously.
The entire coffee shop—all three patrons—cheered for the town hero. The menace had met his match.
“You good?” I asked the teen beside me at the counter.
He was bent at the waist, red-faced to match his hair, panting. “He chased me”—pant—“for half a block”—pant—“I thought I was done for.”
I patted his back. “Catch your breath.”
“I don’t have time for that!” he burst out when I handed him a glass of water.
“Ms. Flo doesn’t leave room for breathing time”—he put the words in air quotes—“in the schedule. If she says go, I do. Drop on the floor? I’m down.
And if she says, ‘Mr. Jones, you don’t want to see me without caffeine,’ I run like Usain Bolt to get here. ”
“Jones,” I mused. “Are you related to Melissa?” Jones had been her maiden name before she married Dallas.
“Yes, ma’am. Her cousin’s kid—some number removed. I’m Ethan. Currently Ms. Flo’s intern and very possibly her next victim.”
The memories clicked in my head. “Ahh, yes, I babysat you.” And wow, did that make me feel old. Almost as old as his ma’am had. The last time I’d seen Ethan, he was in diapers and a superman onesie.
“You okay, Ethan?” Greyson asked, rejoining us after washing his hands.
Ethan sighed heavily and moved around to the customer side of the counter. “Honestly, Jerry is less frightening than Ms. Flo. Which is why I’m here.” He eyed me. “I need her usual.”
“Uh . . . I’m new here.” Well, that was a pointless thing to say. As if he didn’t already know that. I twisted the apron tie around my finger.
Ethan groaned. “Ma’am, I’d rather run a marathon with Jerry swatting my heels than face Ms. Flo without the coffee she expressly asked for.”
Greyson choked on a laugh, and I did the same.
We locked eyes for a moment, and I wondered if he remembered our own high school episodes about avoiding the comedic wrath of Ms. Flo.
Greyson looked away and studied the menu.
Right. He doesn’t trust you. Pasting on a smile for Ethan, I asked, “Any idea what she drinks?”
“Something black and nasty like her soul probably?”
“Ethan,” Greyson chided lightly.
From what I remembered of Ms. Flo, Ethan wasn’t far off the mark. She really was the limit. She’d been the librarian when we were in high school, and she regularly shushed Cal when we would study in the back. Not that Cal didn’t deserve it. He’d never gotten the whole “inside voice” down.
“Let me see what I can do.”
A pink sticky note behind the counter caught my eye. Mrs. Klein’s looping hand had jotted something out in black pen. Ms. Flo’s usual: Americano with ice. Bless you, Mrs. Klein.
“In case you ever need to know, it’s an Americano with ice.” I started on the drink.
“Americano with ice,” Ethan repeated, committing it to memory. “Got it. Oh, and can you throw in a blueberry bubble tea?”
“For you?”
“Nah, for Ms. Paisley. She saved me from having to shelve another cart of romances, so I owe her big time.”
“Does Ms. Flo hate you that much?”
“Actually, I think she likes me, and this is her version of kindness.”
Poor kid. “Grey, what can I get started for you?”
He hesitated. Oh, shoot. The nickname had flown out of me. “Well, I was going to bring my wife a bubble tea, but I seem to be too late.”
Ethan’s freckled face flushed to the roots of his hair. “Oh, uh . . .”
Greyson clapped his shoulder. “It’s fine. You’re thoughtful. It’s a good thing.” He nodded at me. “But I will take a black coffee and a pup cup.”
I bit back a smile. Not only was this man smitten, he wanted a pup cup for his dog. Oh, Grey. I never thought I’d see the day. When Grey finally fell, he’d fallen hard. “Coming right up.” I handed Ethan the drinks. “Good luck.”
“Thanks.” He hesitated. “Think I can go out the back way? Jerry’s probably waiting to ambush me out front.”
Knowing Jerry, anything was possible. “Go ahead.” I motioned with my hand to the back, and he was gone.
Only in Serenity Springs.
Greyson said nothing as I slid the coffee and plastic cup with whipping cream across the counter to him. He handed over a few bills with a “keep the change” and headed for the door.
But I couldn’t let him walk away. “Grey,” I said. Did I want to do this in public? No, but I didn’t have much of a choice.
Slowly, he pivoted back to the counter.
“I am sorry,” I said softly. “More than you’ll ever know. I hope you can forgive me. One day.”
“Forgiving you wasn’t the issue, Elle. I did that.” He blew out a breath, weighing his words. Quintessentially Greyson. “But you didn’t see Cal fall apart.” His jaw ticked. “I don’t want him to get hurt again.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then don’t mess with him if it doesn’t mean something.” Icy seriousness coated his voice. We were quiet enough the handful of patrons couldn’t hear our conversation, and it probably looked like friends catching up. But Greyson wasn’t playing, and neither was I.
“I saw the way you looked at them,” he said gruffly. “The way he looked at you.”
Oh boy. So much for subtlety.
His posture lost some of its rigidness. “Just . . . don’t break him. Please.”
“I won’t, I promise.”
Greyson dipped his head in a good talk way and headed for the door. Always a man of few words.
“Grey.” I smiled when he glanced back at me. “Love looks good on you.”
That brought his smile out in full force. “Paisley is the best thing that ever happened to me.” And with one more nod, he was out the door, calling, “Thanks for the squares.”