Chapter 9 #2
A full week of floor-to-ceiling café cleaning and not enough sunshine had me desperate for some outside work.
I’d spent my evenings researching food safety and hygiene standards for cafes in the region.
Apparently, regulatory agencies loved acronyms—FSA, HACCP, CCP—and I thought they were B.O.R.I.N.G.
I couldn’t help thinking that if it were up to me to come up with an official name, I’d make sure the acronym spelled something cooler.
Like NOSEPIK: New Official Safety Evaluation Practice in Kafes.
It might need some work.
Breeze was an expert at keeping her prep and storage areas pristine, which was a relief considering my survival depended on the food she made.
But that was about where her expertise—or her energy—ran out.
I wanted to make sure there were no loopholes Miss Lissy could exploit in pursuit of “opportunity.”
“It’s weed-wrangling day!” Breeze announced as she shouldered open the double doors leading to the jungle that was the back garden.
If she’d realised she could do that a year ago, we might not be in this predicament.
And I wouldn’t have to be spending a whole day with Dax and his biceps.
Before I could answer, the man himself was barging through the door, effortlessly balancing a lawnmower and toolbox in one hand and his phone in the other.
“That’s a great explanation, Susan. Does anyone else have anything to add to that point?” he said via his earphones, and then his neck flushed red as he caught my glare.
“Why the hell can’t he do one thing at a time?” I grunted at Breeze. She grinned and kept scooting upstairs with Taco before the weed-infested yard swallowed the tiny dog. I’ll take that as a suck it up, buttercup.
The sun was streaming into the yard even though it was early in the morning, and my skin relaxed around my bones in appreciation.
It’d be an epic spot for sunbathing. Light filtered through the tangle of tall weeds and overgrown grass, revealing details that hadn’t been visible before.
An old wooden chair sat beneath a trellis, and a few slats of a short white picket fence peeked through.
Breeze’s parents must have once loved this space.
“Did you have to drag the mower through the café?” I said to Dax as he finished his call. His eyebrows pinched.
“You’re not going to give me crap about being on the phone?” he asked as he stood up from where he’d been fiddling with the mower and rubbed his lower back.
“That was next. The floors I polished last night felt more urgent.” I didn’t have any energy left to give him a full scowl. He arched his back to take a peek back inside to see the mud and dregs of leaf sprinkles he’d walked in with him.
“Shit, sorry Ry,”
My breath shallowed for a moment. No one but Rick called me Ry. Something about the way Dax said it made the back of my neck prickle in a way it didn’t with my best friend. I shook it off.
“It’s Riley. And I’m assuming you’ll be adding that to your list once you’ve finished back here?” I said, waving my hand around the garden.
“And I’m assuming you’re giving me a hand out here before I definitely re-polish the kitchen floor for you, ma’am—I mean, Riley?”
I wanted to tell him he was on his own. I hated being paired with him. The fact that he clearly enjoyed my discomfort made me wonder if he was just annoying or a serious asshole.
“Why are you working on a Saturday anyway? Do you have, like, three hundred jobs?”
He smirked, leaning the strimmer against the concrete wall bordering the garden. “Close. Three. One’s volunteer, though, so I’m not sure it counts.”
I crossed my arms over my green flannel shirt that I’d paired with cut-off denim shorts.
“You’re annoying on the phone voluntarily?”
He chuckled, still crouched over the toolbox. “You’ve got a unique way of communicating, Riley Walls. I can’t say I’ve met anyone quite like you.”
I couldn’t tell whether that was a compliment or an insult. I decided to take it as the former.
“Thanks!” I beamed at him with an overly enthusiastic smile. “And I haven’t met anyone else who thinks the rest of the world is required to be interrupted by their own personal schedule, so I could say the same. Here I was thinking we'd never find something in common.”
Dax trimmed a piece of clear plastic line and sighed. “I’m a classic over-committer. Don’t seem to be able to help myself. I’m sure a therapist somewhere could read into it a lot more than I want to,” he replied honestly. “Dax Holmes has an unhealthy need to help people.”
My shoulders dropped. I couldn’t fault him for that. “There are worse things you could have an unhealthy need for,” I replied, the venom removed from my tone. The arrogance in his voice had evolved into friendly banter, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.
“I guess so." He clicked the line into the strimmer, flicking it with his finger, his eyes glinting. “What about you? What’s your unhealthy need?”
Was he flirting with me?
I sighed.
“Breeze’s chocolate caramel slice.”
He grinned. “Ah yes, I think it’s banned in three countries on account of its addictive qualities.”
For real. That stuff was going to ruin my dental health.
“Why are you being nice all of a sudden?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“What?”
“No flaming neck or insults today.”
His cheeks coloured slightly through his golden tan, and he cleared his throat. “I just understand you better now, that’s all.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped.
“I’m ready!” Breeze announced, arms stretched out like wings as she reappeared in a white sundress. She’d closed the café for the weekend so we could all tackle the garden. I’d managed to push my next visit to Miss Lissy to Sunday afternoon.
“You’re wearing white,” Dax said, his back straightening from where he’d been bent over the mower.
“I always wear white. And it’s not after Labour Day,” she replied, giving him a sisterly punch. “I don’t care if it gets dirty. I never get to wear dresses. They don’t go well with café activities.”
“What activities? Pole-dancing with the Ball Boys?” I chuckled.
“You know what I mean,” she sighed. “Now where should we start?”
Breeze and I started wrangling the Japanese knotweed that looked like it was trying to swallow the wooden pergola by the door. It came down easily enough, but I couldn’t believe how much of the stuff was on there, and Dax got busy with the strimmer.
“Why does he get to use the fancy tools and we’ve got to do all this manual labour?” I groaned as we were halfway through uncovering the structure.
“They’re both manual labour, and because he knows how to use the fancy tools, that’s why,” Breeze grunted as another thin stem pulled free. She jolted backward from where she straddled a wooden beam and only just regained her balance. Geez. We were an accident waiting to happen.
By Sunday, black rubbish sacks overflowing with vines and weeds sat in piles outside the back door. Technically, there was a green waste protocol, but neither of us had the budget. They were tagged for the skip.
Sunlight poured through the side window as I sat at the butcher’s block eating honey toast in grey track pants and a hoodie.
“There’s no award for slowest eater, you know,” Breeze said, rinsing Taco’s plate. She was wearing another white cotton sundress. Did she own any colours?
“I know.” I pushed back from the table reluctantly. It was time for another visit with Pissy Lissy.
The same knot twisted in my stomach. The one that showed up when I was trapped in something I couldn’t get out of.
Like paying taxes or visiting family at Christmas.
It had taken me until my thirties to realise that adult life was just a never-ending swing between comfort and heart-clenching apprehension.