4. Good Boy #2
When I turn back, he’s watching me with a small, tired smile. “Thank you for helping.”
“It was nothing,” I say, because what else is there? “Figured I owed you one after everything yesterday.”
He looks me over—really looks—taking in my clean clothes and fresh face, courtesy of a glorious night’s sleep. I’m not the same grubby, homeless disaster who stumbled through his door yesterday.
There’s that smile again, wider this time, and it brightens his whole face. For a single, stupid breath, my heart gets carried away on the ridiculous thought that I put that smile there. Me.
“You don’t owe me anything, Finley.” He says it so simply, so sincerely, I almost believe him. “Why don’t you take a seat? I’ll bring you breakfast.”
Before I can respond, he disappears into the back.
When Owen returns, the cafe has started to empty, and I’m locked in a heated debate with Annabelle over the optimal degree of toastedness required for the perfect s’more.
Poor child has been conditioned to believe a marshmallow barely kissed by the flame is the superior choice.
I don’t know if this tragedy is Owen’s doing or his sister’s, but I make a note to correct it while I’m here.
While I’m here.
Like there will be time to cover such important topics before my stay expires.
“Everything alright?” Owen asks, probably noticing the way my face falls as I remember, for the hundredth time, that my being here has an expiration. I’m sure I’ll be shown the door as soon as I finish my meal.
Honestly, I’m lucky to be getting breakfast at all.
“We don’t have a full kitchen in the back,” he says. “I can run upstairs, if you want eggs or some bacon as well.”
He sets the plate down, and my stomach practically bursts into tears at the sight of it: a bagel with an indecent amount of cream cheese, yogurt, and fresh fruit. It’s exactly what I’m craving. Paired with a large cup of coffee, cream, and two sugars, this time, I’m set. Still, I can’t help myself.
“No Captain Crunch?”
Owen rolls his eyes and sighs as I poke at him with the end of my spoon. He leans back in the chair directly across from me, a cocky little smirk tugging at his stupidly handsome face.
“We’re fresh out. But if you’re a good boy and eat all your breakfast, you might get a sweet treat.”
H-o-l-y f-u-c-k.
“You, sir,” I manage once I’ve scraped my jaw off the table, “are a complete menace.”
He doesn’t bother to deny it. Instead, he reaches across the table, plucks a strawberry off my plate, and pops it into his mouth. “I have no idea what you mean.”
Yeah. Right.
We settle into a comfortable silence after that.
Well, I’m trying not to inhale my food at an alarming pace, and he’s offering the occasional goodbye as customers head out to start their day.
There’s a rhythm to it—a routine. Delilah’s is clearly a morning ritual for everyone who walks through those doors.
They dote on Annabelle, they have inside jokes with Owen, and they even find something kind to say to me as they pass.
It’s the closest I’ve felt to belonging anywhere in…honestly, I can’t remember. Yet I’m still as much a stranger here as I was yesterday when Owen ushered me in through the door.
“I was wondering,” I begin once I finish my food, and Owen rewards me by scooping a chocolate muffin from the little serving tray on the counter and popping it on my plate. “If it’s not too much trouble later, could you drive me to the nearest bus station?”
“Bus station,” he repeats, eyes narrowing on me.
“Yeah, unless it’s too far…”
“There’s a Greyhound pick up outside of town.”
Right. I’m not sure why my heart plummets the way it does. Especially as I just asked the man to take me there. What was I hoping he’d say? No. Stay. Marry me. Never leave. Jesus.
I guess I’d been hoping for a sign, something that told me I’d found what I’d been looking for since leaving Washington.
But no. There’s a bus stop conveniently located close by.
I don’t even have the money for a ticket, but I’ll figure it out.
My baby face and general patheticness will surely convince someone to take pity on me.
“Where would this bus take you?” Owen asks.
I shrug.
He lets out a deep hum, “Annabelle, sweetheart, would you be a good waitress and start carrying the dishes into the back?”
She springs up like he's just offered her the most exciting way to spend the morning and scurries away from the table cheerfully.
“She won’t break them?” I ask.
“At least two or three. I wanted to talk to you without little ears nearby.”
I swallow hard, feeling like I’m in trouble.
“I have my hands full. The cafe. Annabelle. Making sure my sister has the care and support she needs. It’s a lot.”
Oh.
“Well, that’s fine. I can walk there myself. Just point me in the right direction.”
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’m trying to tell you I could use some help.
I’ve been debating hiring someone else for a while.
There’s a girl who helped out over the summer, but she’s currently off seeing the world.
And with Delilah gone, it’s just me. The job doesn’t pay much, but it comes with somewhere to stay, and as many pastries as you can eat. ”
I blink back at him in confusion. There’s no way Owen is asking me what I think he is.
“I thought,” he continues hesitantly. “If you wanted to stick around for a bit, or if you just needed some time…”
“I don’t need charity.”
I’m on my feet before common sense kicks in, heart suddenly feeling like I’m halfway through a marathon—not that I have any experience with what that feels like, but I’m guessing this is pretty close.
“It’s not charity, Finley. It’s a job.”
His light grip on my wrist is the only thing stopping me from sprinting out of the cafe in what would be a supreme overreaction.
He stands and moves around the table that separates us, coming to a stop directly in front of me.
His strong hands run a calming trail up and down my arms until I force my eyes up to look at him.
With him this close, the height difference between us is staggering, and while that would usually make me feel small, it doesn’t.
It’s something else. Something I’m not sure is safe to admit when I’m feeling this vulnerable.
“Look, this isn’t a hostage situation. If you want to leave, the door’s right there.
If you can wait until this afternoon, I’ll take you to the bus stop.
Heck, I’ll buy your damn ticket wherever you want to go, if that’s what you truly need.
But you don’t seem to have a destination in mind.
Why not stick around a while and give yourself some space to find the answers you’re looking for?
Even if the answer is just where you are heading next. ”
A flicker of anger rises inside me at that statement.
Not because he’s wrong, but because he didn’t have to read me like I’m an open book.
With one look and a few short sentences, he has completely exposed every stupid fear, every stupid hope, every stupid need to hear there’s somewhere I can find shelter in.
I take a deep breath. Sucking the air in and letting it pull my defenses to the floor.
“Okay,” I relent. “If you’re sure I won’t be in the way.”
“Not even a little bit.”
A well-timed crash and shattering of something that sounds suspiciously ceramic echoes from the back, along with a high-pitched squeal.
“Well, now we’ve settled that,” Owen laughs, letting his hands fall to his side. “Your first task as my new employee can be to clean up whatever she broke back there, and then I’ll show you how the register works. Deal?”
“Deal.”