Chapter 7
I rip off the paper around the muffin and take a giant bite from the top.
My jaw aches from the firm bite of my teeth as I destroy the small bits of raspberries.
Ignoring that, I fix my glare on Ruthie’s back.
Beneath her apron, she’s dressed in her usual attire of cargo capris and one of those tank tops with an exposed sports bra built into it that used to be all the rage when I was in high school.
Her sense of fashion remains stuck in that time, yet it fits her just fine.
She used to tell me that her granddaughter would crucify her if she began wearing cardigans and patterned leggings like the old ladies she plays bingo with. I’m not sure this is any better, but I’d never tell her that. She’d have my ass burning from a wooden spoon regardless of her age.
With my nan having passed, Ruthie’s the closest thing to another that I have.
“You’re going to choke at this rate,” she chimes, looking down at the balls of cookie dough she’s weighing out on the counter.
I struggle to swallow the wad of muffin. “Mind your business.”
“I don’t care how old you are, Quinn Archer. I can still chase your ass around this kitchen for a beatdown.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
Christ alive, I sound like a petulant child.
My frustration with myself is too strong to keep hidden, which is why I’ve banned myself from working out front.
After nearly snapping the heads off a group of teenage boys who have made it their weekend ritual to come here and clog three tables so they can use the free Wi-Fi, I put myself back here as punishment.
They never buy anything, which rarely bothers me.
I am a firm believer that if Blank Page can be considered a safe enough environment for a group of guys to want to spend their weekends here instead of out drinking or doing drugs, I’ve done something right.
Sure, they take up a lot of space and are loud enough to annoy the older customers with their laughing and gossip, but who am I to kick them out?
Today is an anomaly. Their loud voices are like nails on a chalkboard.
“Would you like to talk about whatever it is that’s crawled up your ass and built a nest?”
My face draws in. “That’s a disturbing way of saying that.”
“Well?”
I shake my shoulders out and rip a chunk of muffin from the warm centre. “I slept badly last night.”
“Is that so?”
Ruthie turns just enough that she can roll over the silver rack of prepared cookie dough. Her wrinkled hands tremble slightly when she pulls an empty pan free and sets it on the counter. She transfers the rolled dough to the pre-laid parchment, making it crinkle.
“There’s an issue with my bathroom pipes. They keep groaning at night. Maybe during the day, too. I don’t fucking know.”
It’s not a lie. Though the obnoxious pipes aren’t the reason behind my attitude.
“Call a plumber, Quinn. Don’t put it off until you’ve got pipes bursting and you wake up covered in shit water.”
“It’s on my list.”
“Well, move it to the top.”
“Alright,” I say, willing to do just about anything to have her leave this alone.
“The longer you wait, the more expensive it’s going to be,” she pushes, casting me a fierce, sidelong glance.
“I said I’ll do it. I’ll find someone.”
“Good. The last thing we need is the pipes bursting upstairs and the water to seep through the ceiling. We’d be out of business for months with repairs. Not to mention the health inspectors—”
“Ruthie,” I interrupt with a sharp snap of her name. “I’ll take care of it.”
Her nod is jerky. “Good girl.”
My stomach grumbles again, and I take a giant bite of my muffin, almost finished with it.
“Are you eating enough? Clearly not. You’re fading away, and that muffin will not fill your belly,” she says heavily.
Finished with the cookies, she faces me completely.
The exasperated look on her face nips at me.
“Have I told you that my grandson works in the trades? He may be an electrician, but I’m sure he knows a few plumbers from one of his work sites.
Let me finish up here, and I’ll go give him a call. ”
Chest heaving and filling with heat, I pop up from my chair and shake my head frantically. The single bite left of my muffin falls to the floor as I quickly eliminate the space between us and grip my wide hips, primed to argue.
Ruthie isn’t blind, but when it comes to me, she very well might have developed some sort of vision impairment.
I’ve never faded a day in my life. My body has always been plump and round, though it did even out a tad once I sprouted up a few inches in high school. It was a much-needed confidence booster back then.
Still, there is a heaviness to my breasts that makes them sag, no matter what type of bra I torture myself with, and my stomach hangs over the waistband of any pants that don’t come with a high waist. My calves are too big for most boots, so I opt for sneakers and sandals instead.
Most of the time, I don’t pay any of this any mind.
I dress how I want to dress, and I don’t spend hours standing in front of a mirror wishing I looked different. My body is the only one I have, and I’ve grown to love every curve and roll. That doesn’t mean there weren’t a handful of habits that I built back in school that I haven’t broken yet.
Plucking a shirt from my middle when I sit in a crowded room to make sure it isn’t sticking to my belly is still something I struggle with today. I’m only human, after all.
Moral of the story is that I’m nowhere close to fading away.
I will, however, admit to not putting enough focus into eating consistently.
My failure to eat when I should doesn’t have anything to do with my body, though.
It’s this damn job that keeps me too busy to do much of anything besides snagging a muffin from the back or ordering something terrible after a long day.
Dating, of all things, isn’t in the realm of possibility right now. Ruthie hasn’t quite grasped that yet.
“I’m going to stop you right there, Ruthie,” I start, rubbing my apron between two fingers. “I don’t want to date your grandson. No offense to him. I know that’s what you’re hinting at here.”
“You haven’t even seen a picture of him. Come with me. I’ll show you right now.”
Without waiting for an answer, the stubborn old woman blows right past me on her way to the back office. I scowl at her back and drop my head back, staring at the ceiling. There are no water stains, at least.
What a pathetic silver lining.
“I don’t care what he looks like. I am not interested in finding a boyfriend.”
She waves a hand over her shoulder at me and then disappears into the office. Frustration bleeds through my veins, making my skin throb with discomfort as I reluctantly follow her. Both Callie and Eli are out front, but if I had to guess, they’re both too busy to come rescue me.
Following her, I step into the office. She makes a disgruntled noise when I run into her back and quickly stumble to the side, groaning.
“You say that now. When was the last time you went on a date?” she asks.
“That’s personal, don’t you think?”
With a chuff, she digs into her black designer purse and pulls her phone free of the side pocket.
The way she squints at the screen and pulls it nearly to the tip of her nose is almost comical, but I keep my laugh to myself.
With a bit of struggle, she finds what she’s looking for and shoves the phone toward me.
I barely grab it before it falls to the floor and quirk a brow at the photo sitting open. The screen is so bright I have to blink a few times to get used to it.
The man looking into the camera is generically handsome, I’ll give him that.
His smile is honest and kind, and while it takes up a large amount of his face, it’s not exactly unappealing.
He has a smooth jaw and soft brown eyes that might even have some green in them, though it’s too hard to make out that detail from a photo.
It’s not until I make out the green and grey jersey he’s wearing and the crowded seats around him that I lock the phone and offer it back to Ruthie.
“I’m not interested.”
She sputters, “What? Are you—did you not see the photo?”
“Look, Ruthie, I love you, but I’ve got too much to do still to be focusing on settling down with someone.”
“No, that makes this the perfect time for it! Why must you do everything alone? This is an opportunity to lean on someone else for help.”
“You put a lot of faith in your grandson. And men in general.”
She weighs that in her mind, and I see the moment she finds something agreeable in the words.
The frown that purses her peach-painted lips gives her away easily.
Still, she doesn’t let it go. That’s one thing that can frustrate me to no end with Ruthie.
Once she sets her mind to something, she doesn’t back down.
It’s impossible for her to see it as anything but a failing on her part.
Defeat tickles the back of my mind. The idea of making the time in my hectic schedule to go out and meet this guy when I know I’m not going to be good company feels like a punishment. I don’t remember the last time I was out with a man.
My sex life is non-existent, and I’m pretty sure if I didn’t use my vibrator every few nights, my vagina would have dried up and fallen off by now. Even just the idea of kissing someone feels like a faraway dream.
Fuck, how long has it been since I’ve even felt the ghost of a touch from a man that wasn’t from Eli?
Oh, that’s right. It was the other day, and the fingers that ghosted over mine belonged to none other than Beckett Rourke, the same person who’s responsible for my shitty mood.
How fucking perfect. That’s exactly the reminder I needed.
If it weren’t for him and his stupid constant presence in my café, I wouldn’t have spent so many hours not only today but this entire week glancing up at the door in search of him. Every single time I broke my gaze from my work to search for him, I grew to hate myself a little more.
At this point, I’m about ready to scoop my eyeballs out so I’m not tempted to do it again.
And it’s not even that I want to see him. It’s that I’ve grown so used to seeing his annoyingly handsome face and hearing that low, sexy purring voice of his say those ridiculous, flirtatious words that I’ve looked for both, if only so I can have an excuse to be a little mean to someone.
Beck is the perfect person to verbally spar with because I think the asshole likes it when I’m mean to him.
That in itself is a problem for me. Not to mention the rest of it.
“At least let me introduce you,” Ruthie says before rolling her lips, clearly struggling not to force my hand.
That’s when it hits me.
The idea is terrible. Totally, certifiably insane.
I know that I’m going to want to curl up in the oven and turn it as high as it will go the moment I speak, but I know better than to give myself a sense of false hope here.
Ruthie isn’t going to let this go until I agree, and that’s just not going to happen.
This is the safest option, even if I have a gut feeling that I’m going to regret it.
Closing my eyes, I speak before giving myself a chance to change my mind.
“Okay, you caught me. I don’t want to meet your grandson because I’m already interested in someone else.”