“What are your names?” I asked casually.
“Bella.” The girl licked some chocolate off of her finger after dipping it in the cup.
“Malcom.” The boy’s voice was soft, almost like he was afraid to talk too loud, or maybe just taught not to talk to strangers.
“Those are some pretty awesome names.” I steamed the milk. “All right, guys, so each of you get a spoon so you can stir really hard when I pour the milk in, and remember it’s hot so we have to be really careful.”
“Okay!” they said in unison. I handed each of them a spoon and poured the milk in. Bella’s sloshed a bit, but Malcom was determined as he focused on the spoon, stirring all the chocolate in.
While they were busy, I made the same coffee I’d made the day previous for Trevor and another hot chocolate for the other little boy.
“All finished?” I asked once Bella took a sip.
“Mmm.” Milk had found its way onto her upper lip. “So good!”
“It’s better when you work for it yourself, right?” I ran a hand through her short hair and frowned. It was actually longer than it looked, and we didn’t have any more customers coming through the doors. “Want me to braid it?”
“My mom used to braid it,” she said into her cup and then looked up after drinking several more gulps. “Braids are my favorite.”
“All right then.” I grabbed a rubber band from my wrist and quickly tugged the larger pieces back into a braid and tied everything together while Malcom finished his hot chocolate and started pumping more chocolate into his cup.
Boys.
By the time we were done, I realized we’d been hanging out for at least ten minutes. Where was…?
I looked up.
Trevor stared at me with stars in his eyes, actual stars. Or maybe it was me, maybe I was the one with stars in my eyes.
“You’re hired,” was what came out.
“Huh?” I tilted my head. “For?”
“Dad fired our nanny.” The boy next to him crossed his arms. “She was on her phone a lot.”
I surpassed a laugh. “Oh?”
“She was so annoying,” he continued. “And she always asked about Dad. It was weird.”
I made a face.
Trevor just shook his head as if to say leave it.
“I’m sorry,” I found myself saying. “I have a job, I actually just started yesterday and—”
“What are your hours?” He took a step closer. I had no escape. I could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes, could almost taste his cologne. The guy was built for being so tall. He was at least six four and had enough muscle that it was noticeable through his white Henley.
Tattoos swirled and peeked out from under the collar running halfway up his neck, and he had both ears pierced.
Yeah, he looked nothing like a dad.
More like his tour bus forgot him in Seaside.
Did he live here on purpose?
“Um, my hours.” I found my voice. “I work until noon Monday through Friday and on the weekends I work all day Saturday.”
“Could you do one to seven every afternoon? Weekends off? I’d pay well.”
