“Could you tell if he didn’t?”
She shakes her head at my empty negativity and greets the customers approaching our table. My doubts about how busy we would be tonight were crushed by the line that formed before we finished setting up our faux cart. We’ve been slammed all evening, with only brief breaks to catch our breath. I would think it’s too late in the day and too warm of an evening to serve up this much coffee, but I’ve always misjudged the chokehold caffeine has on people.
We serve half a dozen more customers before we get another moment to ourselves. Rose keeps flashing me her wide, beautiful grin. I can’t tell if she’s gloating or nudging me to admit I was wrong. Both seem too self-serving for her.
“What?” I finally say.
“I’m just glad we’re doing this. Isn’t it more fun than sitting at home alone?”
“You underestimate how much I like being alone.”
For a second, her smile falters. Barely a drop of her lips, but I know her full grin well enough to spot the change. I don’t know what it’s like to be made of sunshine the way she is, but I hate that I’m the guy who would be a storm cloud, ready to drown out her light.
“You’re right, though,” I hear myself grumble. “It’s not bad.”
Her smile shines even brighter. I might be an idiot, but I know when to bask in a moment.
Unfortunately, that moment is ruined when another idiot walks up to our table. Nathan’s wearing a red, skintight shirt withMedicemblazoned across his pecs, the short sleeves revealing the colorful tattoos that line both his arms. If the women turning their heads to get a good look at him are any indication, his tan slacks are tight across the back, too.
His gaze skates from me to our menu board, but his grin is only for Rose.
“We’re closed.” I cross my arms over my chest, stepping to the side to block her from his view.
His smile goes supernova. “Even for your baby brother?”
“Especially for him.”
Rose’s laughter is more melodic than anything coming out of the speakers on the stage at the far end of the park. With one hand on my shoulder and the other lightly gripping my bare forearm, she maneuvers me to step aside.
“We’re not closed,” she tells him. “What can I get for you, Nathan?”
“An iced chai latte, please.” He bats his thick eyelashes at her, but she’s already focused on pouring his drink. A good thing, since I’ve listened to women moon over his eyelashes too many times to count.
I have thick eyelashes, too, but nobody’s ever mentioned them. Probably because they’re usually accompanied by a scowl.
“Don’t you have bee stings to bandage?” I ask him.
“I’m on a break. But yes, there have been two bee stings tonight.”
I ignore his provoking grins and help the person behind him. I pour chilled mocha over ice and spray canned whipped cream over the top, my attention glued on Nathan’s interaction with Rose.
She hands him his drink, but he doesn’t walk away. He moves to the end of the table, out of the way of the line forming, but still close by. To do what, exactly? Wait for an opportunity to flirt? Is he actually planning on asking her out?
Maybe I should get him to play Risk. I need a non-jealousy-based reason to punch him in the face.
Luke and Jovie get in line, too. They stopped by to say hello earlier, Jovie taking pictures of everything on her phone. Baby’s first concert, such as it is. Rose and I move back and forth behind the table preparing drinks, each touch zipping along my nerve endings. I keep Nathan in my peripheral vision, counting down the minutes until his break ends.
Two older women step up, beaming at Rose and me. Greasy unease coats my stomach for reasons I can’t put my finger on. These women have been in Perk Me Up dozens of times, but tonight, their smiles remind me an awful lot of Lucy’s when she’s up to something.
“Hi, Nora,” Rose says. “Fran. Are you enjoying the concert?”
“Oh, we’re enjoying more than that.” Fran winks at me.
Okay. I’m going to assume she meant to aim that Nathan’s way.
They place their orders, and Rose and I get started on their drinks. I’m not as great with our regulars as Troy and Rose are, but these two are familiar, and I at least know their names. I think I do, anyway. Fran’s graying black hair has remnants of pink highlights in it that match the bright shirt she wears. Nora is moresubdued, in everything from hair, makeup, and demeanor, but she keeps eyeing me weirdly, too.
I get this bizarre sense that they’re sharks, and I’m the chum.
