“We’re not done,” I tell him before he can disappear into the back office the way he typically does when conversations go on longer than he likes. Meaning, more than three sentences.
He looms behind the counter while I prepare drinks for Ada and Isabel, two older busybodies whose lively antics make me laugh. Before she left to travel the world, Mom was part of their wider friend group. Today, the ladies are chattering about a book character and debating the definition of a “himbo.”
At least, I hope they’re talking about a book character.
My skin tingles as if Reed’s watching my every move. While hecanmake the complicated drinks we’re known for—and that he lets me select for our seasonal menu—he’s more comfortable with Americano orders. If he is watching me, it’s purely for educational purposes.
Obviously.
Once I’ve served the vanilla Frappuccino and iced caramel latte, and our guests are back out the door, I turn to him, my long skirt swishing around my calves. He’s still in frowny mode, but I like to think I know Reed pretty well by now. He can’t stand change, he thinks surprises are the worst, and he loves a good plan. So I’ll meet him on his turf.
“We’ll offer a pared-down menu to keep it easy to manage.” I launch in, ticking ideas off on my fingers. “We’ll take the small back-up espresso machine, a cooler for pitchers of cold brew and milk, and a few flavoring syrups. We can pick up a folding table and an awning, and we should probably have a banner made. The rest is just cups, straws, and napkins.”
His eyebrows twitch in what I’m going to file under “surprise.” “When did you plan all this?”
“While I was listening to Ada and Isabel.” It might sound like planning, but really, it’s just running wild with an impulsive whim. That’s my favorite kind of plan.
His mouth tugs at both corners. Amusement. A good sign!
“Come on.” If Reed was a touchy-feely type of man and also not my boss, I would grab both his biceps to drive my point home. In addition to his perma-frown, Reed dresses in perma-flannel, and I just know that blue check is the softest thing ever. But I restrain myself. “It’s a great opportunity. You want us to succeed, don’t you?”
Sometimes, I’m not entirely positive he does. I’ve heard enough from Troy to know the coffee shop fell into Reed’s hands unexpectedly. Which goes back to my point about him not liking surprises. I can never be sure he wouldn’t be secretly relieved if the whole place burned down. He’d probably be sleeping peacefully with the matches under his pillow.
“You said it yourself,” he rumbles out. “It’s only a few hours one night a week. That’s not going to make or break the business.”
I grin up at him. “That means it’s the perfect low-stress chance to try out this coffee cart idea.”
He stares at me so long, the back of my neck gets warm, likehe’s testing out Superman’s laser beam eyes. Or like he’s resting his hand there. Which, obviously, he wouldn’t because he’s my boss and we’re not like that.
“You really want to do this?” he finally says.
“Yes! It will be fun to serve coffee while listening to live music.” A concert in the park at twilight sounds magical to me, but some of us are less whimsical than others.
“From what I’ve heard of the lineup, Lila’s giving everyone time who wants it. Your eardrums will regret your choices after two weeks, guaranteed.”
I gesture up at him. “How long have you been a grouchy eighty-five-year-old man?”
“Thirty-four years.”
Sounds about right. I bet he was the grumpiest baby. With absurdly broad shoulders and a frustration line between his eyebrows from birth.
“How about this? If it turns out to be a bust, I promise not to bring up paint chips and color schemes for a whole year.”
One dark eyebrow lifts as though I’ve got him on the hook. I should have thought of a bribe from the start. Perk Me Up is all shiny white walls, drab gray cement floors, and dark-stained wood. I’m a maximalist at heart, and the lack ofoomphin here gets to me. I’ve tried to convince Reed to add some color to the place, but I haven’t brought him around yet.
“A year?” he confirms.
“You’re right. Six months.”
He exhales an approximation of a laugh. He shakes his head, and I’m about to dive into Round Two of my pro-coffee cart arguments when he cuts me off.
“Okay. We’ll do it.”
I freeze. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He sounds like he’s agreeing to cater a morgue, but I will take the reluctant acceptance.
“Yes!” I pump my fists in quick celebration. “This is going to be so much fun.”
