Page 2 of Quit Playing Games with My Heart

“It’s not even nine-thirty yet,” Diccon said a little bit later, when the usually epic line had dwindled down to just a few people, then no one at all. “The café shouldn’t be this empty until after ten at least.”

I turned away from the coffeemaker that I’d been wiping down and looked around the frighteningly empty space of the café. “Maybe it’s just a slow day everywhere,” I said, though I didn’t really believe that.

Diccon leaned against the counter, crossing his arms and frowning out the window, where we could see a bulldozer moving what must have been the material that the jackhammer had just displaced. “The changes that Theo and I suggested for this whole thing were supposed to diminish the noise and inconvenience.”

“This might be diminished,” Hannah said, leaning on the half wall with a sigh. “I’ve heard of construction projects being way more intrusive and putting people out of business entirely. Isn’t that what you said happened to that place you worked in Pittsburgh, Bri?”

I flinched a little. It wasn’t just the word ‘stupid’ that made me edgy as a rule. Anything about Pittsburgh caused some sort of stress reaction in me. And who could blame me after everything I’d gone through there?

“Something like that,” I said, not wanting to dwell on it. I turned back to give the already clean coffeemaker and espresso machine another wipe down just to have something to distract myself.

“Well, I’m not going to let this place go down without a fight,” Diccon said. “Common Grounds is more than just a business. It’s a community hub and a place for people to go to enjoy themselves and feel like they have a tribe.”

“Damn straight, boss,” Hannah said, perking up a little before she turned back to her kitchen.

I smiled despite the underlying tension gnawing at my gut. Common Grounds was all those things. At least, it was to me. It was so much more than just a job, although the job had come along exactly when I’d needed it.

I hadn’t been planning to make a home in Glenside. I hadn’t really known what I was doing three years ago when I packed a single suitcase in a fit of grief and humiliation, left my parents’ house without looking back, and hopped on the train to Philly. Back then, I’d thought all I needed was a few months away from the disappointment I’d caused and the anger and pity that had been directed at me. I figured I’d get a throw-away job, earn a little money, then go home to face my fears and try again.

Except the job I’d found had been as a barista at Common Grounds, and the friends I’d made here had been more accepting and supportive of me than my family or friends back home had ever been. Sam had hired me even though I had no experience working pretty much anywhere. I’d managed to sail through training with minimal problems, which was a small miracle, and I’d proven myself to be an excellent barista.

And in all that time, none of my new friends or coworkers, except Diccon, had discovered my secret.

We had a full ten minutes of relief from the jackhammer. A couple more customers had come in, allowing us to get the mood of the café back where it usually was with our call and response routine. The smells coming from Hannah’s kitchen were mouthwateringly good. Everything seemed almost normal.

And then the noise started up again.

Two seconds later, the office door flew open and Sam marched into the front of the café with a scowl that could freeze lesser men in their boots.

“I have just about had it with all this construction noise,” he said, coming closer to the counter, although he looked like he wanted to march outside and give the workers a piece of his mind. Gilbert, Sam and Diccon’s middle brother and co-owner of the café, had tried that when the project had first started, but to say it hadn’t gone well was an understatement.

“At least the noise is only a problem during the day,” I said with a hopeful shrug, having a hard time pulling my eyes away from him.

Sam grunted, crossing his arms and staring out the window. “We’re open during the day.”

He had a point there.

I grabbed a mug from the rack next to my station and filled it with Common Grounds’ special brew. I knew exactly how Sam liked his coffee, a dash of sugar and just enough milk to make it opaque, then stepped over to hand it to him.

Sam was still looking at the cloud of dust that had swelled up outside the window as the beep-beep-beep of a construction vehicle backing up blared, but he glanced to me with a look of surprise as I offered him the mug.

“Thanks,” he said, taking it, his face softening.

I loved it when Sam lightened up. He was generally pretty serious. It made sense, since he was a business owner. Especially these days, he had a lot to think about. What was even better was when he lightened up around me. I didn’t want to assume anything or get my hopes up in any way, but I was pretty sure Sam liked me.

Of course, he might have just liked me because I was his brother’s best friend. And because I was one of his most reliable employees.

Ugh. Every time I remembered that he was technically my boss, it made me feel bad for the nights I lay awake in bed imagining what it would be like if he were there with me. In no way was it appropriate to get off while thinking about your boss, or your best friend’s brother, for that matter, but a guy had to do what he had to do to get his rocks off.

“Everyone keeps saying this is temporary and that things will be back to normal in a few months,” Sam said, dragging his eyes away from—wait, had he been staring at me? “But if we lose too much business in the meantime, we’re not going to be able to afford to keep the doors open that long.”

“Is the café really running on margins that thin?” I asked, wanting to sound like I knew more about business than I did.

Sam sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I wish it wasn’t, but with the cost of everything going up these days, we might be in trouble soon.”

That truly struck fear into my heart. Common Grounds couldn’t go out of business. It was so much more than just a job to me.

“There has to be something we can do,” I said as a middle-aged woman came through the door. She made a face as she looked over her shoulder, like the noise and mess of the construction was a personal offense to her. “If the construction is keeping people away during the day, can we figure out a way to compensate by bringing people in at night?”