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The customer nods, takes his drink, and walks away. I seize the opening.
“Hey, Virgil, is it okay if I take my break?”
“Why?”
I want to say it’s so I can change my tampon. Virgil loves to pry into the personal lives of his employees, and I’d enjoy putting him on the spot in front of Angie, who is making drinks just a few feet away. I have to play this one straight to have any chance of getting my break, though.
“I, uh…want to talk to a friend,” I say.
My boss looks over at Pike, who is now standing in line.
“Is that your dealer?” Virgil asks.
“What?”
Pike is wearing a gray Saints T-shirt, the sleeves fully filled out by his inked biceps. I guess it’s the tats and the tiny hoop ring in one nostril that made Virgil assume he’s a drug dealer. Ridiculous.
“We do random drug tests here, you know, Mindy. I could ask you to take a test at any time.”
I meet his gaze and fold my arms across my chest. “Go right ahead.”
He looks at Pike again, and then back at me. I have a strong feeling Virgil lives in his mom’s basement and the only time he has any authority over people is when he’s at work. He looks to be in his mid-thirties at least and I imagine his life partner is a cat.
“You can take ten minutes,” he says. “After that I want you on the register for the rest of your shift.”
“Okay.”
I’m not thanking him for the break I’m entitled to. It’s supposed to be fifteen minutes during a five-hour shift, but shaving off five minutes is Virgil’s way of exerting power over me. His mother must have taken one look at him after he’d been born and known her kid would be a tool.
I set the timer on my watch and walk back over to Pike.
“Hey,” he says. “What’s good here?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “I don’t get a discount and I can’t afford the froufrou drinks here.”
He lets out a quick chuckle. “Let me buy you something good, then. I insist.”
I crane my neck back to meet Pike’s eyes. He’s almost a foot taller than me and I’m barely at eye level with his neck. With our physical size differential and the way I treated him that day at the arena, I feel like a small person in every way. He’s being so nice.
“I only have nine minutes left,” I say. “By the time we order and wait for Angie to make our drinks, I won’t actually have any time left to drink it. But thank you for offering.”
He leans down and whispers in my ear. “Your boss looks like a jackass.”
I smile and stand up on my toes so I can whisper in his ear. “He thinks you’re a drug dealer.”
Pike bursts out laughing. It’s a deep, rich sound that gives me goose bumps and makes his eyes sparkle brightly.
“I’ve never heard that one before,” he says, leaning to the side to see how many people are in front of us in line. “You know what, let’s skip the coffee and just sit down.”
He leads the way to a small table by the coffee shop’s front windows and we sit down in two chairs directly across from each other.
“So how long have you worked here?” he asks.
“Three weeks.”
“Oh wow, so you’re new.”
“I am.”
“How do you like it?”
I take the time to seriously consider his question. I am grateful to have this job, but I know there’s something else out there for me. “On a scale of one to ten, it’s about a three. Could be worse, I guess, but could also be a lot better.”
“Maybe something else will come along.”
“Yeah, I took the first job I could find because I really needed to start earning a steady paycheck. My…husband unexpectedly left me.”
“Oh.” Pike grimaces, tilting his head to the side and opening his mouth like he wants to say something, but then pauses, as if rethinking his words. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Don’t be. He did me a favor.”
I’m about to mention Nolan, but I don’t. My protective instincts kick in and tell me not to mention my son to this man, who is by definition still a complete stranger.
“How about you?” I ask, holding up my end of the conversation. “How long have you been playing hockey?”
“Since I was a kid.”
“Do you love it?”
He smiles. “I do. It’s not often people get to make a living doing the thing they love most. I’m very fortunate.”
“I hope I can do that one day.”
Pike leans forward on his elbows, which are resting on the table. “What do you love, Indie?”
I almost say it—art—but something stops me. I think it’s my subconscious trying to save me from saying things before I’ve really thought them through. I don’t know Pike well enough to share my love of art with him.
