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Joyce knows exactly what she’s doing: trying to seduce Jesse away from me. And I don’t dare look back at Jesse because I doubt there’s a straight man on this earth who wouldn’t be staring at her ass right now.
Eff me.
ChapterFive
Jesse
I thought Mariam and I were having a moment.
She was about to say something, maybe offer an alternative to dinner and horseback riding. And I was all ears.
Then a customer walked in—a face I vaguely recognized from real estate signs around town, Joyce something—and it was like someone splashed Mariam with a bucket of cold water. She had been leaning in so close I could see the golden glow around her pupils. Then she jerked away, all business.
Understandably enough, Mariam stood up to take care of Joyce with the utmost professionalism, despite the pointed comments.
“Oh, you work here? I couldn’t tell. Is it normal to sit and socialize with your patrons?”
I’m not sure what Joyce’s beef is, but I keep my eyes on Mariam. Easy to do; she’s so lovely to look at. And more friendly than what this customer deserves.
That real estate lady is obviously disappointed to learn she can’t order an espresso here at Sweetie Pie’s. I don’t know why she’s surprised—I don’t think anyone can get anything like that here in Darling Creek. If they could, everyone would know because it would have been a story on the front page of the local newspaper.
“Can I get you anything else? Donut? Regular coffee?”
The woman scoffs. “No, no. I’m watching my figure. I suppose I’ll have to go across the street and wait outside in the cold for my espresso.”
Outside? What is she talking about? Mariam is as confused by this comment as I am.
“Across the street?” Mariam asks, her gaze going past the customer to look out to the street to see what she’s talking about. I turn around, and my gut rolls over in horror.
Across the street, a small kiosk has been set up on the lawn in the park. There, operating a donut stand on a card table with a hand-painted sign, is Nate.
ChapterSix
Mariam
I knew the connection with Jesse was too good to be true.
He followed Joyce out the door like a puppy.
What’s worse, some schlub is selling espressos and donuts from a card table in the park.
Well, shit.
I clear all evidence of Jesse and my pleasant breakfast meeting and idly wipe down the table as I watch the scene outside.
But Jesse’s not talking to Joyce at all. He’s talking to the guy.
Oh…oh no.
It’s not just any man. That’s Nate.
I can’t watch.
Nate stood me up, and now he’s trying to compete. I thought he was a manager or something, but now he’s running a donut business to mess with me?
And Jesse’s out there, probably having a lovely conversation with a woman his age, most likely buying her precious espresso. As if anyone actually drinks that without a liter of milk and sugar. What is she trying to prove?
Whatever. I’m salty. Enjoy your coffee and non-donut-eating figure, Joyce.
