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‘Fuck off.’
‘Yep, there it is. Just around the crown there.’
I spring forward, and my laughter dies instantly when Blondie’s striking blue eyes are looking right at me. ‘Erm, hi again.’
There’s a moment of silence between us. I must have lost my mind somewhere between scotch and wine because I can’t think of a damn thing to say. I’m just staring. Possibly memorizing every contour of her face. Frozen.
For the record, this never happens.
I feel Marty’s focus flick between Blondie and me, and I come back to life.
‘I didn’t realize you were a waitress. I thought you made cupcakes.’
‘Ah, I’m not.’ She gestures to her white coat and the apron that’s tied tightly around her slim waist. ‘And like I told you this morning, I don’t make cupcakes. But I do prefer being hidden behind those walls to being out here.’
Hidden? She should be on display. The comment seems entirely at odds with the confident, back-chatting woman I met this morning.
‘Anyway, I, erm, wanted to give you this.’ She places ten dollars on the table in front of me. ‘Turns out I left my purse here this morning. Thank you for your help.’
I slide the bill back toward her. ‘Don’t worry about it. I don’t need reimbursing.’
Her features visibly stiffen, and I start to see the feisty woman from the bagel truck. ‘I’m sure you don’t. But I don’t want to owe you anything.’
‘I wasn’t holding a debt against you. Call it part of your tip.’
Her eyes widen, and I realize how shitty that remark must have sounded. ‘Wow, you really are arrogant.’
Marty leans back in his seat. He looks primed to retort. I won’t let him have a go at her. But I will take it on myself.
‘I’m not sure you’re supposed to insult paying customers. Is that a British thing?’
She opens her mouth as if she’d like to counter. From what I’ve seen of her so far, I’d expect nothing less. But she must check herself at the last minute because she closes her mouth and twists her lips into a fake smile, as if she’s a wind-up toy. She leaves the bill on the table between us, Alexander Hamilton staring up at me, and asks, ‘Can I get you any dessert?’
I almost scoff at how clearly annoyed she is.
‘I’ll take the cheesecake,’ Marty tells her. She nods, and her tightly held jaw seems to relax momentarily before she looks back to me and raises her eyebrows.
‘I’m not a sweet kind of guy,’ I tell her.
‘Funnily enough, I didn’t have you pegged as a sweet guy, but I would like to know if you want pudding.’
Now I can’t help the pfft of humor that escapes me. ‘All right, I’m not a dessert man.’
Her scowl seems to disappear and she bites her lip. I think she’s fighting a smile.
‘That’s because you haven’t had my desserts,’ she tells me.
‘That’s right, your cupcakes.’
She all but growls through her teeth. ‘I don’t make cupcakes. You’re impossible. Has anyone ever told you that?’
‘Lots of people, actually. I’m still not a cupcake fan though, thanks anyway.’
Shaking her head, she walks away from the table.
‘What in the hell was that about?’
I take another second to watch that ass walk away, then give Marty my attention. ‘Since when do you order dessert?’
