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“Any big plans for the day?” I ask, cashing him out.
“Errands,” he grunts, taking his change and tossing it in the tip jar.
“Oh, I meant to ask you, where do you get your mail?”
“I’ve got a box at the post office here in town,” he tells me. “Why? Did you need something sent out?”
“No. I ordered some new graphic pens for my tablet a while back that went on backorder, and I just got the alert they’ll be shipping soon,” I say. “Would it be okay if I have them sent to you?”
Butch gestures with his phone in hand. “I’ll text you the box number.”
“Thank you.” I’m momentarily surprised when he decides to lean over the counter, eyes alight with mischief. I didn’t know we were at the PDA level yet—or what we even are romantically, aside from our date later—but it seems like he’s decided for us. I giggle at his obvious goading, getting on my toes to meet his expectant gaze with a peck on the lips.
He grins as I drop down to my feet, my cheeks flushed when I realize everyone in the coffee shop is watching us. “I’ll see you later,” he says.
I smile. “Can’t wait.”
His grin widens before finally turning and walking out the door.
Once he’s gone, I turn to Alison and Janice staring at me. They share a look, with the same stupid smile on their faces.
I huff in annoyance, already having an idea what they’re thinking, but ask anyway, “What?”
“Nothing,” Alison says, her voice higher than usual as she pretends to retie her apron. “I just didn’t know you two were so…official. Would’ve been nice to hear that from my best friend before I saw it for myself.”
I roll my eyes at her weak attempt to fake her feelings being hurt. “We’re not—” Are we? When I think back on the events from last night and how natural everything felt. How comfortable we were together. I suppose from the outside looking in, it would seem that way. “We haven’t had that sort of conversation…yet. We’re still feeling it out.”
Janice snorts. “Feeling what out, exactly? Did you see the look on that boy’s face? I haveneverseen him smile like that before. There is no doubt in my mind, dear, that boy is head over boots for you.”
“Agreed,” Peggy shouts from her spot with Wade. At my wide-eyed glare, they share a laugh, returning to chat amongst themselves.
“He is not.”Is he?
“We shall see,” Janice sings, restocking the cups. “Where’s he taking you for dinner tonight?”
I shrug, cashing out another customer. “He didn’t say.”
“Probably Red’s Steakhouse,” Alison says. “It’s the nicest place in town. Did you know they made it so you need reservations Thursday through Sunday now? All this tourist traffic from the resort has been wild for business.”
“That it has,” Peggy comments on her way behind the counter, seeming to be in better spirits after her conversation with Wade. “Cassidy, can I see you in my office for a moment, please? Janice, take over at the register for a bit, will you?”
“Sure thing, ma’am.” Janice salutes, taking my regular place at the register as I turn to follow Peggy through the kitchen to her office in the back.
She pushes her way through the flimsy wood door and into the organized clutter she’s deemed her office. The space is so small, I’m pretty sure it was originally meant to be an employee closet.
Peggy plops down in her worn-out desk chair and swivels toward the filing cabinet.
I grab the metal folding chair off to the side and open it beside her. “Did you need help with the books again, Peg? I told you I handled inventory earlier; I’ll get it logged in for you before I leave for the day.”
Over the last few years, Peggy’s been putting my business degree to use. Having me help her with the books, inventory, payables, receivables, and payroll—it tends to be a lot for her to handle on her own, so I try to help as much as I can with whatever I can.
Which tends to be a lot and with just about everything.
She waves her hand absently. “No, no. This is for something else.” I watch her flick through several drawers, muttering to herself before she finally finds what she’s looking for. “Here we are.” She turns her chair to face me, handing me a manila folder. I take it from her as she starts to explain, “A few weeks ago, I was approached by a woman who works for Winton’s Resort. She asked me if I’d be willing to franchise Cup O’ Joe so they can put one inside the resort itself. That way people don’t have to come down the mountain and into town for a taste of oursmall-town charm. Or so they claim.”
My eyes widen. “Franchise Cup O’ Joe? Oh, my—Peggy, that’s amazing!”
“Is it?” she huffs, flustered as she leans against the back of her chair. “I can barely keep up here most days. I don’t know if I could handle a second location.”
