“He’s just so… so…”
“Hot? Helpful? Built like a Greek god?”
I scowled. “I was going to say annoying. If you think he’s so sexy, why don’t you date him?”
Breeze scrunched her nose, causing all her freckles to pull together. “He’s like ten years too old for me, and practically my brother. If someone remembers me in nappies, they’re family.”
Noted.
It was easy to forget she was only twenty-four. She’d inherited this place at nineteen. Her crash landing into adulthood had aged her in some ways. But her habit of ignoring problems and hoping they disappeared outed her age and only made her more relatable. The sort of human I liked.
“Are you still annoyed at him for talking loudly on a call in here?” She asked, brushing flour from her hands.
“No.”Yes.
She narrowed her eyes.
“You two probably have more in common than you think.”
“Doubtful. Very doubtful.”
A full week of floor-to-ceiling café cleaning and not enough sunshine had me desperate for some outside work. I’d spent my evenings researching food safety and hygiene standards for cafes in the region. Apparently, regulatory agencies loved acronyms—FSA, HACCP, CCP—and I thought they were B.O.R.I.N.G. I couldn’t help thinking that if it were up to me to come up with an official name, I’d make sure the acronym spelled something cooler. Like NOSEPIK: New Official Safety Evaluation Practice in Kafes.
It might need some work.
Breeze was an expert at keeping her prep and storage areas pristine, which was a relief considering my survival depended on the food she made. But that was about where her expertise—or her energy—ran out. I wanted to make sure there were no loopholes Miss Lissy could exploit in pursuit of “opportunity.”
“It’s weed-wrangling day!” Breeze announced as she shouldered open the double doors leading to the jungle that was the back garden. If she’d realised she could do that a year ago, we might not be in this predicament. And I wouldn’t have to be spending a whole day with Dax and his biceps. Before I could answer, the man himself was barging through the door, effortlessly balancing a lawnmower and toolbox in one hand and his phone in the other.
“That’s a great explanation, Susan. Does anyone else have anything to add to that point?” he said via his earphones, and then his neck flushed red as he caught my glare.
“Why the hell can’t he do one thing at a time?” I grunted at Breeze. She grinned and kept scooting upstairs with Taco beforethe weed-infested yard swallowed the tiny dog.I’ll take that as a suck it up, buttercup.
The sun was streaming into the yard even though it was early in the morning, and my skin relaxed around my bones in appreciation. It’d be an epic spot for sunbathing. Light filtered through the tangle of tall weeds and overgrown grass, revealing details that hadn’t been visible before. An old wooden chair sat beneath a trellis, and a few slats of a short white picket fence peeked through. Breeze’s parents must have once loved this space.
“Did you have to drag the mower through the café?” I said to Dax as he finished his call. His eyebrows pinched.
“You’re not going to give me crap about being on the phone?” he asked as he stood up from where he’d been fiddling with the mower and rubbed his lower back.
“That was next. The floors I polished last night felt more urgent.” I didn’t have any energy left to give him a full scowl. He arched his back to take a peek back inside to see the mud and dregs of leaf sprinkles he’d walked in with him.
“Shit, sorry Ry,”
My breath shallowed for a moment. No one but Rick called me Ry. Something about the way Dax said it made the back of my neck prickle in a way it didn’t with my best friend. I shook it off.
“It’s Riley. And I’m assuming you’ll be adding that to your list once you’ve finished back here?” I said, waving my hand around the garden.
“And I’m assuming you’re giving me a hand out here before I definitely re-polish the kitchen floor for you, ma’am—I mean, Riley?”
I wanted to tell him he was on his own. I hated being paired with him. The fact that he clearly enjoyed my discomfort made me wonder if he was just annoying or a serious asshole.
“Why are you working on a Saturday anyway? Do you have, like, three hundred jobs?”
He smirked, leaning the strimmer against the concrete wall bordering the garden. “Close. Three. One’s volunteer, though, so I’m not sure it counts.”
I crossed my arms over my green flannel shirt that I’d paired with cut-off denim shorts.
“You’re annoying on the phone voluntarily?”
