Bonus: he didn’t even notice I was now four inches shorter. Maybe he wasn’t so observant after all.
I started the tour, guiding him through the kitchen like a real estate agent. I opened ovens and fridges, pointing out the laminated health and safety standards pinned to the wall, which I was particularly proud of. If professional laminator were a job, I’d take it. Mr Sweep made notes on his phone, stopping to take photos but giving nothing else away. Because I didn’t know who this man actually worked for—all those acronym organisations blurred together in my brain like one giant annoying entity—I was probably showing him irrelevant things, but I didn’t care. I’d worked hard in here. Harder than I’d ever worked on any piece of copy in my life.
I’d unpack that later.
“Here you’ll find the details of our suppliers. We do most of our ordering online now,” I said, gesturing to an open file on the recipe shelf. Look at me go; I was killing this.
“And your customer list for private orders, catering and such?” His red-rimmed eyes narrowed at me, and his lips curved.
“Confidential,” I beamed a grin right back at him. I knew my shit. “Those details are under lock and key, you can understand privacy laws and all that.” I kicked the base of the black metal filing cabinet next to the bookshelf. “The boss is fussy about keeping the keys on her person. But we take traceability of product seriously and collect all necessary information.”
The man’s shoulders sagged, and he looked disappointed. I on the other hand, was beaming. I hadn’t taken a moment until now to appreciate what Breeze and I had accomplished here over the past month. It was a café transformed—and we’ddone it ourselves. Well, with Dax’s help, if you counted the garden. Thinking about Dax felt like a punch right in the vagina bone. Stupid cloud. We were digging out garden beds now so Breeze could grow her own vegetables. Call us a garden-to-table business.
“Everything seems in order,” Mr Sweep announced to Breeze as he finished inspecting the coffee machine and deli cabinet. His thumb and index finger rubbed over his jawline as he sighed, and I actually felt sorry for him. Perhaps there was more than Breeze’s café riding on this inspection. That feeling lasted for less than a second before a flash of white tore through from the kitchen. Mr Sweep’s eyes glittered.
“Is that a dog?” he asked as he slunk toward Taco, who was now seated at Dave’s feet with her lips pulled back. Breeze and I exchanged wide-eyed looks. So close.
“It appears to be a dog,” he replied to himself in an amused tone. “Could also be a ferret. Even a rat?”
Had I said I felt sorry for him? I took it back. He was now firmly on my 'if I could murder someone for a day without consequence' list. I opened my mouth to respond, but Dave cut in first.
“A dog,” he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “She’s mine.”
“And you allow dogs in your café, Miss Meadow?” Mr Sweep asked, now addressing Breeze and pretending Dave didn’t exist. Breeze opened her mouth, her index finger raised as though about to launch into a theatrical defence.
“She’s an assistance dog. She’s working,” Dave interrupted. He didn’t break eye contact with Mr Sweep, who was crouched down examining the ancient chihuahua. She didn’t pull her lips back in a smile like she’d done a minute ago for Dave. Dogs really were excellent judges of character.
“I’d appreciate if you ignored her. She’s working,” Dave said, his arms folded and looking even more competent than when he aced a flying showgirl on the pole.
Mr Sweep snorted, and the corners of his mouth turned up. “That’s clever. Working dogs are allowed in cafe’s in Glades Bay. I assume you have paperwork, Mr?”
“Bill,” Dave said. “It’s just Bill.” And he pulled a folded piece of paper from his wallet.
Well, take me now, Mr Bond. Apparently, Dave was a certain brooding man after all.
Mr Sweep examined the form. I was fairly sure there was a rule about demanding paperwork from a person with a disability. He probably knew that too, which was why his gaze lingered briefly.
“So, this must be Cado,” he muttered, sounding deflated again. We all bobbed our heads smiling, including Harry and the other members of the Balls Club sitting at the table.
“Well…” slimy Sweeps said, as he rocked back and forth on his heels, his eyes doing one last swing of the room.
“If there’s nothing else I can do for you, Mr Sweeps, I’ll see you out. It’s my busiest time of day after all,” Breeze finally spoke, beaming a bright smile at him.
The man nodded and allowed himself to be led to the door.
“I’m guessing that’s a pass?” I called to his back as the bell jingled overhead.
“What? Oh. Yes. A pass,” he said, looking like I’d kicked a bag of kittens.
The café erupted in cheers and whoops as he stepped outside. Breeze ran over and flung her arms around Dave.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she cried, squeezing him tight. Dave’s cheeks flushed.
“It was nothing,” he muttered, shrugging.
“It wasn’t nothing. I’m making you a big breakfast on me!”
“But I’ve eaten…” Dave gestured to the empty plate in front of him before Breeze cut him off. She waved her hand, walking towards the kitchen in a pair of sneakers I hadn’t realised she’d switched my wedges for. Probably when Mr Sweep’s head was inspecting the exact temperature of the fridge. “And I don’t want to know what you’re doing with Bill’s wallet!” She floated into the kitchen like someone who'd had the weight of the world taken off their shoulders. Dave looked like he was going to protest about the forced breakfast again but thought better of it, lips closing with a sigh.
