I open my mouth to tell him what Aspen told me about the six-month wait when the front door opens and the morning doughnut order is delivered.
Trey jumps down from the desk as the two large boxes are placed in front of me. “Don’t forget. Keep all the jelly ones on the left side.” He winks at me and then vanishes behind the office door.
**
Three bags stuffed with subs dangle from my hands. Today’s lunch. The inner office door opens from the other side and I step back and peek up from where the bags are cutting the circulation off from my fingers to see Trey stopped to hold the door open.
“Here, let me help.” He takes two bags from me and my fingers ache as the blood flow returns.
“Thanks.” Together we walk to the long table on the side wall of the open office space.
“I’d planned to ask if you wanted to do lunch today since we still haven’t made up for Monday, but it looks like you’re busy.”
An undignified noise escapes me and then I follow it up with actual words, “Finn left me in charge of food by myself today. I need to pass it all out.”
He smiles but is quick to cover it up when my frown deepens. “I’ll help. We wouldn’t want a repeat of the doughnut incident this morning."
Another pft-like noise answers his reminder of the jelly hell from this morning’s snack mix up. I should’ve known there was more to his wink than he let on. His “jelly on the left” comment was an understatement.
We pile the bags on the table and each take a few individually wrapped subs to begin our walk from desk to desk. Each foil wrapped log has a name handwritten in black marker on the top. I inwardly groan when I recognize the name on the first wrapped package of sweet hell I’ve grabbed.
“Melvin, I have your lunch.” I smile brightly as I approach the gluten free, vegan, no dairy employee. He doesn’t return the facial expression.
Not rising from his chair, he eyes the sub in my outstretched hand and presses a finger to the sleeve of his white shirt. “No mayo, extra tomato, and light lettuce? Toasted not oven cooked?” he asks.
I wave the sub a fraction closer to him hoping the smell will entice him to at least try it. “Yes, and cut into fourths not in half.” I finish the rest of his ridiculous special order I repeated four times over the phone today.
His eyes narrow. “Are you sure. After what happened this morning…”
He trails off and my eyes dare him to finish his comment. He doesn’t and it’s to his betterment. If the white shirt, pocket-protector-wearing nerd makes a comment about how one jelly doughnut ended up on the custard and cream side, I'll shove this sub down his throat.
I know why the previous receptionists haven’t stayed and why Finn has to pay the position so much. Melvin.
And well, if I’m honest there are at least ten other guys who work in the building just like him. Their list of food requirements would be enough to make even the most broke person question the money. It’s not until you deal with them on a regular basis that you start to get violent. Then the real trouble begins.
I thrust the sub at him one more time and he reaches to take it. He’s a little too slow, so I move it closer causing him to jerk back like it might bite him. A laugh bubbles up behind me and Melvin collects his food before I turn to see Trey with a hand over his mouth faking a cough. He better hope his sub isn’t in my bag or he will not like the results. My God. Three days and job has made me vicious.
“Why don’t you let me take care of the rest of them and you make sure the front desk is still bolted to the ground.” Trey reaches out to take the two remaining subs in my hands.
Any other time I’d tell him to relax I have it under control, but if every employee plans to mention my criminal jelly doughnut catastrophe, I’ll end up in jail. It was one freaking jelly doughnut, people. ONE. This is not DEFCON five.
“Thanks.” I smile and pass on the food to Trey’s waiting hands. If anyone gives him crap, he’ll talk them around in circles and no one will remember what they were complaining about. It’s his special gift that’s tripped me up more than once.
I’m back at the desk in under thirty seconds, but it takes me three minutes to realize in my haste to get all the food restrictions correct I didn’t order any lunch for myself. It’s possible I have a candy bar in my purse. I try to never leave the house without chocolate of some kind. Before I open the bottom desk drawer, the door to the office opens and Trey steps out.
“Were you forced to defend my honor over the doughnut again or is Melvin the only one experiencing PTSD over it?”
Trey laughs at my bad joke. “Actually, I told them all you were my girlfriend and after that everyone seemed to clam up.”
“You did what?” He told people I’m his girlfriend? That… it's… it’s wrong that’s what it is. Even if I was his girlfriend… which I’m not, but even if I was it’s not cool to tell people we work with. He must be kidding.
“Hey, it worked.” He moves his hand toward the door, possibly in an attempt to showcase no one has run through to grill me about their order.
Great. Now I’m worried it’s a real possibility. He circles to the back of my desk and slides up to sit on the surface again. I’m glad the job doesn't require much paperwork because mine would have Trey’s butt imprints all over it. Although it would be a nice tight print. In fact, maybe I should lay down some papers for next time.
“What are you thinking?” I look up to see Trey staring at me intently.
“Nothing.” I’m able to answer him without looking to his butt. I deserve purse chocolate.
