When I finished with the teenagers, I turned away and squeezed my eyes shut for a long, unsteady moment.Get a grip, Tessa, will you?
Seriously. There was no need to bolt.
Not yet, anyway.
Put on your barista face, and play it cool. You're just a basic blonde with no nametag and a burnt thumb.
With a smile plastered in place, I turned back and served the next customer – and the one after that – making drinks, pouring coffee, and filling pastry orders like nobody's business.
Danger aside, I could've really used some help – and not only for my own sake. The customers were waiting for way too long, making me feel guilty that I wasn't faster.Or better.I mean, it's not like I'd meant to scald my thumb – or hand that almond scone to the bagel guy.
And don't get me started on the floor muffin.
Was it any wonder the customers were cranky?
The line at the counter had only grown, thanks to the arrival of another ferry, dumping yet another wave of humanity onto Main Street and straight into the coffee shop.
Sure, I didn't actuallyseethe ferry, but after a month on the island, I knew the patterns – just like I knew that if my boss didn't miraculously join me, I would be forced to wait on the Chicago duo all by myself.
Already, the two men were moving dangerously close to the counter, where we'd meet face-to-face. I wiped my hands on my apron, as if I could dry the sweat that just kept coming.
I kept watching them in my side-eye as I tried to tamp down espresso without shaking like a leaf.
Ryder Vaughn was talking.
Mister Hangover was enduring.
And me?I was trying not to lose my breakfast – or my nerve – as Ryder's laugh cut through the crowd like he already knew the joke was on me.
And then, all too soon, they were right there, directly in front of me, leaving me no choice but to play it cool and hope for the best.
I could do this.
And if not, well…there was always the back door.
4
The Risk of Raisin
Tessa
I braced myself as Ryder Vaughn leaned an elbow on the counter and said, "Two black coffees. And a dozen pastries to go."
If he were anyone else, I might've kissed him. Black coffees I could do in my sleep. And aside from the muffin incident, evenIcould bundle up pastries. As the thought hit, my traitorous eyes dipped to his lips, which yes, did look annoyingly kissable.
Damn it.
I gave myself a mental kick. He wasn't some hottie to swoon over. He was in league with the enemy.Maybe.
With an effort, I pasted on my best barista smile. "What kind of pastries?" I gestured to the display case, praying they'd choose quickly and be gone. "We've got cookies, muffins, bagels…"
Ryder turned to his friend. "What do you want?"
The friend shrugged. "You pick."
Ryder turned back to me. "What he really means isyoupick, because I'm not doing jack."
A smarter gal would've just grabbed whatever and called it good. But my stupid mouth had a mind of its own, and the words tumbled out before I could stop them. "You sure you wanna do that?"
