Plus, that short apron framed his butt nicely.
Noooo, don’t notice his body.
I blushed and packed the cake.
For years, I’d thought he’d fallen asleep in class and buttered up girls for study guides because he was a horny mooch.
But he worked on weekends. He was on his feet, catering to people’s needs. Just like me.
I sucked my fingers clean of tart juice and sweet cream.
Maybe we had more in common than I’d ever dreamed.
Chapter five
Salutations
It was silly to hang around hoping Angel would talk to me.
He was working.
But I kinda wanted to stay goodbye before I left, if only to make sure we were really okay.
Would he get in trouble if I took the cake? Shouldn’t I at least give him a tip? Although he was the one who crashed into someone else’s dessert.
I shifted my weight, anxious in the growing dinner crowd. Mom would be here to pick me up any minute.
A guy with a scruffy goatee, neon shoes, and a bright patterned shirt attempted to maneuver through the line. “S’cuse me, folks. Special delivery,” he called.
Most people moved, but some ignored him in favor of staring at their phones. He stalled, swerving as he attempted to scoot past everyone with the big box in his arms. Poor guy.
I could remember the panicked urgency of getting a gurney through tight, busy hallways.
“Move aside. He needs to come through,” I said in my firmest ‘doctor’ voice. Direct orders tended to yield the best results in situations like this where people were in liminal mindsets waiting to be called forward.
The gaggle of people blocking his path shuffled out of the way.
“Thanks,” the guy in bold colors said, flashing me a sincere smile with deep dimples on either side. He plopped the box onto the counter, then leaned over it to peer into the kitchen. “Hey-o, where’s my Angelo?”
“Do you mean Angel?” I asked.
The delivery guy's voice piqued with curiosity. “You know him? The guy with white hair?”
“Y-yes. He’s over there.” I gestured to where he was serving the sea breeze.
Perhaps Angel felt our gazes, because he turned mid-specials-spiel and smiled.
I waved, my joints melting in awkward swoon.
Hi. Still here. Still that puppy-dog/pigeon waiting to talk to you.
I wasn’t sure what was more embarrassing: the perception I had a crush on him or the reality that I was waiting for my mother to pick me up.
The guy in the bold shirt propped his arm on the box, glancing between me and Angel. “So, how long have you two been acquainted?”
“A little while, I guess. We’re not super close,” I hedged.
“Close enough you came to visit him, though.”
