I snatch up the apron, fastening it to my waist.
“It would seem we’re on opposite shifts,” I grunt, working hard to avoid the gaze of myex-boyfriend. How I’ll avoid being awkward around him from here on out, I do not know.
I glance at my watch—10:27—and then smirk. “You opened the doors three minutes early.”
Reed wags his eyebrows a couple of times.
“Keeping the old man on his toes today.”
I laugh and drop my attention to his sandy flip flop–covered feet. “Speaking of toes… trust me when I say, you donotwant to wear those. I learned the hard way after our first day.” I tap my pair of white sneakers together like Dorothy’s ruby-red slippers.
“It’s the price I have to pay, I’m afraid,” he says just as Mr. Morgan comes barreling through the opening between the kitchen and the bar.
“Reed, what are you doing?” he bellows, marching closer.
“There he is now.” He winks at me before whipping around on his heals. “Dad, what’s up?”
“What’sup?! Why are the garages open already? I told you not a minute before we open. And I hope you brought a different pair of shoes, otherwise you’re not working today.”
“Ah, shoot, I guess I’m not working today.” He shrugs, sending a chimney stack of smoke from the poor man’s crown.
“You better be calling Rex to cover for you then,” he huffs, before flipping his frown upside down for me. “Oh, hey, Teddy.”
“Hi, Mr. Morgan. Where do you need me?”
“Teddy, please. You’re all grown now. Just call me Emmett. If you could fill a dozen water pitchers, that would be great. They’re on the second shelf behind the bar,” he reminds me, waving his hand in the general direction.
“Sure thing.”
I leave the two of them to squabble, and it’s not until I’ve started my workday that I spot Reed walking past the booths overlooking the lake to sit himself near the only window that overlooks the marina. He pretends to scroll his phone, but I catch him glancing my way the second, third, and fourth time I look up from filling water pitchers. When they line the Maplewood countertop and Mr. Morgan is out of sight, I make my way over to the camel-colored pleather booth and slide into the side opposite him.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he smirks at his phone screen.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m a paying customer.”
I scrutinize him, but his gaze doesn’t budge from his phone.
“Seeing as we’ve missed each other in passing for the last week and you won’t agree to hang out with me outside of work, I’m going to sit in your section so we can spend some time together today.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“Oh yeah? Enlighten me. Howdoesthis work?”
“You might not be working today, but I am,” I remind him. “And I told you, I’m not up for the blast from the past thing.”
He locks his phone screen and sets it down on the table between us. Everything about him seems more casual today, from his unkempt hair that keeps falling along his forehead to his unbuttoned polo missing an undershirt. Almost like he planned it that way.
“Well, I already checked, and this booth is in your zone. I’m a hungry guy. I can pack in a lot more than you think I can, and every hour or so when you whip out that notepad to take my order, it’ll give us the perfect chance to chat.” He leans back, making himself comfortable, and winks at me.
I narrow my eyes in his direction, retrieving the ballpoint pen stashed in the front pocket of my apron. “You’re?—”
“Trouble?” he finishes. “You’ll find out just how much, soon enough.” He grins before turning his attention back to his phone where his fingers tap across the mini alphabet on the screen.
Charmingtrouble, that’s my problem.
I ready my pen on the pad of paper. “Fine. What’ll it be?”
“Diet Coke for now, please, Miss Fletcher.”
