I narrow my eyes.“That’s literally my job.”
“Then yeah.”
Harold snorts from two stools down.
I ignore him.
Tucker orders eggs, bacon, toast, and hash browns like he always does when he’s here this early, and I carry the order back to the kitchen window trying very hard not to be aware of the way his gaze follows me.
I fail.
Spectacularly.It goes like that for over a week.
He comes in.I blush or snap at him or both.He watches me like he’s memorizing something.I tell myself not to read into it.Not to make something out of a man eating at a diner he’s probably been eating at for years.Not to forget the fact that he’s, well, him.
Older.
Dangerous.
Part of a world I don’t understand.
And yet somehow gentler with Quinn than most men I’ve known have ever managed to be with me.That part sticks.It settles into me.And once it does, it’s hard to ignore.
By Saturday three weeks later, I’ve almost convinced myself this can keep existing in this strange in-between place—half routine, half tension, all of it unspoken.
Then Zoe calls out on babysitting for one of my afternoon shifts at the ice cream shop.And my whole day tips sideways.We are always pretty steady after school gets out.Lindsey doesn’t have other employees besides me so I can’t leave her struggling.Which means Quinn ends up with me at the shop.
She thinks this is the best news she’s heard all year.I think it’s a disaster waiting to happen.
“Stay behind the counter,” I tell her for what has to be the tenth time in twenty minutes.
“I am.”
“You’re half behind the counter.”
“That still counts.”
I suppress a sigh and scoop mint chocolate chip for a line of teenagers who are all somehow both indecisive and in a hurry.
The bell over the shop door jingles again.“Welcome to Sweet Scoops, I’ll be right with—” I look up.And stop.
Tucker.
Of course it’s Tucker.
He takes in the scene in one quick sweep—the line of customers, my slightly frazzled state, Quinn sitting on an upside-down milk crate near the topping station with a coloring book and the expression of a child who is one inconvenience away from chaos.
His gaze lands back on me.I don’t know what shows on my face.Relief, probably.Embarrassment too.Maybe both.
“Busy?”he asks.
I laugh once.A little hysterically.“No, I’m relaxing.”
One side of his mouth lifts.Quinn spots him a second later.“Mellow!”
Every head in the shop turns.Naturally.Tucker doesn’t seem remotely bothered.He walks straight to the counter.“You need anything?”
The question is simple.Direct.And it nearly undoes me.Because I do.I need a break.An extra set of hands.Someone Quinn will listen to for more than seven seconds.But I also know better than to dump my life on him like it’s his responsibility.
