“Why do you keep staring at your phone?” Becks yells over the rowdy Italy fans.
They just scored the first goal of the game, only five minutes in, and the fans are going wild.
I look up and know she’s going to be pissed. “I think I should leave and go back to the bakery.”
She pauses mid-sip, then puts down her beer. “What? We just got here.”
“Alice said they’re busy. I feel guilty sitting here having fun with you while they’re up to their necks with customers.”
She twists her hips so we face one another on this crowded bench where we’re squished between Matteo and his brother.
“You’re allowed to take time off, Jules. When was the last time you took a day?” She stops me with a head shake. “That was rhetorical because I know it’s been ages. You work six days a week in the bakery, and then on the one day a week it’s closed, you teach baking classes. It’s been almost a month working seven days a week.”
“They need my help,” I say weakly. She’s right, I have been working constantly, but I can’t tell them no. “Let’s not talk about this now.”
We’ve been busier than ever because of a viral video someone posted of our croissants. It’s great for business but not for work-life balance.
“If you don’t want to discuss it, we can chat about your little rendezvous in my office building.” She wiggles her body in excitement.
Last month, she didn’t want me to talk to Harrison; now she’s excited about me being naughty.
“Let’s not.” I widen my eyes for effect. “If you drop it, I’ll stay, okay?”
“I love Inès, and I know she has difficulty trusting people in her bakery, but you need to hire more help or close an extra day. It’s not fair to you.”
“I don’t mind. I want to help.”
She shakes her head, annoyed. “They take advantage of you. Alice shouldn’t text you that they’re busy to guilt you into coming back. You deserve a day, so take it.”
I think about her words.
They don’t take advantage…or at least Mom doesn’t. If she heard Becks, she’d be devastated.
I think.
In a daze, I stare out into the bar, watching all the patrons laugh and let loose, enjoying their favorite soccer team. I lean back in the booth and sip my drink, and I admit, I feel relaxed.
Even with the blasting televisions and loud cheering, the excited energy in the room makes me feel good.
The front door flies open a little harder than the person probably expected, and a group staggers in. The people break in different directions when an expensive pair of loafers comes into view, closer with each step.
With a mind of their own, my eyes drag up legs that fill out perfectly fitting jeans. As they rise higher, I gasp, taking in a deep breath.
It’s Harrison…and I can’t stop staring.
And if I had to make a bet, with how he looks, every woman here is staring, too.
My chest burns at the idea…no.
He’s mine.No, he’s not.
His dark honey-blonde hair is swept back, in a bit of disarray from the burst of air conditioning that blasts everyone with arctic air as they step over the threshold.
His square jaw is covered in a light shadow of stubble, and his eyes, like laser beams, stare right through me.
Of course, he watches me ogle him, and by the way that his lips are lifted in a cocky smirk, he’s enjoying himself.
I reach over and squeeze Becks’s arm. “Ow, Juliette…oh shit.”
