“Soo… let’s put up a sign.”
“Yeah, he doesn’t want us to put up a sign because that’s too much of a hassle. He also doesn’t want us to make an Instagram post or anything.”
I blinked. “So how exactly does he expect us to find someone to hire if he doesn’t want to let people know we’re hiring?”
“Stan thinks our friends are basically waiting in line for a chance to work here.”
Snorting, I shook my head. “That’s crazy.”
Most of my friends were in my position—looking to find a job in their chosen careers. They didn’t want or need part-time jobs to afford college; they needed full-time jobs to afford life.
“Tell me something I don’t know. Oh, hey, does your boyfriend need a job?” She waggled her eyebrows. “I hear it’s a great way to spend time together.”
I gently nudged her out of the way, carrying a tray of empty cups to the back to load them into the dishwasher.
“It’s a great way to spend time together until you break up. Then one of you quits, and we’re down a great barista,” I called through the door before heading back out.
Maggie gave me an apologetic look. “Sorry.”
“I really liked Dean.”
“Me too.” She sighed, then shook her head. “Anyway. We were talking about your boyfriend. What’s his name?”
“Eric.”
“Ohh… that’s a serious name.”
I laughed, his hard and cold face coming to my mind. “He kinda is the serious type.”
“I knew it. Okay. How old is he? What’s he doing? What’s he like? And I don’t want to hearnice, okay? I want details.”
I took a deep breath, letting my eyes roam through the room, but nothing had changed. People were working, scrolling, drinking their coffee, but no one was coming up to the counter.
Okay, first things first.
His age…
“I uh… actually don’t know how old he is. A couple of years older than me? Not much, though.”
“Okaaaay.” Maggie twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “I suppose you don’t have to know his age?”
I shrugged. “It never came up. I can definitely ask him, though. As for what he’s doing… he’s working for his friend, or like, interning? He was in med school, but then he was in some kind of accident and got shot. He had to quit afterward. And he’s great. No.” I shook my head and held up a hand when I saw Maggie opening her mouth. “I mean it. He truly is great. He’s considerate and funny, and he likes to listen to me complain about cheesy rom-coms.”
“He was shot?”
Sure, that was the thing she remembered.
“Yeah.”
“Ouch. Where?”
“Uhm…” I blinked, thinking back to our encounter two nights ago, trying to remember if I’d seen a scar, but… no. I definitely would’ve remembered a fucking gunshot scar. His skin had been utter perfection. Pale, marble-like perfection.
“His back?”
Probably, right?
I hadn’t felt it, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there.
