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“Cream or sugar?” I ask with a smile as he meets my eyes.
His gaze travels down my body, lingering where the café’s name and logo are stretched across my chest in the tight baby tee. I stand a little taller. Maybe I can walk out of here with a fat tip, and this will be worth my time. That’s what I like about tourists—they come in here and see a pretty girl smile at them and think maybe I like them, and maybe they can get something from me.
Locals all know that I hate them, and they aren’t getting shit.
“Neither,” he says as his eyes make their way down my center, past my skirt, and onto my bare legs. “Just black.”
“Perfect,” I tell him. “Anything else I can grab for you?”
“That’ll be it for now.”
I walk back toward the kitchen, smiling to myself as my mom breezes past me and ties her own apron around her waist.
“Oh no you don’t,” she says, snatching the coffee cup from my hand.
“No I don’t what?”
“That one’s mine,” she says. “He’s been in here every day this week, and he left me a one-hundred-dollar tip last night and asked me out.”
“What? I want a hundred dollars.”
“You’re too young for him.”
“I’m not too young to take his money!”
She scoffs, then fills the coffee cup. I fold my arms across my chest and scowl as she strolls past me, making her way over to that back corner table. My table.
“Grant!” she says warmly as she approaches. “I’m going to start thinking you come in here just to see me.”
“Well, maybe I did," I hear him answer.
I shake my head and do my best to hide my scowl as I refill water glasses at the table across from them.
Whatever.
“Is there anything else I can get for you?” she asks.
“He already said no, Mom,” I mumble.
“Wait,” Grant says. “That's your daughter?”
“My oldest,” my mom says. “I have two.”
“I don't believe it for a second,” he says. “You two look more like sisters.”
“We hear that all the time,” she says.
I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck like that. We do look alike, but no one says that. Ever. She’s a beautiful woman, but life hasn’t been easy on my mom, and she looks every bit of the almost-fifty she is.
I stop on my way to the kitchen, watching her lean over the table, running her hand up and down his arm. She leans in and whispers something in his ear, and for a second, I think I might vomit right here. Just to prove a point.
“Hey!” Aaron says, snapping in my face. “Wake up. You’ve got two orders up.”
“She stole my table,” I tell him as I grab the plates from the kitchen.
He shrugs and walks away.
“Aren’t you the manager? Manage her!” I say to his back.
