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I nod. “That sounds about right.”
“Who else is on this afternoon?” he asks, bringing his eyes back to me.
“Christina and I are leaving in an hour, and then Tori and Elijah will come in,” I tell him. “If there’re any problems—”
“Just give you a call,” he inserts. “I know, Bree. We’ve got this under control. You can spend the rest of the day relaxing, instead of thinking up every single scenario that could possibly go wrong. Nothing is going to go wrong. I will close up, and tomorrow morning when you arrive, the place will still be standing.”
“I know it will,” I say, not wanting him to think I don’t think he’s capable. I’m just a worrier; it’s what I do. “I’m just saying, you can call me if you need me.”
“I know,” he says, amusement flashing in his gaze. A customer walks in and Charlie goes to serve her while I make sure everything is stocked for the rest of the day. Time passes quickly, and soon Christina and I are heading out the door.
“Do you want to get a drink or something later?” she asks, stopping by my car.
I glance back to the café. “What, like a coffee?”
“No,” she says, smirking. “I know you don’t like day dates. One with more of a… kick. And by a kick I mean a shot of vodka.”
“Yeah, I got that,” I reply, laughing. “A drink sounds good. How’s seven?”
That gives me plenty of time to head home and play with my dog, Snoop, and do a little work on my house. I’ve been renovating it, or at least trying to do as much as I can at my own pace, only calling in professionals when I really need to.
It keeps me busy when I’m not at work.
I say bye to Christina then get in my car and drive home.
*****
“He’s staring at you again,” Christina points out, smirking into her drink. “Can he make it any more obvious?”
Living in a small town, everyone knows everyone, and even if they don’t, they know something about everyone. The man Christina is referring to, Paul, owns a few businesses in town, including a supermarket and a barbershop. I’ve never spoken to him before, but I haven’t heard the best things about him, including that he’s not a very kind boss. I think that alone speaks volumes about him.
“Not interested,” I grumble, finishing my drink and sliding it to the middle of the table. “I’m happy to be twenty-eight and single. I don’t care how much shit my mum gives me about it.”
And that would be a lot.
When are you going to give us grandchildren, Brielle?
Being an only child comes with a lot of pressure, but I’m sorry, it doesn’t look like they’ll be getting grandkids anytime soon. Times are changing. Women are taking on different roles. Sure, I’d love to have a kid one day, but I’m not going to jump into a relationship with just anyone to make that happen. My experience with men tells me that my chances of finding “the one” are about as likely as me getting pregnant.
A big not at all.
I’m sure there are good men out there, just not in my general vicinity. I don’t plan on moving to the city, and I don’t think any man would move here to this sleepy town just for me, so right now, my café is my love. I enjoy my life just as it is. Good friends, a roof over my head, and food on my table; how can I possibly complain? So I’m not having any hot sex, but hey, they created toys so I can take care of that by myself too. Might not be as fun… okay, nowhere near as fun, but what can you do? I’m going through a dry spell, an extremely dry one, and I just need to push through it. Last year wasn’t dry at all. After breaking up with my ex-boyfriend, I kind of went a little wild, playing the field and having a little fun, but now? Those times are just memories.
“I’m so happy I’m only twenty-five,” Christina says, ignoring my scowl. “When you hit thirty I’ll still be young for three more years.”
“Thanks for that,” I mutter, glancing at the bar longingly, but feeling too lazy to move to buy another round.
“At least you still look twenty,” she continues, shrugging. “Gotta look at the pros, right? I’d say that’s a big one. Do you want me to go and order you another drink?”
“I’ll wait until you finish yours,” I say, apparently more of an alcoholic than she is.
“Oh fuck,” she mutters, her brown eyes going wide as saucers. “He’s coming over here.”
“Who?” I ask, turning to look.
“Don’t look!” She groans, but it’s too late as I watch Paul approach us.
“Hello, ladies,” he says, sitting down on the seat in between us without even asking if it’s okay. “How are you both doing tonight?”
