Page 13 of Intrepid

By the time I reached Mama D’s, I was a sopping mess pushing through the front door, to where the lunch crowd packed the few tables inside. Didn’t matter that most of what the small café sold was breakfast food, the place never stood empty for very long, which was great for tips, bad for Neveah, Deirdre’s granddaughter and the only other server, who glared at me as I made my way around the counter.

“Girl, where’ve you been? I’ve not had a break since seven this morning!” Neveah studied business management and hoped to, one day, carry on her grandmother’s legacy by taking over the little shop. Unlike her sweet, carefree grandmother, though, she ran the place like she planned to design war missiles, keeping a close eye on what everyone else was doing, and criticizing things done wrong.

“Sorry, my prof let us out late. It won’t happen again.” I slid the loop of the apron over my head, knuckles brushing the soggy mop of hair I imagined looked like a big blue bird’s nest set atop my head.

“I hope not. Simone spoke highly of you. I’d hate to have to let you go.”

Granted, I’d never owned a business myself, but it seemed Neveah had much to learn in the way of employee morale and creating a sense of loyalty.

“Oh, don’t fuss like that, Neveah. We got along just fine for a few minutes.” Mama D peeked over the counter, separating the kitchen from the main coffee house. “D’you even ask her how her day went? She looks soaked to the bone! Whyn’t you get some towels and dry yourself up, baby.”

That was Mama D. Truly one of the reason’s I’d come to love my job.

“Sorry, Sera.” Neveah’s lips thinned with remorse. “It’s been a stressful first week of class for me. I’ll grab you some towels.”

“S’okay. How ‘bout if you take your break? You need it. It’s just rain, it’ll dry.”

Neveah disappeared into the back of the restaurant, and with all the customers having been served, I crouched to tie my shoes, but at the jingle of the front door, I scrambled to finish my laces.

“Well, look what the wind blew in!” Mama D’s jubilant voice always brought a smile to my face, the way she greeted every customer who walked through her door. No wonder the city loved her so much. “Where you been, Ty? Ain’t seen you ‘round in the last week.”

I froze, my forehead tightening with a frown. No way she was talking about the same person.

Gripping the edge of the counter, I lifted just enough to catch his tousled hair and sharp blue eyes. Rising up from my hiding spot, I watched his face flicker with intrigue as he approached.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him.

“Sera, this is Ty.” Mama D cut in from behind, as I tried to wrap my head around the possibility that the guy really was tailing me. “Comes in every Tuesday and Thursday to order an egg sandwich with extra ham, and house brew with a dab of cream and suga’.”

I breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. “For a minute there, I thought you were stalking me.”

His jaw shifted as he stared down at me.

“Ty here is the best lookin’ ironworker in the D!” Mama’s laugh coupled with her comment, and the obvious discomfort on Ty’s face, left me stifling a smile.

“You said I was the best lookin’ in the D.” One of the men sitting at a table off in the corner threw up his hands and bent forward with an obnoxious laugh.

“You are, too, baby!” Mama hobbled back toward the stove, grabbing her spatula along the way. “One egg sandwich coming up!”

“Had I known you worked here, I’d have made a point to come in Tuesday.”

“To bond over our shared trauma?” I grabbed one of the paper coffee cups and poured the dark roast to just below the rim of it. “What’s your real interest? You’re the best lookin’ ironworker in the D. Surely, there are other pigeons in the city looking for a crumb.”

“What’s your deal? Why do you act so cold?”

“What makes you think it’s an act?” I poured in a shot of sugar cream from the cold canister sitting on ice. It was Mama’s special homemade concoction that I’d recently learned was made much like sugar cream pie.

“Your eye flinches every time.”

“Every time what?”

“See? You did it again.” His eyes narrowed on me, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the countertop. “If I had to guess,” he said just above a whisper. “You think I’m trying to get into those tight jeans of yours.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Truth? I’d love to. But I’m not the kind of asshole who takes it without asking.”

“What kind of asshole are you, then?” I pressed down the lid of the coffee, sealing the steam and reveling in the burn with a wicked grin on my face.