“No rush, but cash is fine.”
Too easy. Even if I’m already doubting the wisdom of keeping that much cash around here for more than a day or two, but that’s another problem I don’t want to think about right now.
So I stand, bracing my hands to my knees and levering up.
Of course, I forget not just how small my office is, but how much space Alaska occupies.
As I straighten and lift my head, I find myself practically eye to eye with him, and only because sitting on my desk knocked off like a foot from his titanic height.
I lock up, my heart crawling up my throat as I stare, barely an inch away from our noses touching.
This jittery little fantasy.
It’s not quite insta-love, but it’s bad.
If he didn’t still look so calm and unfazed, I’d probably dissolve into a stammering mess. But it’s like his inner chill stabilizes me, and I’m able to skitter back without tripping, clearing my throat and finding another smile in me.
Somewhere.
“Should we check on Eli?” I tilt my head toward the door. “Either he’s cleaned the whole shop by now or bailed.”
Alaska snorts. “He knows better, but yeah. He’s probably getting a little anxious out there.”
I sweep a mock-bow, pulling the door open for him. “Polar bears first.”
He throws back an evil eye over his shoulder.
“I’m gonna regret telling you that,” he grumbles.
If he does, he’s grinning as he steps into the hall and waits for me to lock up before we head back to the front of the shop.
I’m a little surprised to find the floor’s been neatly swept. Just as we come around the coffee bar, Eli’s head pokes up from behind it, a little disheveled and winded but smiling.
“Hey,” he says. “Sorry, I was looking for the trash.”
He dumps out the dustpan in the bin, then leans the broom on the bar and steps out, swiping his hands together. I sweep a look over the floor and let out an appreciative chirp.
“Clean as a whistle. Nice job, Eli.”
“Dad says I have to do things right the first time, or I’ll just wind up having to do them again.” Eli starts toward the table—which has split clean in two, but at least it’s not shattered glass everywhere. “I can push this against the wall.”
“Ah—no, leave that alone.” I hold a hand out, staggering forward. “It’s heavy and I don’t want you to cut yourself. I’ve got it.”
Eli pauses, glancing at Alaska like he’s asking for permission.
Alaska nods.
“She’s right. But—”
Before I can stop him, Alaska’s gripping the heavy table by its polished edges and hefting it up, his arms bunching and straining.
You can bet all the people who were pretending not to stare as we came out are watching him now as he easily maneuvers the pieces out of the way and leans them against the wall next to the door.
I’m watching, too.
I’m stressed out, not dead.
I yank my eyes back from his pectorals to his face as he straightens and nods. “There you go. Anything else?”
“Don’t forget this.” I reach over the bar and snag his full growler jug, swinging it over and offering it to him. “On the house.”
“As gracious as she is gorgeous.” He flashes me a wink and a grin, hooking the handle with a finger. “I’ll be back tomorrow for the crew.” He catches Eli playfully by the scruff of his shirt. “Say good night, Eli.”
“Good night, ma’am!” he belts out, waving as he turns to follow his father.
I watch them go with a smile, then stop as I realize everyone in the café is staring at me. Still.
Ugh.
Peace’s last song just ended—I think she lost her groove with the catastrophe and decided to pack up early with the thinning crowd—but she’s still perched on her stool, hugging her guitar and watching me with a bemused little smile.
“What?” I say, groaning a little as I slip back behind the bar. “C’mon, at least the place didn’t catch fire this time. Get in line! One free drink on the house for everyone—just quit staring.”
There’s a general round of laughter, a little applause.
Honestly, the people here aren’t terrible.
It’s only a few of the uglier ones who like to judge me by my family’s past, but overall the people of Heart’s Edge have been good to me. Kind. Even holding fundraisers to save my café.
And if a few card-carrying members of the Single Lady Vulture Squad want to keep glaring daggers, well...
It’s not like anything actually happened with Mr. Polar Bear.
But my heart’s skipping a heck of a lot over a whole lot of nothing, and that’s just silly.
The evening roundup keeps me busy for nearly an hour, slinging drinks and mentally tallying what costs I’m eating just to keep people’s goodwill and calm the general atmosphere.
It’s not a big deal, though, and it’s soothing for me to put together each drink.
By the time Mitch returns to apologize—this time without the dog, wife, or kids—I’m laughing, teasing Peace.
She claims it wasn’t the ruckus that ended her show early tonight, blaming sore fingers. I know the real reason is the chuckling man pulling her into his arms with a lopsided grin, rocking slightly as he hugs her close, favoring his movements on one leg.
I slide Blake his usual coffee—not that he notices me when he’s so focused on his wife—then turn a smile on Mitch.
“Hey, man. You okay? That was quite a show.”
“Yeah, sure was. I didn’t get hit. Neither did the kids or Momo, thank God. I’m real sorry about that, again,” he says with a sigh. “Didn’t know the cat would be here. Left Momo at home, though. That pup’s way too keyed up. But if you want me to pay anything, I’ll—”
“No way.” I hold up a hand. “It’s covered. We’re good, Mitch. No harm, no foul. Did you still want to order up?”
“Please! If my gal doesn’t get her late-night caffeine jolt, she’s out before the kids.” Then he pauses, braces his hands against the counter, and leans in, dropping his voice as he looks left and right. “Listen, though...after you close up tomorrow, do you think we could talk?”
Uh-oh.
There it is.
My internal warning, sounding red alert.
See, I knew that incident with the mugs was just a fake-out to lull me into a false sense of complacency.
Lady Luck isn’t done screwing me just yet.
I set down the mug I was wiping out, eyeing Mitch warily. “Probably. I can have the part-timers close up if it’s urgent.”
“Not urgent, maybe, but well...I don’t know. Just don’t feel like I should talk about it here. It’s about that car you sold me.”
“Dad’s old junker?”
I blink.
That old truck hasn’t worked right in years. It was just sitting at my place, gathering dust, ever since my father died. It’s practically an antique, which is why I figured selling it for parts was a better idea than spending the money to fix it up myself and sell it to a collector. So I turned it over to Mitch, and figured that was the last I’d have to think about it.