She grunts, and I laugh again.
“I’m going to wear you down, Scout. You’re going to love me.”
She scoffs and mutters something that sounds a lot like, “In your dreams, Miller.”
I can’t seem to wipe the smile off my face as I walk away.
4
SCOUT
“Can I get a vanilla cold brew, please?” a voice says to my back.
I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Miller standing there. I can tell not only by his voice, which is so deep I swear he could narrate audiobooks, but by how my body seems to know when he’s around.
I couldn’t stop thinking about him after he left yesterday. Not even the lunch rush could distract me. All I could focus on was that he wasn’t lying about returning. He showed up just like he said he would. Given that I thought this was all just a little game to him, it was surprising.
But today? Seeing him here yet again? That’s even more of a shock.
I spin around to find him grinning at me with that same stupid smile he’s always wearing and his whiskey eyes sparkling against the midday sun.
This is about the same time he showed up here yesterday, and I wonder if he’s just getting out of practice. I know hockey season is right around the corner because my niece won’t stop talking about it and how the Comets have a much better chance of not Toronto-ing this year, whatever the hell that means.
“Please?” he asks, and this time he actually bats his lashes at me…lashes that are thick and dark and frame his eyes perfectly.
For the first time in a long time, my fingers itch for a keyboard, because this right here is that moment in all novels where the guy walks up to the lonely, awkward girl and gives her that grin that makes her knees weak. I want to write a story about that grin.
Ugh, Scout! Stop thinking about how attractive he is. It’s still the same guy who forgot who you were. He’s just like everyone else.
I don’t answer him. Instead, I ring up his coffee, then spin the tablet his way and get started on his drink. A slight sense of pride swells in my chest as I pour the cold brew and add a bit of vanilla syrup. I’ve been running this truck for a few years and have gotten good at reading customers. It didn’t take me any time to realize Miller hates hot coffee. I wanted to say something about it to him before, but I’ve always been too nervous to approach him. Now, though, not so much.
He still makes me nervous, and my heart still feels like it wants to burst out of my chest, but he seems a little less scary than before.
I slide his coffee and straw across the counter, then flip the tablet back around. I can’t help but frown at the number I see on the screen.
He tipped me big again.
I know I shouldn’t be annoyed because hello, money! But still. It’s like he’s trying too hard to make up for forgetting me, which makes him showing up and bothering me feel like a show. A gimmick, like it’s not genuine.
“You don’t have to keep tipping me so big, you know. I already said I forgive you. No need to bribe me.”
His lips pull down at the corners. “I’m not bribing you. I’m just grateful to now be drinking something I enjoy. Besides, I tip everyone big.”
“Well, thanks,” I murmur, a little annoyed at how flippantly he says that. I should have expected it, though. He’s a famous hockey player; this is nothing to him.
“Thank you.” He shakes his drink around, then takes another sip. “I really like the vanilla in this.”
His compliment perks me up because I love when customers enjoy the things I make, especially the ones I work so hard on. “It’s good, right? I made it.”
“You made it?”
“Why are you surprised by that?”
“I…I don’t know. I just figured it was bottled or something.”
I shake my head. “Nope. Everything here is made fresh. Well, almost everything—I buy the sprinkles in bulk.”
“Speaking of supplies…” He reaches into his back pocket and produces a little shaker of something. He sets it on the counter, then slides it my way. “For inventory.”
I pick up the bottle of spice and can’t help but laugh when I see what’s on the label.
Nutmeg.
Just above it, he’s scrawled Scout’s.
“You got me my own nutmeg?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I heard you were running low. Didn’t want you to run out. God forbid there’s not enough for your Aww Nuts(meg) donut.”
I grin, staring down at the bottle that I just know I’m never going to open. “Thanks. I’m sure my customers will appreciate it.”
“Maybe I’m not so bad to have around, then, huh, friend?”
I roll my eyes. “No, you definitely are. Now, shoo. I apparently have some inventory to do before the lunch rush starts.” I shake the bottle.
“Thanks again for this,” he says, lifting his coffee before spinning on his heel.
“You’re welcome,” I mutter quietly to his retreating back.
I don’t know how long I stand there and watch him walk away, but it’s long enough for him to catch me staring and wink at me.
I scowl, and he laughs.
Then, I get to work.
“You have to fire her, Scout,” Stevie says as she ties her hair up in a ponytail. “This is getting ridiculous. You can’t keep covering for her. You’re going to burn yourself out, then you’ll never have time to get your book finished.”
I let out a frustrated sigh as Stevie gives me the same speech she’s been giving me for the last month.
She’s right, but I don’t want her to be right because that would mean I have to go through applications and all the hard work of finding another baker. I don’t want to do that again, but I also don’t want to spend every waking hour inside this truck. I love it, but I also love sliding into my bathtub with a bottle of wine and a good book on an off day, something I haven’t had in far too long.
“I know, I know,” I tell her as she wraps her apron around her waist and brushes past me, her lips set in a firm line. “It’s just her dad is sick, and, well, I get it.”
Stevie sends me a look as she passes by, a bowl of freshly made strawberry icing in hand. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Carla knows it too. Her dad had the flu. He’s fine now. He’s been fine. She’s just taking advantage of you because she knows your history and because you’re entirely too nice.”
A part of me wants to believe Carla is a good person and she’s not taking advantage of me, but I know Stevie is right. She is using my past against me and playing the sick dad card when I know for a fact he’s fine. I saw him at the drugstore two days ago. He was in the hygiene aisle. I was grabbing tampons, and he was getting condoms. It’s safe to say Carla’s dad is hunky-dory.
“Did I just hear you say Scout is nice?” My skin instantly buzzes at the sound of Miller’s voice. “Because if so, why has she never shown that side of herself to me?”
I turn around to find the hockey player who just won’t go away standing at the front of the truck with a playful sparkle in his eyes. He’s been here every day for the last week, and I’m really starting to wonder when he’s going to get tired of this game and finally leave me alone.