"And it won't collapse if you take one night a week to take care of you, either."
"Aren't you being a little hypocritical? I mean, it's a Friday night and you're here, too."
"Yes, but Gary is waiting for me at home." A sly smile tilted one corner of her full mouth. "And trust me, he'll definitely make sure I'm taken care of when I get there."
Pamela ignored the tiny spurt of jealousy and moved over to the bakery case. "I don't need anyone to take care of me."
"You're missing the point."
"And what point is that?"
"That you've been working too hard. Pamela, you've been going nonstop for the last ten years building this place. It's okay to take some time off to enjoy life."
"But Uncommon Grounds is my life."
Anita pointed at her, the wet rag in her hand dripping water on the floor. "And that is what's wrong with you. There's more to life than coffee and pastries."
"You're right, there is. There's security. Financial independence. A healthy retirement." All the things Pamela had never had growing up, no matter how many jobs her mother had worked.
"You're so focused on those secure retirement years that you're forgetting to live now."
"And I told you: I happen to like my life the way it is now." And for the most part, she did. Maybe she was becoming more aware of a sense of loneliness but that was probably more from hormones than anything else. In a month or two, that feeling would pass and she'd be back to her usual self, enjoying the life she had.
Waking early to work on the books.
Dealing with distributors and ordering and marketing.
Coming into the shop everyday and overseeing the business.
Staying late to make sure everything went smoothly.
Going home and going to sleep and waking up to do it all over again the next day.
She stared at the bottle of glass cleaner in her hand as a horrifying thought slammed into her. Was Anita right?
No. No, absolutely not. This was just a stage Pamela was going through. That was all.
Wasn't it?
Yes, of course it was. She loved coming here. Loved the smell of fresh coffee and sweet baked goods. Loved the polished glow of the hardwood floors and the vibrant green of the live plants scattered around the shop along with the cozy sitting areas. Their customers didn't come here to hide in a corner and drink over-priced coffee while they worked, they came here for the relaxed atmosphere and quiet conversation and the sense of belonging. They'd worked hard—both Anita and her—to make Uncommon Grounds a success, to make it stand out as unique in an area saturated with impersonal chain coffee shops. Pamela enjoyed coming here each day and seeing the evidence of that hard work.
And if she didn't have much of a social life because of it, so what? She had what she wanted and that was what mattered.
"But you have no social life." Anita kept talking, her words eerily echoing Pamela's own scattered thoughts. "I just think you need to get out more. Get away from here. Go live a little."
"You're right." Pamela finished wiping down the glass case then placed the bottle and cleaning rag beneath the counter. "And I will."
A wide smile lit Anita's face. "Perfect! Gary has a friend that I think you'd like. I'll have him set something up."
A spurt of anxiety rushed through Pamela and she quickly shook her head. "A blind date? No, absolutely not."
"But it'll be fun."
"No. I refuse to subject myself to that kind of torture."
"I wouldn't set you up with a loser."
Maybe not but..."No blind dates."
"Then how do you plan on meeting someone? It's not like you go out anywhere."
"I'll think of something. Who knows? Maybe my perfect match will walk through the door right here."
Anita snorted her doubt. "Most of our customers are women. And the men who do come in here are totally not your type."
"How do you even know what my type is? Or that I even have a type?"
"I've known you for twenty years, Pam."
"Maybe my tastes have changed."
"You have no taste."
"That is so not fair. And you never know. Maybe I could meet someone here."
"I doubt it."
"Now who's being cynical?"
Anita's gaze slid over Pamela's shoulder then darted back. "Okay, fine. Then I challenge you to pick up the next eligible man who walks through that door tonight."
"Tonight?" Pamela looked at the clock hanging on the back wall. "We close in fifteen minutes."
"You don't think anyone will walk in?"
"Of course not."
"Then you should have no problem accepting the challenge."
"This is ridiculous."
Anita shrugged. "Your choice."
Her friend was up to something but Pamela couldn't figure out exactly what. That gleam was back in her eyes, which meant Pamela should start running, as fast and as far as she could. If she did that, she'd never live it down.
And it was only fifteen minutes. The chance of anyone coming in during that time was small, nearly nonexistent. What would it hurt?
"Do we have a deal?"
She glanced one last time at the clock then met Anita's glittering eyes. "Fine. As long as he's not underage or old enough to be my grandfather, I'll be nice to the next man who walks in here in the next fifteen minutes."
"I didn't say be nice, I said pick up. As in flirt with and ask out."
Pamela almost said no—she was only willing to go so far when it came to making a fool of herself. But there was something in Anita's expression that said she'd never live it down if she backed out. Besides, it was only for the next fourteen minutes.
"Fine. You win. Challenge accepted."
"Good." Anita's smile grew even wider as she nodded at the door. "I'm going to enjoy watching this."
"What?" The word came out as a squeak just as the bell tinkled over the door. Dread filled her and she wanted to dart back to the stockroom, already knowing she couldn't force herself to face whoever it was who had just walked in. Anita had seen the person coming—obviously, or she wouldn't have been so quick to push Pamela into agreeing. Maybe it was Gary and Anita had simply been messing with her.
Only it wasn't Gary—Pamela knew that much by watching the expression on her friend's face. And the voice that spoke definitely wasn't Gary's voice.
This voice was deep and rich, washing over her with surprising warmth that tingled the flesh on her arms. It was neither loud nor soft; neither hesitant nor bossy. Confident, yes, but with just the slightest uncertainty as he asked if they were still open.
Pamela glared at her former friend then slowly turned, expecting to see...she wasn't sure what she was expecting but it certainly wasn't the man standing at the counter. Her heart slammed into her chest, stopped for a paralyzing second, then started beating again so fast that she was surprised she didn't get lightheaded.
He was about her age, maybe a few years older, with dark hair and a neatly-trimmed beard, both shot through with a hint of gray. Pamela generally wasn't a fan of beards but on him, it looked good, accenting his chiseled face and strong jaw instead of hiding it. He wore a pair of black trousers that boasted a precision crease in both legs, a black dress shirt opened at the collar, and a wool coat that fell just below his lean hips.
But it was his eyes that took her breath away. They were a vibrant green, the color of rich emeralds, and glowed with an intensity that made her breath catch in her throat. The faintest of lines creased the skin at the corners of those eyes; the lines deepened just a bit when he smiled and focused all that intensity on her.
"Were you still open?"
Anita nudged her in the middle of the back, hard enough that she nearly stumbled. She threw a glare over her shoulder then stepped toward the counter. "We're still open. For another ten minutes, anyway." Was that husky voice really hers? Heat flamed her face as she cleared her voice and tried not to stare at the man's mouth. "What can I get you?"
/>
"Just a large coffee."
"Would you like cream or sugar?"
"No, black is fine." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a thin wallet, opened it with long, tapered fingers. Behind her, Anita poured his coffee, added a lid to the cup and passed it toward Pamela. She reached for it, her gaze hypnotized by the sight of those strong hands and long fingers. She was so focused on the man's hands that instead of grabbing the cup from Anita, she knocked her hand against it. The lid popped off and hot coffee splashed over hand. She spun around with a sharp hiss, already reaching for the damp towel behind her.
"Pamela! I am so sorry." Anita grabbed the towel before she could and hastily mopped at the coffee on Pamela's hand.
She pulled her hand away from Anita's awkward wiping and shook it, ready to tell her that she was fine. This was her fault, after all. If she had been paying attention to what she was doing instead of being distracted by a masculine set of hands, none of this would have happened. But her words of reassurance died in her throat when the man caught her hand in his.
"Are you okay? Let me look." His gaze landed on hers for a fleeting second then dropped to her hand, studying the blotch of angry red marring the skin. Her fingers involuntarily curled around his then just as quickly loosened. A second went by before she regained enough presence of mind to pull her hand free and hide it behind her back.
"I'm fine. Really. But thank you."
"No blistering. That's a good sign."
"Are you a doctor?" The question came from Anita, who was already placing a fresh cup on the counter and sliding it toward him. Pamela kicked out with her foot and caught the other woman's ankle then swallowed back a grin of triumph when Anita flinched.
The man glanced at the cup then looked back at them, shaking his head. "No, sorry."
Anita stepped away from her, out of the line of fire, then raked her gaze along the man. "Hm. Too bad."
"Excuse me?"
"Married?"
A brief grin lifted the corners of the man's mouth. "No, not married."
"Seeing anyone?"
"Anita!" Pamela hissed in warning, offered the man an apologetic smile. "You'll have to excuse her. She gets a little crazy when it's past her bedtime."
"I'm not crazy. And it's not past my bedtime." Anita turned back to the man with a broad grin. "Not married and not seeing anyone. Are you in between prospects or do you just not date on principle?"
The man's smile faltered for a brief second then he did something Pamela hadn't expected: he laughed. The sound was even richer and deeper than his voice and sent an unwelcome little thrill of excitement through her.
"After tonight's fiasco, I'm seriously considering retiring from dating permanently."
"Oh wow. That's too bad because my friend here was just about to ask you out."
Pamela wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. She wanted the ceiling to collapse on top of her. She wanted to rush home and pull the covers over her head and pretend none of this was happening.
But she stayed where she was, rooted in place by the intensity of vibrant green eyes holding hers and by the delicious warmth of his voice melting her insides.
"Well, I think if she did that, I'd definitely reconsider the whole retirement thing."
Chapter Three
Pamela lowered the seat and slowly sank into it, a frown creasing her face as she studied the growing crowd. Anita was taking the seat beside her and, next to her, Gary was doing the same.
Pamela studied the envelope in her hand. Her name was scrawled across it in bold handwriting. Just under her name was the number 3 in a near-perfect circle.
Three, not four.
Herself.
Anita.
Gary.
Weren't they short one ticket?
"I don't get it."
Anita slid to the edge of her seat, her short bob dancing around her face as she looked around. "Maybe he already had a ticket and these are extras that he left for you."
"Maybe." The explanation made sense in a weird sort of way, if you were willing to suspend practical belief. Pamela wasn't so sure she could do that, not when she was still a little stunned over how quickly things had materialized.
Anita had taken charge last night and told the stranger—Bryan, his name was Bryan—that Pamela wanted to ask him out. She hadn't, of course, but Anita hadn't let a little thing like Pam's consent get in the way of fixing her up. The next thing she knew, Bryan had invited her to the hockey game this afternoon.
She hadn't even realized they had a hockey team here in York.
But he'd invited her—and Anita and her plus-one as well.
I'll leave the tickets at will-call. Maybe we can grab dinner after the game.
Anita, of course, had immediately jumped on the offer, telling him that dinner sounded perfect. And Pamela had simply stood there, allowing herself to be swept away by the unfolding events. She had tried to cancel this morning but her friend was having none of it.
And maybe Anita was right. There really wasn't any harm in attending a hockey game then having dinner afterward. This was a very public place, it wasn't like anything bad could happen here. And Anita and Gary were with her, which added another layer of security.
So why wasn't she feeling very secure at the moment?
The answer popped into her head almost immediately. Several answers, actually.
First, this was totally out of character for her. She didn't allow herself to be picked up by strange men and she certainly never accepted their offers of joining them. The fact that Anita had been the one behind it didn't count.
Second, the simple act of coming here made her nervous. Not because it was out of character for her, but because a part of her had actually been excited about the idea—which was also out of character but she was ignoring that for now. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't deny the little thrills that shot through her when Bryan looked at her with those stunningly vivid green eyes. Even now, just the simple act of remembering sent little prickles dancing across her skin. That wasn't like her, either, and that was what made her nervous. Every single reaction she'd had since last night worried her.
And third, there was something off about the tickets that bothered her. Shouldn't Bryan have offered to meet them here instead of leaving the tickets for her? And shouldn't there be four tickets? Unless Anita was right and he'd already had his and just arranged for three more after the fact. Maybe he'd had other obligations and wouldn't be able to get here in time and didn't want them waiting for him. That would make sense—
At least, it would have if another small group hadn't filed into their row and taken the seats next to them.
She looked at Anita, saw the same confusion she felt on her friend's face.
"Maybe he couldn't get seats that were together with his."
"Maybe." Pamela didn't believe it, though, and that feeling of something being off still niggled at her. She shifted in the seat and looked around, watching as people filed into the arena. Most of them were wearing black and white athletic jerseys bearing the image of a vintage bomber on the front. Others were wearing sweatshirts with the same image, or with the words York Bombers printed on the front.
She suddenly realized that she was a bit overdressed for the afternoon, in her high-waisted, belted black culottes and thin gray sweater and ankle boots. Of the three of them, Gary was the only one who fit in more with the crowd, down to the large cup of beer in his hand.
She leaned closer to Anita, making sure to keep her voice low even though nobody was paying them any attention. "This is weird."
"It's not weird."
"What if he stood us up?"
"He didn't stand you up."
"I said us, not me. And I think he did. Look around—there are no empty seats nearby. Unless—" Pamela shifted her gaze to Gary as a sinking feeling washed over her. "You don't think we accidentally gave Gary his ticket, do you? Maybe he's outside right now—"
"We didn't use his tick
et. You heard him last night: he clearly invited all three of us." Anita pointed at each of them in turn. "You. Me. And Gary. That's three."
"Maybe he changed his mind."
"He didn't change his mind."
"Then where is he? And where is he going to sit?"
Anita shrugged but didn't respond. Even if she had wanted to, she wouldn't have had the chance because the arena lights dimmed and bright spotlights swept across the ice below them. Loud music spilled from hidden speakers, making her wince at the unexpectedness of it. An even louder voice spoke over the music, dramatically welcoming everyone to the meet the York Bombers. All around her, people were jumping to their feet, clapping and shouting. Pamela slowly rose to her own feet, the energy exploding around her contagious.
But she didn't clap. Or shout. Or cheer. She was still too busy looking around, trying to find Bryan.
Trying to ignore the sharp disappointment threatening her at the realization that she had probably been stood up. The disappointment turned to irritation. Why should she be disappointed? It wasn't as if she had actually wanted to go on a date. This had all been orchestrated by Anita. If Pamela had her way, she would have served the man his coffee, told him to have a nice night, and that would have been it. This date—or non-date, since it was looking more and more like he wouldn't show—wasn't even her idea. Pamela didn't date. She didn't have the time or the inclination for it. She was quite happy by herself, thank you very much.
She sat back down with everyone else and focused her gaze on the men lining up on the ice. The date was obviously over before it started but that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy the game, even if she didn't know anything about it. This would be a nice few hours away from home. Away from the coffee shop. A few hours where she didn't have to worry about anything. And maybe they could have that dinner after the game, just the three of them. It would be a nice change of pace, going out for a relaxing meal and a glass of wine and not worrying about anything for a few hours.
The ice below suddenly exploded with action and she jumped in surprise. The men who had been lined up seconds before were suddenly racing across the ice, their bodies speeding along as they balanced on skates. She tried to follow the action but she had no idea where to look, no idea what was going on. One second everyone had been standing there and the next...they weren't.
Playing It Cool: A York Bombers Hockey Romance (The York Bombers Book 8) Page 2
