Bailey leaned down and pulled one of her trademark red polka dot aprons with the frill trim from under the till and handed it to me. “Got to look the part, chickadee.”
I slipped it over my head and tied the apron around my waste, liking the way it made me feel. I’d always admired Bailey’s style. She was a vintage dresser like me, but whereas I liked to wear clothes from all sorts of eras—the fifties, seventies, and eighties, mainly—she was a fifties devotee, through and through. The Cozy Cottage red polka dot apron sat beautifully on her cinched in waist, emphasizing her screen siren physique.
For the rest of the morning, we worked alongside one another almost nonstop, serving up cakes and slices, muffins and scones. Having no idea how to operate the behemoth coffee machine the café boasted, I left Bailey to that end of the job and fumbled my way through charging customers for their purchases. It was a steeper learning curve than climbing Everest, but I felt useful and it was so much fun. And it was the antithesis of sitting in an office with artificial light, staring at a screen all day.
During a much-needed lull, after the main lunch crowd had been served their paninis, stuffed croissants, and more and more cups of coffee, Bailey put her hand on my shoulder. “Paige, you are a Godsend. I’m so grateful you stepped in like that. Thank you.”
I shrugged. “I liked it. And let’s face it, I didn’t exactly have anywhere else I needed to be today.”
She let out an easy laugh, smoothing her hands down her apron. “No, but I bet you didn’t think you’d be working in a coffee shop when you got up this morning. Now, you have to let me pay you.” She pinged the till open and pulled out some notes.
I placed my hand over hers. “You don’t need to do that. I was happy to do it. I had a lot of fun.”
“You don’t have a job anymore, so it’s the least I can do.” She counted out some notes, took my hand, and turned it palm up, closing my fingers over the money. “No arguments.”
She was right. No job did equal no money. Sure, I had some savings thanks to the fact I hadn’t had to pay rent since moving back in with Dad, but I knew that pretty soon, not having that AGD income pouring into my account was going to hurt.
“Now, while it’s quiet, I need to make some calls to get someone to cover Kayla’s shifts. She was scheduled for the rest of the week.” Bailey stepped into the kitchen and pulled out her phone.
I slipped my apron off and folded it up. As I absentmindedly smoothed the fabric, a light bulb pinged above my head, like it did in the cartoons. I stood at the entrance to the kitchen. “Hey, Bailey? I could do it.”
She looked up at me. “You could?”
The euphoria I’d felt after I had quit spread across my chest once more. “Yeah. I could. I’d like to. What do you say?”
She pressed a button on her phone and looked up at me, her smile spreading from ear to ear. “I say, yes.”
* * *
I arrived home to Dad, utterly exhausted from working in the Cozy Cottage Café all day, with sore feet and the need to get horizontal as fast as humanly possible. My body was so used to sitting in front of a screen all day, being on my feet behind the counter serving customers and delivering orders had totally wiped me out.
“Hello, honey,” Dad said when I stumbled into the kitchen, stifling a yawn. “You’re home early.”
I looked up at the clock above the doorway: five fifteen. At AGD, I would still be sitting at my desk, willing the minute hand to speed its slow progression to hit five thirty so I could go home. “Yeah, I had a . . . thing. A meeting, that’s what it was, over this side of town. I decided to come home straight from there, rather than go back into the office.” I shifted from sore foot to sore foot, the lie sitting uncomfortably.
Truth be told, I wasn’t ready to tell Dad about my resignation. I knew he wouldn’t take it well. He’d worry about me and my career and what I was doing with my life. A man who had worked his whole life to reach the dizzying heights of Supermarket Checkout Cashier Shift Manager wouldn’t understand someone like me deciding to walk away from a good corporate job, especially without having another one to go to. Add to that the fact I was, at least for the time being, working at a café on almost minimum wage, he may be in risk of an aneurysm.
“Well, it’s nice to have you home.” He accepted my lie without question and kissed me on the cheek.
I swallowed my guilt and forced a bright tone. “What’s for dinner?”
“I’m making my world-famous shepherd’s pie. Your favorite.” He bobbed my nose with his finger.
“Delicious.” It was true, shepherd’s pie had been my favorite meal when I was eight, but that was twenty-odd years ago now. I liked to think of myself as a little more sophisticated in the culinary stakes these days. “I’ll go get changed and come help out.”
“Good idea. You don’t want to mess up your good work clothes. Got to look the part for the big bosses, right, lamb chop?” He winked and smiled at me, returning his attention to chopping an onion.
“That’s right.” I half laughed as I trudged up the stairs to my bedroom, each step rubbing more and more painfully against the blisters on my poor feet. Once inside my room, I kicked off my shoes with an audible wince and flopped down onto my bed. I let out a long sigh as I closed my eyes, loving the feel of my soft bed beneath me.
What a day. I’d gone from being pushed into a role I didn’t want in another team to quitting my job to working in a café, all within twelve short hours. I smiled to myself as I thought of the look on Portia’s face. For an actual facial expression to push through that amount of Botox and fillers is a testament to just how deeply my resignation shocked her. My smile broadened as I got more comfortable on my bed.
And now I was no longer an Email Marketing Assistant.
My belly twisted. Oh, my god. I was no longer an Email Marketing Assistant! Panic gripped me, and I sat bolt upright on my bed. What had I done? I’d thrown away a perfectly good job for . . . for . . . what? Sure, I hated it and it had been a fantastic moment when I’d resigned, but it was just that: a moment. Now I had the rest of my life to regret it.
I pushed myself off my bed and stood, looking at myself in my full-length mirror. I looked a fright. My hair was a mess and my mascara was smudged beneath my eyes. I’d been too busy in the café to give a second thought to how I looked. Usually, in the office, I’d see myself in the mirror whenever I went to the bathroom—which was often, thanks to the huge amount of coffee I drank every day to stave off the boredom.
I took a deep breath, giving myself a mental talking to. I’d made my bed. Whether I liked it or not, I was no longer an Email Marketing Assistant at AGD Telecommunications.
There was no going back.
Chapter 6
MY ALARM CLOCK DRAGGED me out of sleep the following morning with a start, my heart beating hard against my ribcage. I’d been in the middle of a dream in which Portia, dressed as the Wicked Witch of the West—no points for originality there—was cackling at me as I sat on a child’s seat, my bedroom walls crumbling around me while a guinea pig wearing a baseball cap munched on a stick of celery. Seriously, I couldn’t make this stuff up.
I glanced at the digital clock on my nightstand. It was early, way too early. I rolled over and buried my head in my pillow. Although I’m a morning person, I’d got into the habit of hitting the snooze button one too many times, delaying the inevitable need to drag myself into the office.
I wasn’t always like that. I used to leap out of bed, often before my alarm, ready to face the day and the joys it may bring. But that was when I was younger, my job was fresh, and though never exactly exciting, it was at least interesting. And I felt sure it would take me places; it was a stepping stone on my way to the big rock of my career. I don’t know where I got the idea from, but I always felt I was destined for big things, and I carried that belief inside while I analyzed marketing campaign results and suffered through Portia’s moods.
And now? Now, I didn’t even have a job to lie
in bed avoiding.
I rolled over onto my back and let out a sigh. I needed to get up. I knew I was unlikely to fall back to sleep again—the bad dream had put an end to that—and I also knew I had made a commitment to Bailey to get to the café bright and early this morning to help with the baking. I had no intention of letting her down, even if the reality of my resignation yesterday was sitting heavily in the pit of my stomach.
I got myself out of my bed and had a shower to wake up. Wiping the steam from the bathroom mirror, I looked at my tired and puffy face.
You’ve really gone and done it this time, Paige.
Doing my best to ignore the pang of guilt at lying, I left a note for Dad on the kitchen counter by the kettle, making up a story about having to get into the office early to work on a deadline, and drove through the quiet streets to the Cozy Cottage Café.
Bailey was there to greet me with her ready smile and a cup of coffee, which I accepted gratefully.
“Right, where do we start?” I asked.
“We’ve got the breakfast crowd to deal with first, so if you can get the ciabattas in the oven, I’ll prep the coffee machine. Then, we’ll need to bake some cakes and muffins and get the soup of the day underway.”
I grinned at her. “Now you’re talking. That must mean I get to see those cake recipes you’ve kept a trade secret all this time.”
Bailey chuckled as she handed me an apron, tying her own behind her back. “I guess today is your lucky day. What do you want to listen to? I usually start off with something cruisy like Adele first up, then move onto something more upbeat once I’m fully awake.”
“Adele sounds great to me.”
The time flew by as we worked side by side in the kitchen, whipping up all those delicious baked goods, stuffing croissants, filling paninis. We sang along to the music and chatted about the café and life in general. When Bailey said it was seven and time to open up, I was genuinely surprised—it felt like I’d only been here for ten minutes, not two hours.
As Bailey unbolted the front doors and set the “open” sign out on the street, there was a knock on the back door to the kitchen. I wiped my hands on a tea towel and opened it up.
“Good morning. You’re new.” A man, probably a few years older than me, was smiling over a large box he was holding in his hands. He was tall, at least six foot one or two, with messy brown hair and an open face. Some might say he was good-looking, but he definitely wasn’t my type.
Which was a good thing, now that I had decided to become a celibate spinster with cats and a rose-munching goat.
I smiled at him. “Yes, I’m Paige. I’m helping Bailey out for the week. Are you delivering something?” It seemed like a fair enough question to ask.
“No, I just like to carry a box around with me wherever I go.” His eyes sparkled from behind his glasses.
“Very funny.” I stood back to let Box Guy walk through the door, which he did, heading straight over to the storage area, clearly familiar with the layout of the place. He placed the box on the counter and turned around. My eyes immediately dropped to his T-shirt, which had “Words cannot espresso what you bean to me” emblazoned across his chest, accompanied by a picture of a smiling coffee cup.
I tittered. It was a cute T-shirt, one I might quite like to wear myself, despite the fact it was a little on the nerdy side.
Box Guy raised his eyebrows in question at me. “Something funny?”
“Just your T-shirt. I like it.”
“I’m glad you approve.” He pulled a folded piece of paper out of the back pocket of his jeans, took a pencil from behind his ear, and handed them to me.
He must have noticed me looking at them uncertainly. “You need to sign here.” He pointed to a box at the bottom of the page. I glanced at the header. It read Ned’s, presumably the name of the coffee roaster he worked for, although why anyone would call their business “Ned’s” was beyond me. It hardly brought hot, aromatic coffee to mind.
“Okay. I’d better get Bailey. I’m not exactly authorized to sign this.”
“Oh, hey, Josh. I didn’t hear you come in,” Bailey said as she entered the kitchen. “You’ve met Paige?”
He nodded, smiling at me as he took the paper and pencil from me and handed them to Bailey. “Your usual order, but I’ve thrown in a sample of a new blend we’re doing. It’s called ‘Midnight,’ and I think your espresso drinkers will love it.”
Bailey scrawled her signature on the paper and handed it back to Josh. “Thanks. I’ll give it a try and let you know.”
“No worries.” He walked past me toward the door, and I caught a whiff of his aroma: a mixture of freshly roasted coffee and a cologne I recognized but couldn’t name. “Nice to meet you, New Girl. See you next time.”
“Sure. See you.”
“Right,” Bailey said with a clap of her hands. “My first regulars turn up about now, so can you give the kitchen a bit of a cleanup while I man the counter?”
I scanned the counters. There were enough dishes to keep me tucked away in here for a good hour, maybe more. I smelled the baking cakes and thought of what I would be doing right now if I hadn’t walked out of my job yesterday. I’d be lying in my bed, procrastinating about getting up, hitting the snooze button for probably the third or fourth time, dreading having to haul myself out of bed to go to work. Washing a stack of dishes for Bailey was a dream by comparison. I grinned at her. “I’m on it.”
The morning whizzed by in a blur of customers, food prep, and dishes. Although my feet were sore from the get-go, thanks to yesterday’s ill-advised Mary Jane heels, I pushed through the discomfort, loving every moment of working in the café. Thankfully, after the breakfast crowd and morning coffee brigade were gone but for a few hangers on, we got some quiet time to put our feet up at one of the tables for a few minutes—and enjoy a cup of coffee and a slice of Bailey’s delicious cake.
“This tastes even better than usual because I’m so darned hungry!” I exclaimed after I’d cleaned my plate of an extra-large slice of carrot cake with cream cheese frosting.
“You definitely get to work up an appetite in this job, that’s for sure. Not that it ever helps me work off these extra pounds.” Bailey leaned back in her chair and patted her thighs. “In fact, sometimes I figure I won’t even bother with eating the cake, I’ll just slap it right on there.”
I looked at her across the table and frowned. “You’re beautiful, Bailey. You don’t need to lose any weight.”
She blushed. “Maybe. Hey, I’ve got some paperwork to get through, and then we need to talk about finding you your Last First Date.”
“Ah, no, we don’t,” I said, shaking my head. Had she forgotten my decision? It was infinitely better to die an old-maid-slash-reclaimed-virgin than go through that heartache again.
“Yeah, we do. Marissa and I had a meeting and we’ve decided—”
“You had a meeting?” I asked, incredulous, my eyes wide.
“We’re going to do this properly, Paige.”
I bit the inside of my lip. “Look, I told you at the beach. I don’t want to find a man. I’m over the whole Last First Date thing.”
Bailey looked at me, a smile on her face. “Is that so?”
“Yes!” Why was she persisting with this? My mind was made up; I had given up on love.
“Hold that thought,” Bailey said as she jumped out of her chair.
I’d been too lost in exasperation to notice there were a couple of customers standing at the counter, perusing the cabinet food. I stood up, collected our plates and coffee cups—with two hands and not Bailey’s skillful one yet—and headed to the kitchen.
Once behind the counter, I looked across at the customers to give them a welcoming Cozy Cottage Café smile. My eyes met a man’s at the counter, and I swear the breath was sucked right out of me.
Oh. My. God. This guy was beautiful. Tall, broad, his olive skin set off by his crisp, white, open-necked shirt, cropped black hair, and an I’m-sent-down-by-the
-Greek-gods face. Angels sang, harps were strummed, and everything around me fell into nothingness as I stared into his dark eyes. He smiled back at me, holding my gaze for a beat, two. I could hear my heart thudding in my ears, and I had to stifle a nervous, girly giggle.
Too late, I felt the crockery in my hands begin to wobble. I took a step, tried to right them, but both my hands were full. The dishes came crashing to the floor, smashing into one hundred pieces, the dregs of our coffee splattering against my legs and the floor.
Uh-oh!
I quickly squatted down and began collecting up the shattered crockery, my face burning. This was mortifying!
“Paige! What happened?” Bailey looked at me down on the ground, startled.
“Sorry. I . . . I don’t know.” Which was, of course, not entirely true. I knew exactly what had happened. I’d been too busy staring at Adonis Guy and not concentrating on carrying the dishes to the sink. I shook my head, angry with myself.
I’d let womankind down miserably; my lack of multitasking ability was clearly equal to a man’s.
A dark head poked over the edge of the counter. “Are you all right down there?”
I stopped what I was doing and looked up into those mesmerizing eyes once more. My mouth went dry. “I . . . yes, thank you.” I stood bolt upright as the heat in my cheeks intensified.
Adonis Guy pushed himself up off the counter and shot me a gorgeous grin. “What did those dishes ever do to you?” He turned to his friend. “Is this the reason you like this place? The hot waitresses throwing dishes around?”
Adonis Guy just called me hot?
Bailey laughed. “Usually we just try to dazzle you through our excellent coffee and food. So that was two lattes. Anything to eat?”
Adonis Guy looked back at me. I hadn’t moved an inch. “What do you recommend?”
“Oh, ah, me?” My blush deepened. “The, ah, carrot cake with the cream cheese frosting is out-of-this-world good.”
“That sounds delicious. Sold.” He turned to Bailey. “I’ll have a slice of that, thanks.” Adonis Guy returned his gaze to me.
Two Last First Dates Page 5
