Playing House
Page 22
Stopping only long enough to place the flowers inside my store, I then scampered in to the café, where Mark thankfully already had a mug of tea ready for me.
He smiled as he handed over the hot drink. “What are you up to, you crafty little thing?”
“Reinventing.”
“You’ve been doing a lot of that, lately.”
The front door opened and a young couple walked in. They weren’t regulars or even local, by the look of them. Backpackers, or students on a gap year, probably. Mark winked at me and went to serve them. It felt like a truly positive sign, so I blew him a quick kiss and went back to my store.
At the end of the week, I called Mario’s doctor to check up on his progress. I got hold of the receptionist and she passed on the doctor’s notes to me.
“Doc says he’s doing all right, but she’d strongly recommend he rest up for at least another week.”
“Oh. That’ll kill him, the poor guy. Since his wife’s passing he’s been basically married to his café.”
“Yeah, sure. But have you seen the new guy? I mean hot damn. He could give me cream and sugar any time.”
I managed to refrain from humphing in her ear. “Well, thank you. I’ll pass on the info to Mark.”
“Mark?”
“The cream and sugar guy.”
“Mm. Unless you want me to? I’ll write it on my bra in Braille and he can—”
“Okay. Thank you.”
The moment I hung up, I scurried next door to let Mark know the diagnosis. “You think you could take another week of leave? I mean, it’d be short notice and all.”
“Luce, I’m in my element here. I don’t know if I’m ever going back to that cubicle farm.”
“Well, steady on.” That old faithful schoolmarm tone came back without me even trying. “You need to be able to cover rent, remember?”
“Shame I can’t pay with phone numbers. You wouldn’t believe how many of those I’ve had thrust upon me.”
I didn’t make any attempt to suppress my humph with Mark. “Just as long as you’re—”
“Luce, of course I’m not going to call them.” He shot that cheeky grin to me as he finished off a mug of tea I hadn’t even asked for. “I just like to keep you on your toes.”
“Well, my toes are my business, mister.”
“Not when they’re in my mouth, they’re not.”
“Ugh. You’re such a boy.”
“And proud of it.”
* * * *
By the end of the next week, Mark was running the café as if he’d been doing it all his life. The number—and demographic range—of customers had grown exponentially, and I had no doubt it was almost completely due to word of mouth about the hot new barista. There certainly had been far more attractive young women in the area, which I wasn’t overly happy about.
Thankfully for the rest of us, the extra customers hadn’t limited themselves to simply staring at Mark’s perfect ass across the counter. I’d had my biggest week of sales since I opened up. Because of the flowers I’d been putting around my store every day, Marjorie’s business had—dare I say it—blossomed. And Mark had negotiated a deal to get Andrew’s pastries into the display cases of the café. We’d become a thriving micro-community without any of us setting out to do so.
As I walked my latest customers out to the front door of my store I noticed Mario walking stiffly up the side of the street toward his café, so I turned my sign to closed and went out to meet him.
“Hey, old man. I thought you were supposed to be resting.”
“Ah, bella, I cannot stay away any longer. I need to visit my baby. My café. She misses me, no?”
I couldn’t resist squishing his face between my hands and kissing his forehead. “I’m sure she does. Come on. I’ll buy you a coffee.”
Mario’s eyes and mouth widened as we came up to the entrance. “She is so busy.”
“It’s amazing, yeah.”
“This boyfriend of yours—”
I held my hands up as if under arrest. “Whoa, whoa. I don’t know if I’d go that far.”
“No? He is your boyfriend, yes?”
“I… I don’t really know yet, Mario. He’s lovely, and charming, and very… um, attentive.”
Mario mimicked my earlier gesture, squishing my cheeks together. “Ah, he is your boyfriend, Lucy. He crazy about you. Maybe you not see it yet, but there is spark between you. Reminds me of my Sofia and me.”
The idea I’d have anyone in my life who meant as much as Sofia had meant to Mario… well, that simply brought tears to my eyes. I swooped the old man into a fierce hug and he squeezed back with surprising strength.
“You are beautiful person, Lucy. You deserve happiness. This boy, this Mark. He is your happiness. I see it.”
We walked into the café and Mark raised both arms in welcome. “Ah, my two favorite people! Mario, who let me indulge my dream for a couple of weeks. And Lucy, who organized it all.”
“Is that the only reason I’m one of your favorites? Mark?”
My boyfriend—and suddenly my heart wouldn’t let me see him in any other way—turned to Mario. “I think I’m in trouble, now.”
“Ah, of course you are!” Mario slapped Mark on the forehead like a father would. “You stupido if you no tell Lucy how you feel already.”
Mark smiled and bowed, though I wasn’t sure whether it was to me or to Mario. “Oh, I have. She’s not sure yet if she’s ready to truly hear it, though.” He waved his arms around to the opening of the counter, signaling to Mario to come around and take his place.
The old man stood for a moment, and then took a seat at the counter. “No. No, I think my baby has a new man.” Though he looked both sad and nostalgic, there was a real tone of hope in his voice.
“Mario?” He turned to me, and there were tears in his eyes which played perfectly against his smile.
“It is good, Lucy. I am too old. My bambini not want to take on café. Now, café has chosen Mark.”
I held my breath for a moment. To think Mark might give up on a guaranteed paycheck every week was kind of nuts. But for him to take on something as volatile as a small business in the hospitality industry was just plain crazy. Yet it was no more crazy than the way I’d done exactly that several years ago. In fact, it wasn’t anywhere near as crazy as that, because there was a school of thought that said dead tree books—new or used—were on the way out. Nobody was replacing coffee with a tablet.
Plus there was no getting around it… the idea of working right next door to this gorgeous man was more of a temptation than I would ever be able to pass up.
“What do you say, Mark? You think you’d be willing to buy this place?”
He glanced around, taking in the customers, the decor, and the street. Finally, he turned to Mario, and then to me. “I think I’d like that more than I could possibly say. I mean, I might have to sell the Mustang to fund it, but… but yeah. Let’s do this.”
Mario clapped his hands once, loudly, and pointed at Mark. “It is settled. Now you, boy. You make me coffee. Pronto!”
I curled my hands around Mario’s arm and leaned on his shoulder, nodding to Mark. “You heard him, boy. The customer is always right.”
The End
About the Author
Willsin Rowe falls in love with a scent, a playful expression or an act of casual intimacy more easily than with physical beauty. When confronted by any combination of these he is a lost cause.
He has done many things over and over. He has done even more things only once. He has half-done more things than he cares to admit.
He is intelligent but not sensible. He is polite but inappropriate. He is passionate but fearful. He is honest but reticent. He is not scruffy enough nor stylish enough to be cool.
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Writing as Willsin Rowe
This, I Can Do
Indigo
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Indulgence
Business With Pleasure
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