Sting

by Jennifer Ryder

  She gives me a smug smile. “Just looking after our customers, lady. Besides, I’d say you just got more than a bit friendly with him.”

  Just for that comment, she gets an eye-roll.

  “Did you find out his name?” I ask. When Gabs tilts her head to the side in that be-prepared-to-be-questioned gaze, I immediately wish I hadn’t asked.

  “Why?” she says in a singsong voice, making two syllables out of the word.

  Another eye-roll.

  “You ask everyone their names. It’s what you do. It’s why people keep coming back.”

  “Nope,” she says, popping the P. I know exactly what she’s doing. It’s her little way of pushing me, without actually looking like she’s pushing me.

  “Why not?” I put a hand on my hip.

  “If you wanna know his name, honey, you ask him.” She leans in close, her nose almost touching mine. “Live a little,” she dares and then blows me a kiss as she returns to the register to take the next order.

  “I’m living just fine,” I mumble to myself as I clean the steam wand.

  “Exactly,” Gabs says. “Just fine.”

  Every day I want to ask her how she gets herself out of bed, how she gets on with life. But I don’t dare. Life threw Gabs the most cruel and unfair hand, and I have no right to say anything, because she’s risen above it all. She has trouble putting herself out there with men. As she tells me, she’s all unicorns and rainbows and sweet sugary cupcakes, but like anyone, she has good days and bad. She’s been open with me, and shared with me everything about her past. I haven’t had the guts to tell her my story yet. It’s been two years since she came into my life. Since I haven’t spilled it by now, I don’t think I ever will. Some things are better left in the past, where I’ve tried to bury them.

  I go about making Brown-Eyes’ coffee. Double-shot. I make another leaf pattern in the froth, this one more intricate than the last time I poured one for him.

  “I’m just going out back to change my shirt. Would you mind taking this out?” I ask Gabs, sliding the cup carefully towards her. I silently beg with my eyes for her not to argue with me on this. I’m embarrassed enough about running into that wall of muscle. I can’t believe that only moments ago, he was holding me tight in his arms. It’s been a long time since a man has held me like that. Too long. I’ve missed it, more than I thought I did.

  And my word, doesn’t he smell divine. After diving into his chest, I swear I can still smell the mouth-watering crisp, clean scent on me. All man.

  She gives me a knowing smile. “Okay, enough of the pathetic puppy-dog eyes. Of course, lady. Anything you need.”

  ****

  RYAN

  I look up from the newspaper when a coffee cup is placed on the table. Bright red curls flash in front of me and my smile fades. My shoulders slump. Why didn’t Blondie bring it over? I can’t say I’m not disappointed.

  “Here’s your double-shot, Brown-Eyes.”

  “Thanks.”

  She leans down, giving me an eyeful of cleavage. Whoa. Those puppies are more than a handful, and then some. “What time you planning on coming in tomorrow?”

  I won’t be down at the docks until late morning, so I guess I’ll go for an early run, and then swing past. “I dunno. Around eight? Why’s that?”

  I lean back in my chair and regard her as I silently question her motives. Is she coming on to me? Fuck. If that’s the case, I need to say something.

  “I need a favour,” she says and purses her purple lips.

  “Okay,” I answer with hesitation. What have I just committed to?

  She jerks her head in the direction of the counter. “You think you can make my girl laugh?”

  “Who, Blondie?”

  “Ha. Yeah, Blondie.”

  With relief, I chuckle. “I’ll try.”

  “Good. We’ll be seeing you then.”

  ****

  A penetrating shrill sound has me wrangling the sheets off my body to find my phone.

  Mick.

  “Yeah,” I growl into the phone and clear my throat.

  “Got some fresh intel on our boys. I’ll be over shortly.”

  Fuck! Is the sun even up yet?

  “Righto. See you soon,” I say, resigned.

  I run my hand over the sheet between my legs, and palm my rock-hard dick. I throw my head back against the pillow and growl. There’s not enough time to deal with this first.

  We sit for at least an hour, scanning over some new shots from the surveillance team. There’s a new guy on the scene; skinny as hell, straggly auburn hair and freckles all over him. His left arm is tattooed almost black. By the look of him, he probably runs purely on drugs. Guess we’ll see if he starts hanging around more often. If he does, my guess is he’s a runner.

  Stretching my arms above my head, I yawn and run my fingers through my hair. “You hungry?”

  “Yeah,” he says, and scratches his goatie.

  “I fuckin’ need coffee. Why don’t we drop into that busy café down the street and grab some brekkie?”

  A wide smile stretches across his face. Geez, excited about coffee much?

  “Yeah, sounds good. Then we can get back to work.”

  ****

  “Well, hello there. Long time no see,” Gabby says and purses her blood-red lips mischievously at Mick as we approach the counter. The coffee machine is silent. Maybe Blondie is on a break.

  Mick runs his hand through his messy brown hair, then with two hands tugs at each end of the collar of his grey polo shirt. “It’s only been a couple of weeks, love,” Mick scoffs.

  “Well,” she says, avoiding his gaze for a moment, “don’t leave me hanging again.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  “So are you both having just coffee, or are you gonna let me feed you boys a nice hearty breakfast?”

  Mick licks at his lips. Gabby focuses intently on his mouth and then takes in a sharp breath. What the hell is up with these two? I’m sensing they’ve either slept together or they want to. Which one, I don’t know.

  I curl my hand over Mick’s shoulder and pull him so he takes a step back. “Hey,” he growls playfully.

  “Breakfast would be amazing,” I direct at her, in an authoritative tone. In other words, enough of the two-step awkward, you two, and give me some protein.

  “Great,” Gabby says and beams. She takes a menu from the side of the register and hands it to him. “Here you go, Michael. Why don’t you and Brown-Eyes take a seat in the corner there, and I’ll be right over to take your order?”

  I give her a fleeting smile, and resist the urge to grab Mick by the ear and drag him away. That whole jittery open-mouthed thing he’s doing right now as he stares at her is far from subtle. If he’s got something to say, he should just spit it out.

  “She calls you Michael?” I whisper loudly, when we get closer to our table.

  He chuckles. “Yeah, she doesn’t like the name Mick. She told me it reminds her too much of dick. Even though I love the thought of her associating the two.”

  “Mick the dick, huh?”

  “Yeah. I guess that’s me. Better than Brown-Eyes.” He casts his gaze towards the counter. “She’s a doll, isn’t she?”

  “Who’s that?” I ask, hoping he’s not eyeing off Blondie. Is she here now? He’s definitely too old for her, and well, I haven’t made up my mind about what I’m going to do there. It’s not really the time to be sniffing around, but I can’t say she doesn’t intrigue me. Serious, shy and naturally sexy.

  “Gabrielle,” he says, and sighs. Sighs? Guys actually do that?

  “It’s kind of weird. We’ve been chatting on and off since I got here, but she’s never taken it any further than a bit of witty banter. We started getting pretty flirty for a minute there, but then she clammed up on me. This is the first time I’ve seen her in a few weeks, because I thought it’d be better if I kept my distance. Maybe she’s been hurt before. Something felt off. I don’t know. Ma
ybe she’s just not that into me. I’m not a bad-looking guy, I mean, yeah I look a bit rough around the edges, but, well, what do you reckon?”

  He’s serious? What do I look like, a chick?

  “Do you hear yourself, man? Should I get my sister on the phone for this conversation? Because I’m not about to tell you you’re attractive, or some shit like that.”

  “Shut up, Palmer. It’s been a while since I’ve been with a bird. Not since the divorce. And now I’m forty-two. I haven’t dated in like, fifteen years.”

  Divorce. Well, if I had a dollar for every cop I’ve met who’s been through that.

  “Well, you won’t get any good advice from me. Dating’s not really my thing. Certainly not in this job.”

  Ever since I’ve moved into undercover operations it’s been tough. It’s hard to have any kind of ‘thing’ with someone when you don’t know where you’ll be one day to the next. Trust is the key, too. I don’t need someone hunting around in my business. Like Simone. Girls ask a lot of questions. Too many if you ask me. Man, do they like to talk. It’s not just that, though. There’s also the element of danger. Sometimes I have a hard time protecting myself, and adding someone else to the mix just complicates things. I love my job and I’m fucking good at it, but if I shift focus, get off track, I can get myself killed.

  “’Spose it’s for the best I’m single. Don’t know how long we’ll be here.”

  “You have any kids?” I ask. I’m gonna be working some long hours with this guy. It doesn’t hurt to know.

  “Nah, unfortunately not. We got divorced before we got a chance to try seriously. The ex-wife said it was no life being married to a cop, and even though she loved me she said she didn’t want to be a single mother. With the hours I was working, and with travel, she was right. I got more into this line of work once we called it quits, but truth be told, it’s been easier living the single life and doing this. I guess it wouldn’t have been fair to her, or a kid.”

  Kids.

  Will I ever get to that stage? I’m thirty next year, and realistically, doing what I do, it’s probably not gonna happen. I can see myself with a brood. It’d be a shame, because I reckon I’d make a pretty awesome dad. As for living the single life, I’ve certainly got an understanding of what lonely is, after the last couple of years. Yeah, there’s been the occasional one-nighters, and of course catch ups with Jones. When there are three or four bodies in a room things get hectic, but I still feel alone.

  “Earth to Palmer,” Mick says, and flashes the menu vigorously in front of my face.

  “What? Right, food.”

  Mick shifts in his chair, facing towards the counter, and waves. He smiles like he’s high on opiates.

  Gabby flicks her long hair off her shoulder and struts over. Yes, she struts, moving her rounded hips so her long black skirt sways from side to side. I quickly scan the menu. I’m fucking starving.

  She places her hand on Mick’s upper arm, and winks. “Your coffees are on the house today, boys. So, what can I get you to eat?”

  “Cheers for that. I’ll take the big breakfast with poached eggs, thanks,” I say, handing her the menu.

  “Michael?” she says, her tone warm and inviting. Again with the Michael. Yeah, she’s into him, alright. Mick the Dick should just grow a pair and ask her out. From what I understand, we’ll be here for six months at least. Operations like this take a lot of man-hours, and you need a hell of a lot of evidence so shit doesn’t fall over in court.

  “Oh, um. Yeah. Same as Brown-Eyes here,” he says. I don’t mind her calling me that, but I don’t need my partner getting in on it. Next thing I know, he’ll be fucking serenading me.

  “Sure thing,” she sings, and waltzes back in the direction she came. The bean grinder kicks into action, and out of my control, my heart speeds up. Blondie is here.

  “Don’t fuckin’ call me that again, Michael,” I say, my voice low and jaw tight.

  “Relax,” he says lazily. “Just a bit of fun, hotshot.”

  I fucking wish he’d just stick to Palmer.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WILLOW

  I’m not in the mood to be at work today. I’m beyond exhausted. Last night, the same recurring nightmare had weaved its way into my dreams.

  I’ll find you, Angel.

  The nightmares don’t come as often now, but the fear they instil deep inside hasn’t wavered. The only way I could calm myself was with a mega-mug of hot chocolate, countless Tim Tams and watching Sweet Home Alabama for the gazillionth time.

  Something about Josh Lucas and that southern drawl calms me. A man with a big heart like that, humble and with morals, makes me feel safe. Even though he’s just a man on screen, he gives me faith that there’s a man out there like that. A man far different to those I’ve known.

  I drag my butt from out the back and grind some fresh beans.

  Gabs tears a note from her pad and slides it across the counter. “Two flat whites for table three,” she says.

  “Sure,” I mumble, focused on filling the milk jug. I grab two cups and place them under the drippers.

  “Try not to spill coffee on the customers today, honey. Oh, and wouldn’t you know it, Michael is back.”

  I turn to face her so I can gauge whether his return to the café is a good or bad thing. Her beaming smile tells me it’s good. Thank goodness. Instantly, my mood lifts. When Gabs smiles, it’s infectious.

  “That’s great, Gabs.”

  “Yeah, it is.” She rips a page from her notepad. “I’ll take this order to Sarah in the kitchen. Back in a mo. You right to take the coffees out?”

  “Yep.”

  I take my time with the coffee, making just the right pattern for the occasion. Just call me Caffeinated Cupid. Focusing on not spilling my works of art, I walk the familiar trail to the far corner.

  I glance up as I approach, and nearly die.

  “Well, good mornin’,” Brown-Eyes says, and for a moment I don’t know whether I imagined it, but the smooth tone of his voice had a hint of a southern accent. Sugar. He’s even starting to look like him, too.

  Sheesh. No more Sweet Home Alabama for me.

  “Morning,” I reply, giving him a polite smile, placing the coffees in front of them.

  “Mornin’, love,” Mick says and then turns his head towards the other side of the café.

  “Well isn’t this pretty,” Brown-Eyes says, dipping the tip of his finger into the middle of the love-heart pattern. He brings it to his lips and then sucks it off, taking his time. I briefly close my eyes and swallow hard. What possessed me to do the love-heart pattern today? This guy is exuding sexy all over our café, and I’ve just encouraged him.

  Kill me now.

  “Did you get a bit of sun, love?” Mick asks. I focus on his wild brown locks, to avoid Brown-Eyes’ scrutinizing gaze.

  I glance at the pinker colour on my arms. “Um, yeah. I spent a bit of time at the beach yesterday.”

  “Really?” Brown-Eyes’ interest is piqued. “Just up the road from here?”

  “Yeah.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Huh, didn’t see you,” he says with a rub of his chin.

  I shrug. “I’m easy to miss.” I’m five-foot-five and keep to myself. Besides, I don’t need to draw attention.

  “No, Blondie,” he says as his eyes take a gentle sweep over my body. “No, you’re not.”

  Gulp.

  “Did you see me yesterday?” he asks.

  I chew nervously on my bottom lip. I don’t want to tell him I did, but I can’t lie. Lies tear everything apart. “Yes,” I eventually offer.

  “Well, next time come say hi,” he says, drawing my eyes to his biceps as they bulge when he folds his arms. His loose tank top does little to hide the wall of muscle across his chest. He winks. Mother Mary.

  Would I have the guts to see the Adonis, half-naked, up close enough to touch? Could I hide the way he affects me? Could I stop myself from throwing myself at him?

  I
don’t want to be rude. Maybe next time I see him there I’ll have the guts to talk to him.

  “Sure,” I say and give him a soft smile. Let’s get this chat back to business. Customers. They are my customers. “Anyhow, your breakfast won’t be long.”

  I let out a long breath and pick up a few empty cups on a table on my way back to the counter.

  Gabs hands me a coffee order on a Post-it. I crook my finger, and she moves behind the machine with me.

  “Michael and Brown-Eyes are friends?” I whisper loudly.

  “It would appear so. You seemed pretty chatty over there.”

  I shrug, because I don’t think I was. Was I?

  “Find out his name this time?” Gah!

  “No, I didn’t,” I say. Gabs rolls her eyes and huffs her fringe from in front of her lashes.

  “Gabs,” I warn, with a growl.

  “That’s Mrs Brown-Eyes to you. At least, it will be.” She winks. Stirrer.

  Not that I have a right to be jealous. He’s not mine. He won’t ever be. I doubt he’ll even be in town for long. It’s not the kind of town people stay in long-term. Blow in, blow out.

  “Whatever,” I say, and get onto the next order.

  Besides that, Gabs has the hots for Michael something chronic. He doesn’t come in all that often—it’s been a few weeks at least—but when he does, Gabs gets all giggly and tongue-tied. I haven’t seen her like that around anyone else.

  I resist the urge to tell her again that she should ask him out, but the last time she bit my head off, saying something about it not being fair. So that’s the last time I’ve mentioned it. It takes a lot, and I mean a lot to get her riled up, and that simple suggestion had me cringing in my boots. I’ve respected that boundary, and now we have an understanding on talking about certain things.

  “I’ll just head out for a quick smoke.”

  “Sure thing.”

  A few moments later Gabs returns, smelling of strong perfume, her lips re-done, and looking perfect as always.

  A bell rings from the kitchen. “Order up,” Sarah calls out.

  ****

  RYAN

  A little girl with blonde hair in pigtails runs into the café, seemingly on her own. “Mummy!” she cries out happily and rushes up to the counter. She jumps up and down on the spot, gripping the edge. She’s in a cute white sundress with a hot-pink belt and matching shoes.