Walking to lunch, I find myself heading towards the café. Tate hasn’t been far from my mind all morning. All night, too, for that matter. I don’t know what I’m going to say to him, if he’s even there. I’m not sure if he works during the day anymore. Apparently, my subconscious thinks that it’s worth it to find out, as it continues to lead me there.
Reaching the café, my stomach erupts with nerves. Not so much like the excitement of butterflies, but the anticipation of it twisting and turning my insides.
Why did I come here? What will his reaction be? What will I say?
Pushing through the café door, I thank the Lord it is its usual daytime level of busy. The lunch crowd swarms around the counter, waiting for their takeaway or the chance to order, and the tables are full with groups stuffing their food in, having to be back at work soon.
Tate stands behind the counter taking orders, putting money through the register, and handing food out. He is clearly run off his feet, along with three of the other regular girls on staff. He doesn’t look up at all from what he’s doing so I line up at the back of the queue and wait for my chance.
I’m not sure if I really thought this plan through as I realise I’ll be placing my order in front of everyone waiting, and it’s probably not the best time to talk to him. On the other hand, it’s a great opportunity to feel him out and his reaction to me, all the while having an excuse not to sit and chat if things are awkward.
After waiting for what seems like forever, it’s my turn. Tate lifts his head and it takes a second before his eyes widen in surprise. Anger flashes in his bright blue irises before he schools his features and his face takes on a blank and bored expression.
“Rita will be right with you.” He gives me an unfamiliar smile and walks away. I watch him with wide eyes as he approaches a young girl serving at the other end of the counter. He whispers something in her ear and she looks up at him, confused, before looking my way. She looks back to him and shrugs as she makes her way over to me.
I stare, shocked, down the counter at Tate, who continues serving her line of customers. He did not just pull that high school shit on me.
“What can I get you?” the young girl asks.
Placing my order for a sandwich, I move to wait at the back of the crowd. An older man and woman dressed in office-wear stand and leave a small two-seater table, and I don’t think before I move towards it and throw my bag on top to claim it.
I guess I’m spending my one-hour lunchbreak eating in. I know by the time my break is up, the lunch crowd would have cleared, and he won’t be able to ignore me then.
When my name is called, I retrieve my sandwich and drink and get comfortable at my table. I’m in for the long haul.
Pulling out my phone, I decide to write back to some messages I have yet to respond to while I eat my sandwich. Unfortunately, I have to sift through all the new junk before I get to my previous message threads.
DaGift2Womens: I looked at your pictures and your beautiful.
Yes, I am.
We would make beautiful babies.
No, we won’t.
Med69: Hi!
Yeah, a lot of thought went into that one.
ImURdreamGuy: I would LOVE to rub your feet.
Umm, no thanks.
AndyG: I had a great time chatting with you yesterday. Looking forward to catching up.
Finally, to the good stuff.
Harper89: I’m looking forward to hearing more about you waking up drunk and naked in the town gazebo on prom night.
Andrew must be online as his response is instant.
AndyG: Did I mention the church was holding a fair in the town square that morning?
Harper89: OMG Bahaha I need the exact details!
AndyG: Can’t wait.
Andrew goes offline and I finish my lunch quickly, spending the next twenty minutes going over and over what I will say to Tate when I eventually get the chance.
He doesn’t once look at me the whole time I’m sitting there, and I’m no closer to being prepared when the café has emptied out. Tate is fiddling around behind the counter, and I’m sure he is finding stuff to do to avoid me.
Well, he doesn’t know me very well if he thinks I’ll cower away. Grabbing my purse, I push to stand and stalk towards the front counter. He is bent down, putting something away under the bench-top and I throw my hands down on the counter as I lean over. “What in the hell is your problem?”
His head flies up and his eyes shoot to mine. A glimpse of shock shine in them before he puts on the same blank expression from earlier when he treated me like some kind of stranger.
“Excuse me?” he says in a bored tone.
“You heard me,” I seethe. “What’s your problem?”
Anger flashes in his eyes as he stands abruptly and storms around the counter towards me. My body stiffens as the anger flows from him, and I realise I really don’t know him that well either, and I could be playing with fire here.
He grabs my elbow and drags me back behind the counter and towards the kitchen. I’m too nervous to argue, so I follow quickly along. My fast, small steps trying to keep up with his long strides.
He pulls me through the swinging doors and Maurice’s face lights up as he sees me. “Dais—”
“I need a word with Harper,” Tate interrupts him. Maurice must hear the clear contempt in Tate’s voice as his face drops, and he nods quickly while scuttling out of the kitchen.
“W . . . well?” I stutter, wishing my voice held more condescension.
“You know what, Harper?” Tate says through gritted teeth.
“What?” I shout.
He drops his head, his hands on his hips. “You know . . .” He shakes his head, as though he is frustrated with himself.
“What, Tate?”
“Fuck,” he yells, lifting his head to meet my gaze. “Yeah, I am fucking pissed off.”
I wince at his angry words. I would’ve never imagined Tate was able to get so worked up. He is such a laid-back, happy-go-lucky kind of guy. Not now. Now, the Tate standing before me is all fierce stare, flaring nostrils, and hands clenched into fists. I’m not only a little shocked, I’m a little turned on.
“How could you go home with that dickhead from last night so easily when you’ve been turning me down constantly?”
What? “Is that what this is about? A hit to your ego?”
“No,” he says adamantly. “You know me; we have spent time together, and I think we get along really well. Why are you still turning me down, but running home with a tool like that after the first date? I know you realised he was an arrogant fuck. You’re a smart girl, Harper.” His voice is calmer now, more controlled.
Staring at him for a long moment, I take him in. I study his face, looking for any clues on what he’s really thinking.
“Tate.” I sigh. “I told you we were friends—” He rolls his eyes. “No, don’t be like that,” I say firmly. “I told you we were friends. I really like you, Tate. If things were to turn to shit or get weird—” Which they did last night, but I won’t be telling him that, “—I would be sad to ruin this. What we have.” I gesture between the two of us. “I’ve never felt this instant connection with someone else before. I don’t want to ruin it because you’re horny.” I try my luck with a joke, but Tate doesn’t smile.
He releases a deep breath, and with it goes all his anger and frustration. He hesitantly walks towards me, as though he’s waiting for me to retreat. I don’t, I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.
Wrapping his arms around my shoulders, he pulls me into him and I slide my arms around his waist. At the return of my affection, his hold on me tightens.
“I’m sorry, Daisy.” He breathes into my hair. “I don’t know what got into me. You just . . .” He pauses for a moment. “You just deserve so much fucking better than that.” The word ‘that’ comes out laced in disdain.
“I didn’t sleep with him,” I blurt out. I’m not sure why I need him to know, but I do.
“What?” He pulls away from me and looks down into my face, with confusion marring his.
“I didn’t sleep with him,” I whisper.
“Did he hurt you?” His eyes are wide with concern, but his voice spikes with menace.
“No, nothing like that. I just . . . didn’t want to. I went home.” I’m not telling Tate all the embarrassing details of my night. I don’t want another reaction like Saxon’s.
He hugs me close again and speaks softly into my ear. “Good, Daisy. That’s real good.”
Even though things seemed to settle between Tate and me, I decided to postpone my date last night and move it to tonight instead. When I had told Tate that, he seemed disappointed and relieved all at once.
The text message he sent at 10pm last night to ‘see how I was going’ told me his earlier disappointment was from not being able to see me. I’m not sure how I feel about it. In all honesty¸ it kind of feels nice to have someone enjoy your company that much, and actually want to spend time with you. Especially now he knows he’s definitely not getting into these panties.
Opening the café door, all the familiar smells of coffee brewing hit me, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I’m so comfortable here.
Tate is at me as soon as I step inside. “Harper, I have to tell you something. Your date . . .”
“Is he here?” I scan the room looking for a familiar face.
“Yes, but . . .”
“Oh, there he is.” I make my way over to the table Andrew is sitting at.
“Harper, wait . . .”
“We can catch up after. I won’t leave, I promise.”
Tate releases a deep sigh as I pass him and the frustration rolls off him in waves. What have I done now? Well, I can definitely wait until after to find out.
“Andrew?” I question as I reach the table.
“Yes, Harper, hello.” He shakes my hand and the first thing I notice are his warm eyes. They are gentle and sincere, and I’m instantly comfortable with him. “Take a seat, please.”
He gestures to my seat before pulling it out for me to sit in. I smile up at him in thanks for the chivalrous action as I slide into the chair.
During our emails back and forth this week, Andrew and I had figured out that we are from similar small towns not far from each other. We laugh about all the misguided town folk and the classic ‘types’ every town has. The town clown who has thought of every invention under the sun, the do-gooder mayor, the old lady gossip group, and the crazy minister and his family. Of course, I didn’t laugh at that last one, as true as it is, being the daughter of a minister and all.
“So, what do your parents do?” Andrew asks.
“Ummm . . .” I stall looking for a distraction.
“What can I get you guys?” Tate offers, and I’m grateful for the interruption.
“Oh gosh, I haven’t even looked yet,” Andrew says as he picks up the menu off the table.
“The usual for me, please.” As my eyes reach Tate’s, his are wide with horror. I sit upright, wondering what in the hell is going on.
He nods in Andrew’s direction, and I glance over. Andrew is studying the menu, oblivious to mine and Tate’s silent conversation.
Looking back to Tate, I give him a ‘what’ look, and he scratches his head as he stiffly nods back in Andrew’s direction.
I sigh, frustrated, and look back to Andrew. He looks up from his menu and smiles at me before turning to Tate and placing his order.
Still not seeing a problem, I look back to Tate with a ‘just fucking tell me’ look.
He runs his hand through his hair as he harshly nods in Andrew’s direction again. I don’t even bother looking at Andrew again, knowing I’m not going to see anything different than before.
I give Tate wide eyes and clench my jaw. “I think that’s all.” I get the words out through gritted teeth.
Tate sighs, frustrated, and storms away from the table.
I shake my head, and when I turn back to Andrew, he is staring at me in confusion. “Sorry,” I mumble, embarrassed he witnessed that final interaction between Tate and me.
“No worries.” He is sweet, but his voice is wary. Tate and I probably looked like two mute idiots. How humiliating.
Andrew seamlessly continues our conversation, and I use this opportunity to study him, searching for Tate’s meaning behind that irrational display.
I didn’t really focus on Andrew’s features before. He’s not ugly, but he’s definitely not in the same calibre as Tate or Little Weenie.
Now that I’m looking, there is something off about his looks. I can’t put my finger on it, but something doesn’t fit. It would be something like his eyes aren’t in line or his facial features are too far apart; maybe bad teeth, or ears that are too big or small, but I can’t see any of that. His facial appearance seems in line and proper proportion, but something is definitely not right.
In the corner of my eye, I see Tate flailing his arms about. Surreptitiously, I glance his way, trying not to be noticeable, and he runs his hand through his hair before tugging on the ends. No, tugging is too tame; he is almost ripping the hairs from his head.
Glancing around the café, I note that no one has seemed to notice Tate’s complete and utter breakdown. He’s lost it. Maybe it’s all the coffee fumes. They are really strong in here.
When I look back towards Tate, he is on his way over to the table carrying our hot drinks. I roll my eyes at his determined stare and wonder what antics he has planned for us this time.
He doesn’t falter as he strides towards the table and proceeds to drop a hot cup of coffee into Andrew’s lap. I gasp in shock at what is unfolding in front of me. Andrew jumps from his seat, squealing like a small girl. I watch, horrified, as his hair falls off his head and lands on the table in front of me.
My mouth drops open as I stare at Andrew’s toupee lying in the spilt coffee. Glancing up at him, the heat rises on his shiny, bald head. I smile awkwardly at him as I pick up his hairpiece and hold it out to him.
He quickly swipes it from my hand and places it on his head, but not before I notice his whole head turning bright red in mortification. It’s like a beacon calling in the planes for landing.
His hairpiece is sitting on backwards, and the coffee leaks from it and drips all down his face.
“I’m so sorry, Andrew,” I whisper, as I place both my hands over my mouth.
“No, I’m sorry, Harper.” My gut churns on his behalf at the humiliation he must be feeling. The silence of the café surrounds us; luckily, it’s not overly busy at nights. Andrew glares at Tate, who smiles and raises his hands innocently, before he storms out of the café, not saying another word and leaving a trail of coffee in his wake.
“You’re welcome,” Tate says casually as he pulls up a clean chair to the table, relaxing back into it and crossing his ankles in front of him.
I look at him over my hands, which are still covering my mouth in horror. Once our eyes meet, I see the mischievous gleam in his, and I can’t hold it in anymore.
Laughter explodes out of me, loud and uncontained. I bend over, holding my stomach as cramping ensues. Tears stream down my face; my laughter has now turned frenzied. I honestly don’t ever think I have laughed so hard or so much.
“Oh . . . my . . . God . . . That . . . was . . .” I try to talk over my laughter.
I attempt to take deep breaths and calm myself as I sit up straight. Tate gives me his wide, unapologetic smile, and butterflies erupt in my stomach. He did that . . . for me.
“Are you done with this online dating bullshit yet?”
“I think I’m going to need to start drinking more if I’m going to continue with it,” I say, now that my laughter has somewhat abated.
“Well, let’s start now.” He grabs my hand as he stands and pulls me towards the kitchen.
“Tate. Tate, slow down,” I beg as he continues to drag me behind him.
He pushes through the kitchen door and stands me next
to a bench. He leaves me there, watching him go to the other side of the kitchen and pick up a stool. Returning to me, he places the seat down and grabs my waist to lift me onto it.
“Stay,” he commands. The fierce look in his eyes makes it impossible to care he gave me an order he would give a dog.
I watch him, so comfortable in this place as he goes around grabbing different items. He places a bottle of Sambuca in front of me and I stare up at him inquisitively. He gives me a cheeky smile. “Coffee shots,” he says, with no other explanation at all.
“Should we be doing this?” I glance around nervously, expecting someone to jump out and tell us off, firing Tate for drinking on the job like this.
He places three coffee beans into each small espresso cup and I can’t help but watch in enthrallment. I’m so enamoured with him, I would probably be fascinated to watch him do the most mundane task.
He pours a shot of Sambuca in each one and pushes one of the espresso cups towards me as he lifts his own. I pick up the cup and have a smell of the strong flavours. The coffee scent is so strong I’m riding a buzz already.
“Salut,” he says as he holds his cup out.
“Salut,” I mimic and move to clink our cups.
We throw the shots back and I choke as the strong liquor hits the back of my throat. The full flavour is not expected. Tate chuckles at me as if he drank chocolate milk instead of the lethal concoction we ingested. He quickly jogs to the back fridge and returns with a bottle of soda.
“Here.” He gestures to the bottle.
I drink quickly, hoping it will remove the rancid taste in my mouth.
Even with all that, as Tate places another shot in front of me, I glance up to meet his sweet smile and throw it back anyway. Seriously, he could get me to do anything he wanted at this point after tonight’s events. Well, almost anything.
“We are catering a business breakfast tomorrow and I need to prepare for it. Want to stay for a while?”
I couldn’t tell him no, even if I thought it was the smarter thing to do. “Sure. Sounds better than going home and digging into the tub of peanut butter ice cream I have stocked in the freezer.”
He smiles before he rounds up all different foods and equipment and places them on the cold steel bench. “Can I help?”
Whatever You Do Page 10
