But then things had changed, and she’d wound up a single mom with no plan. Sure, she’d had a degree, but she’d barely used it since Brendan was born. Life after divorce had put her in a position where plotting her future had been the only way to make sure she and the boys had one. So she’d worked her ass off pulling nine to five for an actuarial firm for a year in order to prove herself, and then she’d gone solo. Contracting allowed her much more flexibility in her work hours and better pay. She and the boys had been good for a while now.
Planning worked for her, and it had been the only thing to save her ass when the world turned upside down. She understood it, and the ability to quantify everything kept her sane. Rules and order prevented the chaos that could have sucked her under.
Yet maybe—perhaps 2 percent of a chance—she’d been clinging too tightly to her schedules and planners for too long. Maybe, as Marshall liked to quote at her, the things she used to keep her life on track should be more like guidelines rather than rules. At the same time, she didn’t want to swing too far the other way. That was just as—if not more—dangerous than her current path. That’s how she’d wound up in the death-throes of marriage to a man who had encouraged her to put things on hold with her career so the family could chase his dreams around the world.
But then Brendan had hit school age, and things had to change. Christian had tried to convince her to homeschool, and she’d tried it for the first half of kindergarten. It had been a disaster that made everyone’s lives miserable. So she’d finally put her foot down and insisted they find a home and settle in. That had made Christian miserable enough to end things. All because they’d never planned for the eventualities that would come with raising a family.
No, she wasn’t going to give up planning things. It was what kept her and her boys housed and fed, but Peyton was right. She needed something to shake up her day-to-day.
While Marshall’s work-in-trade plan seemed rather extreme, it might be a good idea for her to be on the lookout for a simple opportunity for spontaneity. She wouldn’t find it through her own job, that was certain, but it was almost the weekend. Perhaps she could surprise the boys with a trip to the zoo or something. They hadn’t been to the zoo in ages.
With her spontaneous idea carving its space in her mental day planner, she yanked open the door to the Bean Counter and froze, taking in the scene.
Marshall was behind the counter, as usual, but there was a line stretching almost all the way to the door. An angry line. And he was rushing from register to dispenser to steamer and back again. Where was Claudette? Where was…anyone? That was when it hit her. For some reason, he was running the café all on his own.
This. This was what happened when someone didn’t bother to plan.
Then he turned too fast and collided with a customer reaching for sweetener. The to-go cup in Marshall’s hand didn’t have a lid on yet, and the steaming contents splashed all over the front of him.
“Goddamn mother—”
Alexa was there with her hand over his mouth before Marshall released the rest of his string of expletives. That was no way to put a good face to the business. Instead of letting him continue his curse-filled rant, she smiled at the line of customers. “If you could please be patient for one more minute. We’re going to clean up this mess and be right back to get your coffee.”
In seconds, they were in the kitchen, and Marshall was stripping off his soaked shirt. “Fuck, that hurts.”
Alexa had been busy wetting a towel with cold water, and when she turned, she found herself frozen once more. As it turned out, her mind hadn’t been overdoing the fantasy when it filled in what his body looked like. In fact, it really hadn’t done him justice at all. Marshall clearly worked out when he wasn’t at the Bean Counter—not gym-rat hard, but hard enough to have a six pack with the kind of firm pectorals that made her want to reach out and touch them.
Instead, she held out the towel until he took it and draped it over those glorious abs. He hissed in a breath at the contact. “Thanks. Can you go in back and grab me one of the shop T-shirts? Large.”
“Sure.” Anything to get a minute away from staring at his naked torso.
Finding the shirt was no problem as the storeroom was organized in semi-logical fashion. But she paused on the way out as she spied extra aprons. Without giving the men she was supposed to meet today a second thought, she yanked out her phone and cancelled all her dates for the afternoon. The guys would either understand or they wouldn’t, but if not, that would have garnered them a no anyway.
When she got back to Marshall, it was without her bag and wearing one of the aprons.
“What are you doing?” he asked as he took the packaged T-shirt and ripped open the plastic.
“Helping—though, don’t think for a second this is a permanent arrangement. Come up when you’re ready.” Not waiting for a response, she made her way to the register where she held up a hand at the grumbling crowd. “Thirty seconds, please.”
The machine was pretty self-explanatory. Size. Beverage. Bakery items. Total. Cash. Charge. It had been a while—a long while if she was honest—but she was pretty sure she could do this. The only thing she wasn’t certain about was their credit card system, and she didn’t want that hole in her knowledge causing even longer waits. “Until the owner is back up here, which should only be another minute or two, I’m going to have to ask that only cash transactions step forward.” At more groaning, she held her hand up again. “He’ll be able to do the credit cards, but this way we won’t have any more unnecessary delays. Please just let the next cash customer move to the front of the line until everything is operational again. Now who’s first, and what can I get you?”
…
By the time the towel had leeched the worst of the heat from Marshall’s abs, the noise from the front of the shop had diminished significantly. He carefully smeared on some burn cream and pulled on the new T-shirt. Unwashed, it was stiff and a little scratchy against his stomach, but he’d survive the rest of his shift.
Then he stepped back to the front, only to find the line half the size he’d left it. Shit. Alexa was busy steaming milk for a cappuccino. “What the hell happened to all the customers?”
“Paid and served. These are the last of the ones who had cash. If you could start on the ones with credit cards, they’ve been really patient. Maybe offer them a little something for their time? People remember surprise discounts.” She carefully poured the milk, crafting a cute heart design on top. Not Claudette’s level of coffee artistry, but still decorative.
“Yeah. I’m on it.” There wasn’t time to question her now. He needed the customers taken care of and the line gone first. So he started taking orders, calling them back to her. And he took her advice about the discounts. Most customers added the extra to the tip, so he wasn’t out anything, but he’d probably fostered a large amount of goodwill.
By twelve thirty, everyone was served and either seated or back out the door, giving him a minute to finally breathe. He turned around, expecting Alexa to be right behind him, only to find the staging area empty. A clanging noise drew him into the kitchen. “Making lunch? You definitely earned it.”
“No,” she said from near the pileup by the sink as she twisted on the tap. “I’m doing dishes.”
“Not your job.” He reached past her and turned off the water. “As a matter of fact, none of what you did back there was your job.”
She shrugged, the movement shifting her hair. The steam from the sink had made the air just humid enough that it stuck to her face. “You looked like you needed help. So I helped. Why are you stopping me from helping back here?”
Marshall brazenly reached up and brushed the strands back from her cheek, tucking them behind her ear. Her breath caught, and maybe that should have been a sign to back off, but he let his touch linger for another second before dropping his hand. “Because there’s an old guy who supplements his retirement by doing the dishes here. You don’t want to put poor Bo
bby out of a job, do you?”
“Oh.” She glanced at the stack then stepped away. “You know you could save money by having some of your other people do double duty.”
“Sure, but then who would save Bobby? Money isn’t everything.” In fact, standing here so close to her, he wondered if maybe he could entice her to work for him instead of her fancy job. Granted, she’d turned him down flat yesterday, but it would make coming to the Bean Counter a lot more enjoyable to have her behind the register. Or have her anywhere for that matter.
Which wasn’t a thought he should be entertaining—at all. He cleared his throat and stepped back, allowing the distance to effectively draw his thoughts back to reality. “Speaking of money, though, what do I owe you for today, since you made it clear you weren’t interested in working for trade on the table?”
“Nothing. You’ve helped me out. Consider this me returning the favor is all, but it’s a one-time deal.” She glanced around, as if she also needed a distraction from whatever had been hovering in the air between them a minute ago, and it gave her another of those lengthy pauses she seemed to live for. “What happened to your other people anyway?”
Business. All business. Marshall finally recognized that was Alexa’s comfort zone. She didn’t have a problem jumping in because it was work. The only way it would have been easier for her were if statistics had been involved. While he wasn’t a big fan of comfort zones, he’d respect her need for one. For now. “Claudette called in sick. Josie, my backup barista, is in the hospital with her father. And no one else was available at the last minute.”
“So you figured you could do it all by yourself?” She arched a brow at him, her lips curling into a smirk. That was a new one. Who knew Alexa even knew how to smirk? It was an expression he could learn to love…and hate at the same time.
“Yeah. Well, I didn’t exactly have much choice. I either did it myself, or I wrecked all your dates.” That was the moment it hit him, she should have already been on date number two. “Speaking of, where the hell is your parade of masculinity?”
“I cancelled. Helping a friend is more important than sitting around making small talk with a bunch of guys who probably wouldn’t be a match anyway.”
Color rose in her cheeks, so he didn’t question or press her on the friend comment.
He had a far better question to ask, because one other thing had become clear today. Alexa thrived on a challenge. “So about that rush between three and four…?”
She sighed and gave a resigned shake of her head. “I can stay today. I’ll arrange things with Peyton so the kids don’t worry.”
“Awesome. But I was thinking more long-term.”
“I told you…”
“Not in exchange for the booth. I get it, you hate that idea.” So he needed a new idea, one she couldn’t refuse so easily. “You’re struggling to find guys that are a good match, right?”
Considering what she’d admitted a few seconds ago, she could hardly deny it. “Obviously.”
“Such a hard time that I bet you can’t find one at all.”
“You sound like Peyton.”
“Because Peyton’s smart.” He flashed her a grin. She was on the hook. He could tell by the uptick in sarcasm. “But here’s the bet. Every time you find a guy that you’re willing to see again, I’ll comp your food for the day. Win-win for you.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Support of your plan? Support of a friend’s happiness?” She didn’t seem to flinch at him calling her a friend, which was also a win in his book.
She shrugged. “That’s unnecessary, but thank you.”
“No problem.” She turned to walk away, which was when he sprung the second part of the bet. “But every day you lose, you help me out from three to four. I’m sure Peyton would back up this plan by helping with your kids Mondays and Fridays.”
The way she pressed her lips together confirmed his assumption. “I can’t spend that much time every day. It just doesn’t work.”
“Then one hour less to date every day. It either provides you an extra hour for your day job or helps me out here. Plus, it ups the challenge factor.” The piece of hair fell from behind her ear, and he reached up to tuck it back once more. “What do you say? You in?”
She bit her lip and stared at him a long minute before shaking her head. “This is ridiculous.”
“And so are my shoes. Believe me, I remember.”
That was the moment he’d been waiting for. He got a laugh. Not a huge one, but a real one nonetheless. “Okay, fine. Even if Peyton isn’t on board, I’ll figure something out with the boys. And I guess this will push me to being more open to the potential in the men coming through.”
While he wasn’t about to let her know the bet was really for the selfish reasons of wanting her around more and genuinely needing a one-hour assistant, he smiled. “Sounds great.”
The bell at the counter chimed, and she wiped her hands against the borrowed apron, suddenly no longer meeting his eyes. “Duty calls. Could you maybe figure out what you need me to do when we have downtime, though? Idle hands and all that.”
“Definitely.” He waved her toward the front of the café, watching as her perfectly formed ass strode forward to greet their new customer. “Already have twelve percent of a plan.”
“Twelve percent? What?”
“Guardians of… Never mind. I’ll figure something out for you.”
Granted, what he’d been pondering was her hands all over him. In other words, a plan he’d never put in action, but a guy could dream. And those daydreams made getting through the rest of the day a lot more enjoyable.
Chapter Six
After devoting Friday to helping at the Bean Counter, Alexa spent her weekend practically bouncing. This level of energy and joy was a feeling she hadn’t had in years, perhaps decades, and even the kids noticed.
Sunday night, Brendan pulled her aside. “Mom, I hate to ask this, but are you taking Beau’s medicine?”
“What?” She laughed. “Why would you think that?”
Brendan scuffed his toe in the carpet, making patterns of alternating light and dark with the pile. “I read that people who don’t have ADHD and take those medicines get really hyper. And you’ve been acting…” He twisted his full lips—Chris’s lips—into a crinkled expression of consternation. “You’ve been acting like Tigger.”
Blake, her youngest, had been on a Pooh kick for a while, so as much as a thirteen-year-old boy might not have wanted to use that particular comparison, it was likely the one at the top of his head.
Alexa pulled her crazy, wonderful son into her arms and kissed his forehead, which she almost couldn’t reach anymore. Somehow, while she wasn’t looking, he was turning into a man. “First, I love that you were willing to ask me that. Second, no, I’m not on any drugs my doctor didn’t prescribe specifically for me.”
“Then what’s going on?” he mumbled.
Alexa stilled. Was her happiness actually upsetting to her kids? Holy hell. What did that say about the perfect life she thought she’d been building? “Why? Does it bother you?”
“Nah.” He rubbed his head against her shoulder, chuckling. “Just hoping this you isn’t going to disappear on us. You’re smiling more. It’s nice when you smile.”
Which was about as close as a kid his age could come to saying Mom, I think you’re depressed, and it worries me.
She sucked in a breath of him. Too soon, she’d do that and wouldn’t smell her little boy at all anymore. He was well on his way to manhood, and if she wasn’t careful, she was going to miss the few childlike moments he had left. “I sort of stepped into a temporary job on Friday, and I really enjoyed myself.”
“Temporary? So it will go away.” The disappointment in his tone hit like a fist to the gut.
Damn it. No.
Playing barista had reminded her of waitressing in college, given her a crazy boost of energy along with aching feet and shoulders. She wasn’t about to
quit her day job to waitress again, but with Marshall’s bet in play, she was pretty sure she’d be behind that counter at least a couple of hours next week. “Don’t worry. I think I know how to make it less temporary. Can’t disappoint my guys when all it takes to make you happy is for me to smile more.”
She sucked in another breath. There it was. The hint of musk that signaled his impending manhood. She didn’t have time to waste worrying about the data. Her perfect life was about to get a major injection of happiness. She just had to play along with Marshall’s game.
As luck would have it, her crop of online men was already thinning. Which meant she was easily tightening down to four dates a day. Starting at one, done by two fifty, which judging by Friday’s crowds meant she’d be finished right when Marshall needed help the most. But what if she actually managed to meet someone worth dating?
She shook off the concern. That was the goal, but so far, there hadn’t been any sign of it happening. So she’d plan for some barista joy, and no matter how her dates went, she couldn’t really lose.
Monday, as soon as Joe left the Bean Counter at two forty-five, Alexa typed in her notes: Nice guy, but he wants kids of his own. Unlikely with me, so that will never work. Then she shut down her tablet and ran to the ladies’ room. When she came out, it was in much more sensible shoes and the T-shirt Marshall had insisted she take for helping out on Friday when she’d refused cash. Without a word, she stepped behind the counter and strode toward the storeroom, leaving a sputtering Marshall in her wake.
In seconds, he was in the back with her. “I mean, I know you’re here all the time, but I can’t have customers coming behind the counter whenever they…” His words cut off when she dropped her things and grabbed an apron. “What are you doing?”
“I lost the bet. Close call with Joe at the end, but it never would have worked long-term, so it wasn’t worth giving up a Friday night with the kids to see him again. I get you instead.”
“You’re taking this really well. What about those kids you need to get home to?”
Adventures in Online Dating Page 5
