Things That Shine Page 5

He shrugged, as if it were no big deal, keeping a close eye on her reaction.

  “Sure. Yeah. That’s what I need.” Emily gave him a look like she was on to his crap.

  “All right. Well, in the meantime,” he leaned back, trying to act all casual with his quasi-recovered dignity, “I’ll just drink the world’s most delicious coffee and study like a regular nerd.”

  Emily rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, so he would take it.

  “I will think about it,” she reiterated.

  “Cool.”

  It was cool. It was so darn cool, Sage wanted to fist pump in victory, but that would not be cool. So he withheld.

  He was so tired.

  7

  Emily

  “Stop giving him free coffee. This isn’t a diner.” Abby swept crumbs off the counter and glared at me. “This perkiness has to stop. People are coming in here and wanting to hang out. No more of that.”

  “Abby, we’re a café.” I shook my head at her. “That’s pretty much the definition of what happens at a café.”

  “Whatever.”

  I glanced at the door Sage had escaped out after I’d turned him down, and wondered what he was up to.

  I wasn’t stupid. It had taken me a moment to realize he was lying about it not being a date. I wasn’t into guys doing the stealth-dating thing, but since he’d asked straight-out first, that could be forgiven.

  It was the “We’re not dating—oh, oops! We’re in a relationship!” games I hated.

  Ash’s girlfriends always seemed to pull that crap. Or maybe Ash just managed to always pick out girlfriends who pulled crap.

  Abby hovered over me while I restocked everything from the mid-morning shift.

  “Go away.” I didn’t even look at her.

  There was something amazingly freeing about not having to be super nice to someone. Abby didn’t speak super-nice, so I was learning her native tongue.

  I glanced over at her.

  “Seriously,” I said. “You’re off. Go away. Don’t you have to study? Or try going outside. There’s an entire world out there.”

  Abby gave me one of her flat muppet-glares before pivoting and banging into the kitchen. I heard her stomping up the stairs at the back of the building to her apartment. Then stomping around upstairs. I wondered if she was hurting her feet walking that heavily to make her point, and went back to my restocking.

  It was mindless work that let me focus on other things, like how I was going to finish paying for a class or two next semester.

  No matter how you looked at it, I was going to need a fifth job. The Brew was basically paying my living expenses. Let’s face it. Living in a dining room had its perks cost-wise. John paid me well on the barista scale, and the tips were good.

  But, I put last semester’s class on a credit card and still had to pay that off before I could even think about the next one. The interest rate wasn’t exactly my friend after missing two months before I found Ash and Megan to live with. If I could get another job and pay off the credit card, I could think about upping my class schedule to two a semester.

  Except…when would I work?

  I laid my head on the counter with a heavy thud, thinking about how nothing ever seemed to come even. Getting a job was hard enough. I thanked God every day my record was sealed.

  I’ll never forget the gutting I felt as the pit of my stomach dropped out when Max came in, decked out in all his copness, and shook John’s hand before the two sat down to chat.

  I was sure—dead sure—this was one of those deals where John had run my record and a buddy at the station found something he shouldn’t have been able to.

  Not being one to torture myself, I strode across the room in a determination I’d honed and sat in Max’s seat before John had a chance to call me over.

  “So?” I’d asked.

  John looked at me as if I were nuts.

  And no wonder. Apparently Max was one of his friends and no one had run anything, and John hadn’t even thought to.

  I came clean about my record—told John the whole twisted story—and thought I’d be out the door for good.

  All he said was “Don’t be stupid” and headed off to do whatever John did all day.

  Now I was just another one of John’s adopted baristas…living the life. When Abby came back at the end of the day, I packed up to head out.

  “Off to job four hundred?”

  “Nope. Three hundred and seventy-two.” I tossed the register keys to her and grabbed my bag.

  And with that I was off, because a job waits for no woman.

  The next morning, I hit The Brew mid-shift, glancing toward the seat in the window without meaning to.

  I was not going to be derailed by some mama’s boy who was used to having everything handed to him.

  “He was already here,” Abby said from behind the counter.

  “Who?” I asked, barely glancing her way.

  “Don’t be an idiot.” Abby shook her head and wandered off to bake something.

  “I’ll have a frosty goodness something.” I glanced up to find Megan standing across the counter, her gaze flitting around the café. “Goodness that costs less than two eighty-three, please.”

  Because I could make anything Megan thought of as a treat for less than seven hundred dollars, with how many scoops of chocolate and pumps of syrup she’d want.

  I started mixing up something I knew was coming out of my tip jar while I watched her attempt to act casual.

  “Megan?”

  “Emily?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, you know. Just dropping in to say hi.” She gave me a very suspicious smile that was basically an attempt to look innocent.

  Whenever Megan looked innocent, games were afoot.

  I gave her the look Abby gave me on a regular basis—I’d been practicing in the mirror—and she took a step back.

  “Wow, what was that?” She looked over her shoulder as if someone behind her was trying to pull shenanigans too.

  I gave her the look again.

  “Fine!” Megan dropped her two eight-three on the counter and leaned over it. “Is he here?”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t play games with me, missy.” She was practically crawling over the counter, whisper-shouting at this point. “The guitar designer to his godliness Blake Diedrich?”

  I should have known this day would come. But no. I was naïve in the ways of Megan. I’d only lived with her three months, and it hadn’t dawned on me she’d go all casual stalker on me.

  “He’s not here.” Which, thankfully, was true.

  “Fine.” She took her fancy practically-free drink and headed over to the corner, where she pulled out a book and settled in.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m a paying customer.”

  “Barely.” I looked at my tip jar, annoyed at myself for having enabled her ridiculousness.

  Megan sat at her table, reading away. Every time the door opened, she’d check to see if it was a young, hot guy. If it even might be a young hot guy, she’d look at me for a reaction.

  I considered running to the ladies’ room to practice my straight face, but then decided that was too boring. When it came to Megan, a girl had to play sneaky.

  The next young guy who came in, I made sure I did everything I could to look interested.

  It didn’t hurt that it was Brent.

  Brent was so full of himself that it was amazing he even bothered to speak out loud to tell me his order. He also thought he was hot stuff.

  As soon as he walked in the door, I straightened up, running my hands over my hair and giving him my brightest smile.

  Any other guy would have paused, wondering what was going on. But, not him. Nope. He was probably thinking, It’s about time.

  “Hi! How are you!” I smiled, giving him all my perky-cheer in one dose.

  “Um, good. You?” Even Brent was realizing he was getting a little more attention t
han normal.

  “Great!” I ran my hands down my side, smoothing out my apron. “The regular!”

  It was getting hard to make all these questions into excited statements.

  “Um, sure. Sounds good.”

  Well, crud. Who knew Brent had a regular? He was the person I typically paid the least attention to, so I had no idea what I was supposed to be making now.

  As I turned my back on him and reached for the French press behind me—because I could only imagine Brent was the kind of guy to order a French press in the middle of a rush—I caught Abby leaning against the kitchen doorway looking at me like I’d lost my mind.

  Since it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities, I just kept staring at the press, trying to remember what I’d made him yesterday.

  “Hi.” Megan’s voice slipped over my shoulder from where she’d moved in on Brent.

  I tried to suppress the grin, but since my back was to them, why bother?

  “I’m Megan,” she said, as if it might mean something to him. Of course, it wouldn’t mean anything to Sage either. I didn’t know what she thought I did here all day.

  “Hi, Megan.” Brent didn’t sound anywhere near as surprised as he should. But, again. Ego.

  “So, I’d ask if you come here often, but I already know the answer to that.”

  “You…do?” His blurred reflection in the menu board over my head looked surprised for the first time…and maybe a little worried.

  “Yup. I’m here just to meet you.” She gave a little giggle.

  Out of context, I’m sure it sounded like the insane laughter of an obsessed stalker.

  “You…are?” Another step back.

  Abby sidled up next to me, her back to them as well. “What are you doing?”

  “Making a something-something French press something with extra milk?” Because I still wasn’t sure what Brent’s regular drink was.

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  I glanced over my shoulder at where he waited for his drink, Megan all but bouncing on her toes while she grinned up at him.

  “Um…she’s stalking Sage because I made the mistake of mentioning the rock star guy, and now she wants to get all in on that.”

  “She’s using The Brew to hit on rock stars?”

  “Married ones.”

  Abby’s gasp was pure outrage. Although, I’m not sure which part of this equation ticked her off more.

  “Plus,” I continued, “Brent’s a high-maintenance low tipper. It wouldn’t be such a big loss, would it?”

  Abby glanced over at them, amused, but not admitting it.

  “Anyway,” Megan continued, totally not catching that anything was wrong yet. “I was wondering…what is it you do?”

  “Do?” Brent sounded nervous and suspicious now.

  Of course, I was kind of curious what he did, too.

  “Yes. For work?”

  “I’m a fiscal government law advisor.”

  “Wait. No, you aren’t.” Megan laughed, and I saw her fuzzy outline reach out and give him a light slap on the arm.

  Abby shifted to lean on the counter next to me, watching them.

  “Yes. I am. And, did you just hit me?” He sounded outraged, as if she’d hauled off and decked him in the face while wearing brass knuckles.

  “That wasn’t a hit. It was a...love tap.”

  Oh, man. I really should put a stop to this.

  I started to turn around, my mouth already open to get Megan’s attention, when Abby grabbed my arm and shook her head.

  Well, at least I could blame this wreck on my boss from here on in.

  “No. That was a hit.”

  Abby snorted. I couldn’t blame her, but this seemed pretty much in line with the Brent we’ve seen here.

  “Um, no.” Megan didn’t sound so sure of herself now. “But, I was just… Anyway, I thought you were a designer.”

  “Of clothes?” he asks.

  I gave up and turned around. The look he gave her outfit was one of such disdain I was afraid her clothes might start crying from having their feelings hurt.

  At this, the door opened and in walked Sage.

  “Oh.” Abby was smiling now. It scared me. “This is going to be good.”

  “No.” Megan crossed her arms and straightened up, all playfulness completely gone. Now he’d done it. He’d judged her clothes. “Of guitars, Sage. I’m not sure how you’d pick clothes designer by mistake.”

  “Right. Do I look like I’d sit around designing toys all day?”

  Sage jerked as if someone had smacked him, but kept his mouth shut—and his distance.

  “And, anyway, what the hell kind of guy would be named Sage?” Brent sounded so offended I started to feel bad. I mean, not for him, but still.

  “I would be.” Behind him, Sage stepped forward, glancing between the two idiot strangers arguing over his name, and then up at me. Clearly he suspected I was somehow the silent instigator.

  I glanced from Brent—all suited up, tall, and clean-cut—to Sage, who definitely looked like he worked for a rock band—and I knew that no matter how stupid it was, I was getting pitter-pattery over the wrong guy.

  Of course, neither of them was the right guy since I was a guy-free zone, but still.

  Knowing things were just going to get even more ugly, I handed Brent his drink—which may or may have not been relatively close to his regular—and told him no charge.

  He didn’t bother to stick the five in his hand in the tip jar. No real shocker there. There’s got to be some fancy-dancy place over by his financial law advisory whatever office building, so hopefully that was the last time he would skip tipping me, if the coffee gods were kind.

  “You’re Sage?” Megan gave him an incredibly suspicious look, as if this were all his fault.

  “Yes.” He sounded pretty sure of the fact that he was the Sage she was referring to. Of course, I had to wonder how many Sages were running around town.

  “What kind of name is Sage?” Megan asked.

  “Actually,” Abby leaned over the counter, “I’ve been wondering that, too.”

  “Well, if it’s a strong enough name for Sylvester Stallone to name his son, then I don’t think any of you should be questioning it.”

  With that, Sage did the closest thing to a manly version of a flounce and swaggered his way over to his chair.

  And now, Brent was gone.

  Sage was sitting at his table, sans coffee.

  Megan was glaring at me.

  “So, Megan,” I stopped, not sure what I was going to say.

  “So, Emily.” Megan stopped…probably a little more sure what she wanted to say, but she was using her company manners.

  “So, girls.” Abby tossed down the towel she’d been holding. “This has been interesting and all, but Emily has to do some work.” She raised her hand, interrupting Megan before she could even get going. “She bought you a coffee that’s going to cost her thirty minutes of tips, and you deserved the prank for trying to use her friendship. Go back to your corner and think about what you’ve done.”

  Megan looked at Abby like she wanted to argue…but even Megan was more socially aware than that.

  “And, you.” Abby turned back to me. “You make me proud. But don’t mess with the good tippers.”

  She disappeared back into the kitchen.

  This job was—in some ways—the weirdest job I had. I mean, especially since the Dancing Burrito thing overflowed into The Brew—I was totally counting that.

  “So.” I looked up to find Designer of the Gods standing on the other side of the counter, hands in his pockets. “What was that?”

  He jerked his head toward Megan without glancing her way.

  “That was Hurricane Megan. Otherwise known as my roommate.”

  “Oh.” He nodded, but after a second asked, “Why did she think that guy was me?”

  “I may have let her jump to a conclusion.” I said it as if I hadn’t pushed her over the Cliffs of Conclusion
s into the Bay of Bad Assumptions.

  Sage’s mouth kicked up on the right side into a cocky grin I hadn’t expected to see from him. “So, you’re talking about me, huh?”

  Oh. Crud.

  “Nope.” I shook my head. “But, Abby. That girl can’t shut up about you.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Yeah. I wouldn’t have believed me, either.

  “I may have mentioned you because of the whole Rock Star Buying Coffee and Asking For Handmade Guitars thing.” I gave him a sorry smile, figuring he was sick of people talking about his connection to Double Blind.

  “Oh.”

  The word was so flat I wasn’t sure what to say. But he nodded and walked back to his table, pulling his phone out and probably Googling other coffee shops in the area.

  After a few, he came back, and leaned against the counter.

  “So, do you want your regular?” I’m trying this again since I actually knew what his regular was.

  “Sure. Also,” he raised his voice, and half turned toward the table Megan was still sitting at, looking like a puppy who’d gotten her nose smacked with a newspaper, “I was thinking, since you don’t want to date me—”

  There’s an annoyed gasp from the vicinity I was calling The Megan Bubble on the other side of the room.

  “And, since I figured anything we do just the two of us would be too close to a date for you, maybe you and your friend Megan—”

  “YES! Whatever it is, yes!” Megan jumped out of her seat, then sat back down, glancing toward the kitchen door.

  Sage turned her way. “Really?”

  “Absolutely.” She nodded, her curls bouncing around her shoulders.

  “Great.” He grinned at her. “I hate going to the dump myself, but you find some great stuff to refinish there.”

  “The dump?”

  Poor Megan.

  All of us messing with her today.

  Me. Abby. Brent—accidentally, of course. Now Sage.

  “Yup.”

  “Oh. Um. Sure.” Megan looked at me, her lips pursed and her brows drawn down like there was something important she was missing. “Emily, what does someone wear to the dump?”

  I burst out laughing.

  “You’re not really inviting us to the dump, are you?” I asked, because even Megan didn’t deserve this much torture.