Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 57082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
I didn’t have a ‘no flirting with the customers policy’—not that the girls would abide by it even if I did. But, despite their constant encouragement, I rarely, if ever, flirted. But I did leave the kitchen and go out to ‘talk’ to the customers.
It wasn’t Self-Help Hunk who caught my eye, but rather Glasses Hunk. He wasn’t the only customer to wear glasses, but he definitely wore them best. They framed his piercing green eyes and added a certain softness to his sharp features: chiseled jawline and sculpted arms.
“Hello, Gwen.” He smiled at me and I froze.
He knows my name.
“I know I shouldn’t,”—he gave his well-trimmed figure a tap—“but I can’t resist your cinnamon rolls.”
I opened my mouth but momentarily forgot how to form words. “We, I…” I motioned to the display case in front of me. “We have low-calorie muffins.” I cringed. What was I saying?
“I mean, not that you need low-calorie muffins.” I motioned to him then I smacked myself in the forehead. “I mean, you can eat what you want.” I exhaled and shook my head. “What am I saying? How are you doing today?”
He laughed. His eyes left mine and went to the display case. He was just as nervous as I was—either that, or he was doing a good imitation of being nervous to make me feel less awkward. And it worked. “I’m doing well. Thanks. It’s good to see you.”
I looked around for Jenny or Christy, someone to come rescue me. My chest was filled with butterflies, and I was feeling light-headed. Christy was at the opposite end of the cafe, but I could tell she was watching me out of the corners of her eyes. She was wiping down a table, in no rush to come pull me out of this exchange. “Um, it’s good to see you… too.”
“Axel,” he said. “I’m sorry. I know your name but I didn’t even introduce myself.”
“Right, Axel. It’s good to see you. I mean, I’ve seen you before, but,”—shut up. Stop blabbering—”I mean, it’s good to see you again.”
We stood there a moment—a seemingly long moment—saying nothing, just smiling.
“Um, can I get you something?” I said as I remembered that I actually worked there.
“Thank you. I’m just waiting for a friend.”
“Of course.”
“But, I’ll have a cinnamon roll and a small coffee.”
I nodded. “Sure. Have a seat. I’ll bring it out to you.”
As I was plating the cinnamon role, Christy came up to me. “OK, when you give him his role, you hand him a slip of paper with your phone number.”
“What?” I frowned and shook my head.
“You say, ‘Here’s my phone number. Call me. I’ve got other kinds of rolls I can give you.”
I nearly choked on my laughter. “Christy, I am definitely not going to say that. Plus, that doesn’t even make sense.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense,” she said. She took out a piece of paper. “Quick. What’s your phone number?”
I picked up the coffee and the plate and walked around her. “Excuse me, I have a customer to serve.”
I rarely stayed at the cafe in the evenings. What I enjoyed most was baking. And once the baking was all done, I’d leave the rest to my employees. I had planned on going down to the beach for a light running session, but I decided, like most things in my life, I could put that off till tomorrow. Instead, I headed straight home with the only goal: a good book and a hot bath (or a hot book and a good bath).
I was surprised to find Holly, my roommate, home—a welcome surprise.
“Hiya, Gwen.” Holly was laid out on the living room floor, perhaps in between yoga poses or, knowing Holly, maybe she simply felt like lying on the floor.
“Oh, hi, Holly. You’re back early. How was Portland?”
“I think I spent more time in the airport than I spent in the city.” She hopped off the floor and brushed herself off. “You want to come to a party with me tonight?”
I slipped into the kitchen. It was an open kitchen, but at least there was a counter between us. It was difficult to say no to Holly, and I had no intention of going to one of her crazy parties. “Um, thanks. But actually, I’ve got plans.”
“Really? That’s great.” She took a seat at the counter and propped her head onto locked fingers as if in expectation of being told a riveting story. “What’s his name?”
“King,” I replied with a wry smile, “Stephen King.”
Holly stood, hands on her hips. “You are not missing this party so you can stay home and read.”
“I like reading.”
Holly walked around the counter. She took out her phone and showed me the screen. “Look. This is Jason. It’s his birthday.”
“And?”
“And we’re having a party at Pontoon.”
“I’m sure it will be—”