Page 34 of Coming Up Roses

Cash

I pullup to the local coffee shop at eleven forty-five on the dot. My meeting with the owner isn’t until noon, but I’m a firm believer that fifteen minutes early is on time, and on time is late.

Not to mention, I want to make a good first impression. Word of mouth is the way of life in small towns. If they like me and my work, they’ll tell their friends.

Stepping inside, I take a look around. My eyes are instantly drawn to the coffee bar. It’s made from what looks to be salvaged barn wood. It’s gorgeous. Continuing my inspection of the place, I’m getting more than a little excited for this job. The owner has a good eye and I’m looking forward to leaving my mark behind with the custom display cabinet they want me to build.

I saunter up the bar and introduce myself to the girl working it. I’m just about to ask her if it’s okay for me to head on back to speak with the owner when he claps me on the shoulder. “Mr. Carson. Right on time.”

“Please, call me Cash,” I tell him as we walk back to his office. We both take a seat and immediately start discussing his wish list for the cabinet he wants from me. “Well, Mr. Brooks, I really like the feel of this place, and I think a custom cabinet from me would fit the bill just right. Let me ask you a question real quick though . . .” He nods and I continue. “That wood on the bar, where’s it from?”

“Ah, yes. That’s wood from my great-granddaddy’s barn. When it came time to re-roof the barn, we decided it wasn’t worth the cost with none of us actually usin’ it since he passed, so we saved all the wood we could. Got most of it, thankfully. In fact, I should have just enough left for you to build my cabinet.”

My face splits into a wide grin. The thought of working with such old lumber has my heart speeding up just a bit. “Well, hot damn, that sounds amazing. You mind if I hang onto this wish list?”

“You go right ahead, son.” Mr. Brooks secures his notes into a file folder and slides them across the table to me.

“All right, thank you very much. I’m just gonna take a few measurements and I’ll be on my way.”

We both stand and shake hands before going on about our business. He heads to his desk, and I make my way out to my truck to grab my tape measure and notepad.

* * *

I’m on my knees,bent over my notepad, muttering measurements and calculations to myself when I hear Myla Rose’s angelic voice. I swear, I could pick that voice out of a damn crowd, no problem.

She’s at the bar, presumably placing her order. Her back is to me, and I take advantage, letting my eyes slowly trail her from head to toe, lingering in all the right places.

Girl is too damn fine. Too bad I probably ruined any shot I had with her—even as a friend. Still, now is the perfect time to tuck tail and apologize.

She pays the barista and spins on her heel, scanning the coffee shop for a free table. Lucky me, the only free table happens to be right next to where I’m set up. I rise from my crouched position as she approaches. “Hello there, Myla Rose. How are you today?”

Her eyes widen, as if she’s surprised to see me. “I’m doin’ just fine, thanks for asking. How about you?”

“My good day just got even better,” I reply as I pull her chair out and gesture for her to have a seat.

“Oh, um . . .” She’s at a loss for words as I lower myself into the chair across from her.

“I wanna apologize for how I acted the other day. I was outta line, and I’m sorry. You think you can forgive me?” I hit her with my most charming smile.

Her cheeks turn that delicious rosy hue, making me wonder just how far I could make the blush spread, making me wonder if that’s how she looks when . . .

“Of course, Cash.” Her words, spoken in such an unsure tone, derail my dirty train of thought, which is probably for the best because this isn’t the time or place.

“You sure about that, Myla Rose?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Everyone is entitled to a mistake or two.” Her voice comes out crisp and clear, letting me know she means every word.

Thank God. The thought of this girl being mad at me—yeah, I'll pass.

“Well, good. I wanna make it up to you though.” She starts to shake her head to refuse, but I just keep right on. “Please, let me take you out, Myla Rose. What’s the worst that could happen?” I plead, hitting her with my best puppy dog eyes.

“Okay, I guess,” she relents. Hell yes!

“Next weekend, Friday night?” She tells me that’s fine with her, and we exchange numbers with the promise of finalizing plans later in the week.

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