Page 10 of Just One Moment

QuinnJackson, get your lazy, fat ass in that kitchen and start our supper.

It’sfunny how words left more of a sting than the slap across my face that usually followed that demand.

Iwill not allow myself to be dragged down misery lane!

Settlingon the small bed tucked at the rear of the van,Iswaddle myself in blankets, and groan when the heat soothes my cramps.Thelumpy mattress needs replacing, but money isn’t a blessing right now.

Fuckingovaries.

It’sbeen a few days sinceJocame into the bakery andIchickened out.Shesensed my hesitation from miles away, andIhated thatImade her think she was overstepping.Itshould have been simple for me to explain that now isn’t the right time for us to work together.Instead,Iallowed old insecurities to take the wheel.

Ifand whenIget my books in order, thenIcan think about collaborating with the restaurant.Afterthat,IprayIcan convince a bank to lend me the money to buy the bakery.Mr.Willis, the elderly gentlemanIrent the space from, has mentioned on a number of occasions he wants to move away from commercial properties, and when that time comes,Iwant to be the person he sells to.

IfonlyIknew an accountant.

MaybeGrahamhas forgotten about my tipsy introduction.

“Stopbeing ridiculous,”Iscold myself whenIswitch on my laptop and pull up accounting articles, hoping they can educate me. “Theguy probably doesn’t even remember my name, let alone whoIam.”

“Thereyou go,Mr.Willis.Oneblueberry scone and cappuccino.”Iplace the coffee and plate in front of my stoic landlord, who sits at a table by the window, where the late afternoon sun pours into the bakery like a blanket of sunshine.

“Thanks,Quinn.Looksgood.Pleasecall meMartin, though.”

He’sa nice man, hard to read, and has been nothing but helpful sinceIstarted renting from him earlier in the year.AtfirstIthought he was one of those nosy landlords, butI’vecome to learn he has a huge sweet tooth and enjoys the company, quickly becoming one of my regulars and one of the reasonsIkeep the blueberry scones well stocked.He’salways alone, and from whatIgather, he’s a little bit of a recluse.

“Surething,Mr.Willis.”Iearn myself an eye roll asIwalk to the table opposite him to clear it after the last customer.I’mgiving it a final wipe over when a shadow appears from through the window, passing over me from the outside.Lookingup,Ifind the man who’s been occupying my mind a lot the last few days.

Graham.

Everyday he walks past the bakery around this time with his dog, but wheneverIwave, he’s gone in a flash.Ifhe were a cartoon character, a trail of smoke would follow his swift departure.

Straighteningmy back,Iraise my hand, wiggling my fingers with a big smile, ready for him to dart out of sight.Hisposture goes rigid, but rather than tug on the leash and walk away, he surprises me by picking up the dog, tucking the cute little thing under his arm, and heading toward the front door.

Thesecond the bell chimes, the pup goes berserk, yapping at every customer.

“Curly, not now.Please, not now.”Grahamlooks at me sheepishly and mouths,Sorry.I’dnormally smile, butI’mshocked to see him, almost likeImanifested him with my thoughts.

“Didyou want a table?”Iask, just as one of the plates starts to slip through my fingers.

“Letme help.”Eyesdowncast, he easily takes hold of two plates in his large hands while balancing the pup.

“Thankyou.”Brushingmy free hand on my apron,Inod toward the dog. “What’syour wiener called?”

Oureyes widen at the same time, becauseIabsolutely hear how that sounds.

“What’syour sausage called?Ohmy god, that’s worse.Yourdog.”Iquickly turn away to set the dishes down next to the sink, andGrahamhands over his stack too.

I’mtoo busy trying not to die from embarrassment whenGrahammurmurs, “Curly.He…he usually hates people.”

“Curly?Wellthat’s adorable.”Ireach over to tickle the dog’s pink belly.He’sgot a shiny chocolate coat, with a tanned snout and paws. “Youdon’t hate humans, you love belly rubs, don’t you?He’snot curly though, what made you pick that name?”

“It’sdumb.”Hescratches the scruff along his jaw, which does a terrible job of hiding his crimson cheeks, and a curious part of me wants to reach out and see how warm his skin is. “It’sironic.He’snotCurly.See?Dumb.”

“It’sdefinitely not.”Ichuckle.Standingthis close,Ismell his spicy aftershave.Washe always this tall?Hemust have at least a foot on me. “Youboys having a nice walk?”

“Yeah, it’s a good one.Areyou, um, having a good day?”he asks as he puts the wriggling, whining dog down on the floor.

“Asuper day.Itwould be even better if you came in for acoffee and maybe a pup cup for the furball.I’vebeen waiting for you to show your face here.”

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