Page 31 of Tuned To Break
I look down at the counter and realise she’s right. There are indeed four flat whites lined up that no one ordered.
“Shit.”
“Language,” Emily laughs. “But seriously, maybe you should consider that workplace relationships aren’t automatically disasters. Look at me and Tom—we worked together for two years before we started dating.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because you owned the business. There was no risk of you getting fired.”
“There are always complications when you care about someone,” Megan points out. “The question is whether they’re worth it.”
I spend the rest of my shift trying not to think about Jake, which of course means I think about nothing else. By the time I’m heading to Doc’s for the afternoon, I’m stressed out and irritable, still pissed about the headlight situation and confused about my feelings.
The familiar smell of motor oil and metal greets me as I walk into the workshop, along with the sound of power tools and rock music playing from someone’s radio. The guys are all at their workstations, but I can feel Jake’s eyes on me the moment I walk through the door.
I head straight to the office without acknowledging anyone, dumping my bag on the desk and immediately pulling up the supplier’s website to sort out the headlight mess.
“Knock knock,” comes José’s voice from the doorway about ten minutes later.
“What?” I don’t look up from my computer.
“I called Harrison. Apologised and everything. He wasn’t happy, but he said he appreciates us taking responsibility.”
“Good. Did you remove the headlights?”
“Yeah, they’re boxed up and ready to return.”
“Fine. I’ve already contacted the supplier about the return and ordered the correct ones. They’ll be here Wednesday.”
“Look, Stella, I’m really sorry about the mix-up. I thought?—”
“Don’t.” I finally look up at him. “Just don’t make the same mistake again. Check every part against the specification sheet before you install anything. I don’t care if you think it looks right—verify it.”
He nods and leaves, and I go back to my computer, trying to focus on the pile of invoices that need processing.
“Rough day?”
I look up to see Jake standing in the doorway, holding what looks like a cupcake from the bakery down the street.
“What gave it away?”
“The fact that José looks like he wants to hide under his workbench, and you haven’t looked up from that computer since you got here.”
He steps into the office and places the cupcake on my desk. It’s chocolate with cream cheese frosting—my favourite, though I don’t remember ever telling him that.
“How did you know I like chocolate cupcakes?”
“Lucky guess,” he says with a slight smile. “Plus, you looked like you could use some sugar.”
I pick up the cupcake and take a bite. It’s perfect—moist and rich and exactly what I needed.
“Thank you.”
“Rough morning at the coffee shop?”
“Rough morning dealing with the aftermath of José’s attention to detail issues.”
