Page 156 of The Hookup Situation
Blaire wipes down the espresso machine and lifts her brow at me. “Hey, stranger.”
“Stranger?” I say with a laugh. “Sorry I haven’t been around much. I’ve been busy.”
“‘Busy.’” She uses air quotes.
Sierra laughs as her head pops up from the pastry case she’s cleaning. Tracy finishes counting the register and slides the drawer out.
“We’re heading out in ten,” Blaire says with a knowing smirk. “Then the shop will be all yours.”
“Great,” I tell her. “How have things been?”
“Quiet,” Blaire admits. “No signs of the ex, which is either a blessing or a curse. I haven’t decided yet.”
“Total blessing,” Sierra says. “He’s weird AF.”
“He wasn’t always like that,” Tracy explains. “I think he started losing it after he realized Julie had moved on.”
“What did he expect? For Julie to sit around and wait for him?” Blaire scoffs. “They’ve been over. He can kick rocks. If he doesn’t watch out, I’m going to put a hex on him.”
A part of me feels guilty, and I wonder if I instigated something.
I make my way to the back office, finding Julie bent over the desk, calculator in hand, surrounded by clipboards. Her hair is piled on top of her head, held up with a pencil. I watch her for a few seconds, loving how pretty she looks when she concentrates.
“How’s it going?” I ask from the doorway.
She looks over at me and grins. “Oh, hi! I was just thinking about you.”
“Really?” I ask. “I was thinking about you too. Almost finished?”
“I’ve counted all the cups, lids, syrups, and, well, everything. Now I’m trying to reconcile it with last month’s numbers and calculate what we need to order.”
“Want help?”
“You know how to do inventory?”
“I help run a multibillion-dollar company, remember?”
“You’re right.” She scoots over, making room for me at the desk. Our thighs press together as she slides the keyboard toward me. “These numbers go in this column.”
“Bye, Jules!” Blaire calls out. “We’re leaving! I miss you!”
“I miss you! Thanks for everything!” Julie calls back.
The front door chimes, and then there’s silence.
We’re alone.
I work through inputting the numbers into the computer system as she logs things in a book. Every few minutes, she shifts, her leg brushing against mine. The office feels smaller, more intimate.
“You’re good at this,” she says, watching me work.
“You sound surprised.”
“I’m not. Maybe having you here will be my new tradition.”
I laugh. “Maybe so.”
She smirks and stands, moving between me and the desk. “We’re alone.”
