Page 113 of Daily Grind
“Seriously.” He shoved the laptop in his direction, too.
“Brian.” This time it was a bit louder and laced with concern. “What are you doing?”
He caught a breath, then another. “Trying to run my shop.” His heart hammered too fast in his chest.
“I know that.” Soft words. Silence between them while Rob studied him. “Do you really want my help? Sometimes outsiders see what insiders can’t.” Another pause. “Or I can go walk around the block for a while.”
He didn’t want Rob to leave. He didn’t want Rob to stay. Everything was tangled in his head and ripping apart like tissue paper.
“I don’t know.” That was the truth.
Rob fingered his cup. “I’ve been doing some reading…”
Oh God. Anita had done that, too. “Let me guess. Some articles off the Internet on how to start your own coffee shop.” Couldn’t help the scorn that dripped off the words. Didn’t want to.
Rob’s cheeks flushed.
Bingo. “It’s all shit, you know. If running a place like this were easy, everyone would be doing it.”
Rob straightened, his face darkening. “You’re not the only coffee shop in Squirrel Hill, you know.”
No. There were at least a half-dozen. Several on Murray alone. “Why don’t you go to one of them, then?”
Rob drew back, his brows creasing, but didn’t say a word.
God, his head hurt so bad. Lightning flickered in his vision. Brian pulled out a piece of paper from his stack. “This,” he said, shoving it under Rob’s hands, “is what I normally order.” He scrawled a number on his notebook. “This is my budget.” Lastly, he pushed the laptop over. “And here’s the ordering pages for my vendors. Enjoy.” He got up and walked into the back room.
Once out of the sight of customers, he placed his hands on the edge of the counter that ran along the back wall, leaned over, and tried to catch his breath. Almost impossible with the way his heart was beating.
Fuck. Whatwashe doing? Rob was right to ask that. Nausea forced bile into his throat. His shop was going to hell and he’d just handed over ordering to a man who knewnothingabout Grounds N’at or what it needed.
A voice in the back of his mind whispered,He’s just trying to help.
He didn’tneedRob’s help. He’d never dream of telling Rob how to run his high-tech company—why did Rob have to stick his nose into Brian’s business?
Granted, he’d shoved it under Rob’s nose a moment ago.
Brian rubbed his face. God this day was… horrible. He needed a do-over, but life didn’t give you those.
The bell on the door rang and Brian sighed. Back to it. Serve customers and figure out how to tell Rob to mind his own business—literally.
When he returned to the shop proper, a mother and her young son stood by the counter and Rob was peering at Brian’s computer while wearing knitted brows and lips pressed into a very thin line.
Shit. He slid a smile over his apprehension and took the woman’s order. A mint mocha for her and milk and a cookie for her son. Easy enough. He made her coffee—even indulging in some art on top. A carton of milk, a straw, and a chocolate chip cookie later, they’d taken up residence at the table Ev, Jan, and Dan had vacated earlier.
Once his customers were settled, Brian turned his attention back to Rob. “Don’t tell me you’re actually ordering things.” He kept his voice low, but couldn’t keep the sharp corners from the words.
Rob met his stare and there was heat there. In his voice, too, despite the soft volume. “No. But I am beginning to understand why this place is falling apart.”
Anger seethed into Brian and he pulled the laptop away from Rob. “It’s not falling apart,” he snapped. “You don’t know shit.”
An ugly snort followed. “Really? How many hours have you worked this week, Bri?”
Too many. He glared at Rob.
“Why the hell are you ordering from those vendors? Everything’s twice as expensive as it ought to be. You can do better on the pricing. There’s some sites—”
“Shut it.” He ground the words out.
