Page 28 of Daily Grind
He chewed on his thumbnail. He had a DSLR. Ought to dust it off, charge up the battery, and take it with him to the Carrie Furnace site. Would be good to stretch those muscles again.
Right now? He had ordering to do.
A half hour later, while he was in the middle of typing up what he needed, the bell on the door rang. He ignored it. Miranda would take care of the customer and hehadto get this ordering done.
A gold watch and shirt cuff slid into his peripheral vision and he looked up.Rob. A sly smile, those dancing eyes, and that smattering of freckles. Everything inside Brian somersaulted.
“Hi there,” Rob said. “Come here often?”
Something that sounded like a giggle slipped out. Except Brian didn’t giggle. “All the damn time.”
“He really should go home,” Miranda said.
Rob raised an eyebrow. “Should he?”
“He,” Brian said, sitting up on the stool, “is trying to get some work done so hecango home.”
“Mmm-hmm?” Rob rested his chin on his hand and poked at the laptop. “How much more do you have to do?”
“I—” He looked at the computer then back at Rob. “You’re here on a weeknight.”
Rob lowered his hand and looked around. “So I am.”
He spied the high-school kids watching them and a different lump formed in his throat. “To see me?”
“There’s no one else,” Rob said. “I was sitting at home, bored out of my skull and I missed you. Texts aren’t enough.”
They’d been chatting back and forth throughout the day, when neither was busy. Little flurries of texts.
“How’d you know I’d be here?” Technically, his shift was over.
“Shop’s open and it’s not Sunday.”
He was about to argue when Miranda laughed. “He’s got a point.”
Okay, he did. Brian rubbed his eyes. “Let me finish this mess, then I’m all yours.”
Rob’s smile was wicked and warm. “Good.”
That single word zipped through him and woke him more than any jolt of caffeine. He stared at the figures on the screen and got back to work.
Fifteen minutes later, he closed the laptop. Orders were in, job was posted, and Rob was here—in a button-down dress shirt. No jacket, but the shirt was white and crisp and fine—the type that should have a silk tie to grace it. “You look nice.”
Color touched Rob’s cheeks and he rubbed his wrist—the one with the watch. “I should have changed.”
Brian shrugged. “We’re not a jeans-and-t-shirts-only establishment.” Not with Sam and Eli working above his head. “We let people with full suits in, even.”
Rob chuckled, but it was strained. Weird.
“What now?” Brian asked.
It was Miranda who answered. “He hasn’t had dinner, you know.”
“Oh?” Chin on hand, Rob looked like he could offer a contract for Brian’s soul.
He’d probably sign it. “I had food.”
“A cookie and an espresso isn’t a meal, Bri.”
