Page 109 of Average Joe

“That boy of yours.” Harper had one foot in the door. “Great head on his shoulders. Thinks fast on his feet.”

“How would you? How do you…?” The room blurred.

“He’s done a few jobs for me.”

“You’re lying.”

“You think he could afford that shiny car by delivering pizzas?”

I wouldn’t know. I’d never seen Dylan’s car. “Get out.”

“Thing is…” Harper now stood on the threshold, his smile back. “He developed a bit of a conscience. Wants to pick and choose what jobs I give him. Doesn’t understand the way this world works.”

“Get out.” My voice shook harder than my hands.

“Your father disappeared,” he continued. “Now. Way I see it, either you can work off Daddy’s debt or Dylan can. Choice is yours.”

What insanity was I living in? An Al Capone wannabe, standing in my insignificant coffee stand, threatening me over a debt that I had nothing at all to do with. And really… “How in the hell did Dylan get involved in your criminal shenanigans?”

“Shenanigans.” The man laughed a full belly laugh, then closed the door behind him. “God, I like you. What fun we could have together.”

“Get out!” I shoved at his chest.

Bad idea.

Harper’s demeanor changed in a blink, and those beefy hands curled around my biceps like I was a stress ball. My back hit the closet behind me. For his age and size, the man moved like a ninja.

But it wasn’t my first rodeo with a bully, and my knee met his groin.

He doubled over, and his forehead hit my chin, making my eyes water, but he released my arms, and I dove for the bat.

“Marley!” A deep voice called out with three large raps at the door. “Joe said you might have an extra roll of receipt tape we can borrow.”

Thank you, Jesus.

Red-faced and quaking, Harper pointed a finger in my direction. “Say a word, and your boy is compost.”

Never threaten a mama bear. Bat raised, I whisper-yelled, “Come near my boy or me, I’ll kill you.” Yes, I had dug my own grave, but the crazy had unleashed, and there was no reining it in. “Think I’m scared of you? Try me.”

“Marley!” The door opened, hitting Harper in the ass, and one of Joe’s employees, the blond, poked his head in. “Sorry to barge in.” He shoved past the fat man like he wasn’t sorry at all and positioned himself between Harper and me, eyeing the bat, brows drawn. “Everything okay?”

My heart battered my rib cage, and my hands shook so hard the bat slipped from my fingers, landing with a dull thud.

“Everything is peachy,” I managed to sputter.

The space was too small for two large men and me. Their mingled colognes made me nauseous, or maybe that was the fear kicking in, but I needed them out. I needed room to breathe or privacy to have a meltdown, so I ripped open my supply closet door and grabbed a roll of register paper.

When I turned to hand the tape to Blondie, Harper was outside, and the surfer dude stood a foot away, arms crossed. There he stayed while Harper hoisted himself into his SUV, started the engine, then rolled away nice and slow, his glare scornful. Only after Harper drove by Pink Sweets and merged into traffic did Blondie shoot me a wink, jog across the street, and disappear inside Average Joe.

Strange.

My body trembled. Time to call it a night. Paperwork could wait.

When I finally tucked into my car, Blondie waved at me from across the street while he was locking up, although he kept looking in my direction. I should’ve thanked him or asked why he left without the register tape, but I’d had my fill for the day, so instead, I headed home.

I rolled into my driveway with the window down and Lizzo straining my bass.

My lawn was trimmed, neat rows cut on a diagonal pattern.

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