Page 27 of The Tangle of Awful

Does it make me an asshole if I’m not exactly eager to find my wife?

The drive to Sweet Holes & Coffee Co. takes longer than usual due to a fender bender involving four cars. An old woman with thick glasses and a toy poodle in her arms is nodding at an officer as he gestures to what must be her car at the beginning of the minor pileup. The rest of the people are in their Sunday’s best, clearly rushing to church at the last minute, making them susceptible to an accident.

“Look,” Aubrey says, pointing to the side of the road. “Baby ducks.”

It’s evident from my quick assessment that the old woman stopped in the middle of the road to keep from hitting the ducks and probably slammed on her brakes abruptly, causing the other three cars to ram into her from behind.

We eventually maneuver around the metal and debris scattered across the road and make our way to the donut shop. It’s packed by the time we arrive. Parking is a bitch and we end up having to park next door in the Park Mountain Modern Christ Church lot.

This doesn’t look promising.

We climb out of the vehicle and I have the urge to hold Aubrey’s hand as we pass between two cars sitting in the drive-through. I somehow manage to refrain, instead choosing to palm her lower back, guiding her toward the building.

The “now hiring” sign in the window seems useless this late Sunday morning. They’re severely understaffed and there are people everywhere. I’m itching to turn around to get the hell out of this place, but Aubrey’s fierce, determined expression keeps my feet rooted in place.

I’ll endure because of her.

“This doesn’t really seem like Mom’s kind of place,” she says, turning to look at me. “Too much chaos.”

I agree with her on that front, but she severely underestimates her mother’s love for the matcha green tea they make. Neena wouldn’t touch a donut hole to save her life, but that tea really turns her crank.

After a good twenty minutes of small talk, we finally make it to the register. The lanky guy with uneven facial fuzz offers me a tight, stressed smile.

“What can I get for you?” he asks, motioning toward the cases behind him. “All out of sausage rolls and pink sprinkled donuts, though. Always the first to go on Sundays.”

“We’re actually wondering if you can help us with something else,” Aubrey says, finally drawing his attention to her.

His tired expression melts away to one of unmasked appreciation. I don’t particularly like the way he devours her with just one look. Yes, based on the PMU hat he’s wearing, he’s a college kid and close to her age, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it or approve of his blatant ogling.

I clear my throat, demanding his attention. “You remember a woman who came through here this morning? Probably ordered the matcha green tea. Blond, pretty, older. Looks just like her.”

The guy eagerly darts his gaze back to Aubrey. “I think I’d remember a hottie like you.”

“Think,” I demand, voice edging past cordial, the irritation of his flirting with Aubrey bugging me. “It’s important.”

He shakes his head. “Nah, man. It’s crazy busy every Sunday. I barely have time to even take a break. This is the longest break I’ve had talking to you two.” He chuckles and jokingly says, “Need a job?”

Aubrey shrugs. “I could take an application with me.”

I think the fuck not.

“No,” I clip out. “You’re not working here.” With him.

She snaps her head my way, brows bunching in confusion. “Why not? They’re hiring. I need a job.”

The cashier nods, grin wide and authentic this time. “I could put in a good word with the owner. Might get you started by tomorrow.”

“I said no,” I growl, pinning the guy with a hard stare. “She has a job.”

“I do not—”

“You do too. I need another assistant.”

Someone behind me taps on my shoulder. “If you’re not going to order, kindly get out of line. I have two toddlers who are seconds from a meltdown if they don’t get their pink sprinkled donuts.”

Rather than tell the frazzled woman they’re out of those particular donuts and a meltdown is imminent, I quickly thank the cashier before grabbing Aubrey’s wrist to tug her out of the shop. Once outside, she pulls her hand free from my grip and frowns at me.

“What was all that about?” she demands. “You were rude. Like…”

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