Page 80 of Only in Your Dreams

With a determined frown, Killian moves the berry so that it sits on a brown sugar packet.

At least I didn’t kill his spirit.

“Any chance you’re open to working a third job?” Ingrid says, passing Killian his pencil. “I’ll pay you whatever you want to keep turning math problems into football analogies. Extra if you put the Huskies on the winning side.”

With a chuckle, I slide out of the bench and collect my serving tray as Killian flicks the white sugar packets off the makeshift field. “No need. I’m usually on the lunch shift on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Saturdays. If you ever need help, just stop by.”

She groans her appreciation. “You’re a saint.”

I slip behind the counter and dump my serving tray under the pass window. Despite the sneakers, my feet feel like they’ve ballooned twice their size already. I shake them out, one after the other, as I survey the restaurant.

It’s loud and happy this Saturday morning, and I might be a down-to-the-bone kind of exhausted after a couple weeks of working six-day marathons, but there’s something else there, too, as my gaze sweeps my section of tables. The kids racing their cars down the aisle, couples young and old laughing over cups of coffee and between mouthfuls of eggs. Killian watching with rapt attention as Ingrid patiently counts out packets of sugar as she references her son’s workbook. Hell, even my table of hungover zombies seem to have regained a bit of life since I left them.

It might not be much—the coffees and the food and the impromptu tutoring—but it really feels like I’ve done something here this morning. I’ve been productive. I’ve made these people happy, at least for the length of their breakfast. It feels better than any of those aimless walks along the river on my days off back in the city.

It feels amazing.

“I can’t tell you how wild it is seeing you back there again.”

My stomach swoops. I hadn’t noticed him come up to the counter, but Zac now presses his elbows on the pale green surface and leans over it to blatantly rake his eyes up my body, from the ground up.

Something pleasantly warm blossoms in the depths of my chest. It’s not even the way he’s looking at me, nor is it the fit of his t-shirt, though that certainly doesn’t hurt. I find that, a couple weeks into our sleeping arrangement, I’ve developed something of an addiction to him.

I’ve been stretching out our porch-side breakfasts with the lamest excuses, in the same way teenaged me would loiter around the house whenever he and Parker were around.

Oh, look. There’s a family of ducks crossing his waterfront the exact moment I finally got up to leave. How quaint.

Despite my insistence that it’s all about sleep, this thing is quickly going from reluctant sleeping arrangement to… something I can’t quite articulate.

He’s nice to be around.

Really nice, actually.

I pinch the sides of my black uniform skirt and dip into a curtsy. “Probably not as much of a mindfuck as it is to be the one back here. Are you getting something or are you just here to stare at my legs?”

Zac nods to the to-go cup of coffee on the counter between us. “Came for the coffee, stayed for the legs.”

I duck behind the pastry counter, mostly to hide the embarrassing smile, attempting to claw its way onto my face. As great as the tips are on a breakfast shift, it meant leaving the comfort of Zac’s bed criminally early, and definitely no porch-side coffee this morning. He did get up in time to see me off with a pack of travel waffles, though.

It feels wrong to have missed him, when I swore I wouldn’t entertain the idea of another man until I got my life in better order. But I did miss him, hard.

I surface from behind the counter to place a glazed donut on a plate in front of him. “Here, these are fresh out of the kitchen. I’ve already snuck myself three, but don’t tell Wynn.”

Zac mimes zipping up his mouth but goes straight for a bite.

“Mel, mind pouring me three coffees and a grapefruit juice?” Wynn calls from the register down at the other end of the counter.

“On it,” I call back.

“How’s the shift going?” Zac asks as I lay out some purple mugs.

“Let’s just say there’s nothing more humbling to a desk worker than serving a morning shift at Sheffield’s.” I pour out the coffees. “No disastrous latte experiments yet, though I might have turned your biggest fan against you by accident.”

Zac peers over his shoulder when I nod at the nearby booth, where Ingrid and Killian lean over his math workbook, pencil in hand.

“Killian? Impossible. The kid always sits right behind the visiting team bench just to heckle them. He’s got a pair of lungs on him.”

“You might miss him at Friday’s game.” I pause, bottled grapefruit juice in hand. “Actually, do you think you can get them three tickets to the home opener? Ingrid’s mom is visiting this week.”

---