Page 89 of Working for the Mob

By the time we opened, the smell of coffee and blueberry scones beckoned people in out of the cold. My father had pointed out five additional ways to improve, including rearranging the chairs to maximize seating capacity. It wasn’t until I brought him a second cup of coffee and shoved the espresso machine’s manual in his hands that he stopped making suggestions.

The morning rush lasted longer than normal, with more people from out of town showing up to try Lucy’s scones. There was no way we didn’t beat our previous daily sales’ high with the amount of traffic we generated. And without Jamie, I was forced to run the register and interact with people more often. I breathed a sigh of relief when I flipped the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’ and returned to help our last customer.

“I think you have a scone for me today?” Mrs. Jenkins asked. I half expected her to say ‘or else’ at the end.

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Jenkins,” I said, and brought out a plate from under the register with three blueberry scones.

“You’re too good to me,” she said, and snatched the plate. She nodded behind me. “And Genevieve, who is that silver fox with you behind the counter?”

I followed her gaze to my father, in his wrinkled khakis and sweater from yesterday. He studied the manual while he fiddled with the espresso machine.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Mrs. Jenkins. He’s my dad.”

“Oh,” she said, and leaned behind the counter for a better view. “Is he single?”

“He is definitely not,” I said, with a pursed smile.

“Let me know if that changes, darling,” she said, and left with her coffee and scone as I tried not to picture my dad with Mrs. Jenkins.

I grabbed a cloth to wipe down the tables when the door creaked open again.

“We’re closed,” I said, automatically. But my heart skipped a beat once I noticed Art in the doorway, holding a coffee pot. “Oh, it’s just you.”

“I bought a new coffee pot,” Art said, and held up the new chrome pot. His eyes already found my dad. “Who is that?”

My dad had stopped his work on the espresso machine and approached the counter.

“Hal Baker,” my dad said, and went for a handshake.

“Baker?” Art asked. He shot me a look with wide eyes.

“Art, this … um.”

“I’m Genevieve’s father,” my dad said, as Art stood frozen. I half expected him to bolt back outside.

I gave Art a smile he could’ve mistook for fear. I knew what was going through his head. He was meeting the parents without even dating the girl. I bet he felt like he was being dragged to cook for a school bake sale he didn’t even sign up for.

He shook my dad‘s hand, and shot me a furtive look for approval. I shrugged.

“And who are you?” My dad asked.

“Art Necci. I own the café.”

“Ah, yes. Genny and Lucy have told me so much about you. It sounds like you own most of the town as well,” my dad said.

Art shrugged. “I do what I can to keep it running.” He shot another look at me. “Genevieve … Can I speak with you?” He eyed my dad with a wrinkled brow. “In private?”

My heart dropped to my belly. Was he going to blame me for ambushing him with my dad without even dating first? Before I was even sure that I wanted to be shackled to a man in his line of work?

“Sure,” I said, and marched him through the back into the alley behind the café.

“I’m sorry,” I said, as soon as the door slammed shut behind him, the coffee pot absent. “I didn’t know he would be here.”

I rubbed my arms to stay warm. Only the late morning sun stopped me from freezing my tits off.

Art worked his jaw, but didn’t open his mouth.

“I didn’t mean to spring him on you like this,” I said. “I didn’t know you were going to be here either.”

---