Page 58 of I Hope This Doesn't Find
“Obviously,” I repeat, embarrassed now by my initial reaction. Of course he wouldn’t be here because of me. In fact, I’m willing to bet that if he’d known he would bump into me, he would have driven twenty miles to the bakery on the other side of town just to avoid this encounter.
“Are you going to turn away a customer?” he asks, a challenge in the lift of his brow. “Pretty sure I could file a complaint for that.”
I chew my tongue. The idea of having him around while I work fills me with a very specific, skin-tingling kind of dread. But business is business. So I plaster my smile back on again and gesture to the shelves with both hands. “What would you like today?”
“Let’s see . . .” He walks up and down the bakery. Past the sweet taro buns and the pizza rolls and the flaking coconut pastries. He pauses, leans closer to inspect the displays. Reaches out, as if to grab something, then retracts his hand. And starts walking all over again.
After ten minutes of this, I lose my patience. “Are you here to select bread or a future wife? What’s taking so long?”
His smile is sharp, taunting. “The latter.”
“You can’t be—” I take a deep breath, remembering every basic customer-service rule I’ve ever learned.Be receptive to both positive and negative feedback. Take the time to learn your customers’ expectations. Offer solutions, not excuses. Don’t push your customer into the stack of mango pudding cups in the corner, even when they’re being difficult on purpose—
“Is that your brother?” he asks, looking past me, to Max.
“I’m afraid we don’t owe customers personal details,” I say sweetly. “If you could just focus on buying what you need—”
“Yeah, I am,” Max says, rising from the chair.Traitor.He scans Julius from head to toe like he’s sizing him up before a wrestling match. “Who’s this guy?”
“Nobody,” I say.
“Julius,” Julius says. I might as well be talking to air. “I go to Sadie’s school. You might have heard about me.”
Max scrunches his forehead. “Sorry, bro. Doesn’t really ring a bell.” Before I even have the chance to feel grateful, his eyes narrow. “Hang on a second—are you the one who rejected my sister? Is that why she’s been so mopey?”
“What?”I hiss.
“What?” Julius asks, stiffening at once. His gaze flickers to me.
“Don’t listen to him, he’s making things up,” I say, stepping firmly between them. “Max, just go back to watching your basketball game. And Julius, just . . . get out of the way.”
Julius lifts his chin. “What if I also want to watch the game? I’m a huge fan of the—” He pauses just for a fraction of a second, and glances at the phone on the table. “The Hunters too.”
I’m completely baffled, but Max’s stance relaxes, his face breaking into a broad grin.
“Bro, you should’ve led withthat. Come, come, sit down.”
“What are you on about?” I mutter out the side of my mouth as Julius moves past me to join my brother. There’s no way this is actually happening. There’s no reason for him to be doing this except to irritate me. “You don’t even like basketball.”
He pauses. “People can change,” he says, a discernible edge to his voice. “You’ve changed.”
“How have I—”
“You’ve been moping because of a boy, last I heard,” he whispers against my ear. Heat rushes up my neck, gathering around the point where I can feel his lips. “Who is it? Do I know him?”
“I told you, nobody. Ignore my brother.”
It’s evident from his expression that he doesn’t believe me.
“Fine. Think whatever you want,” I grumble, twisting around. “I have other things to do.”
The sky begins to clear as I sweep the floors and prepare the next batch of egg tarts. The remnants of rain dry up; the clouds float in rose-pink wisps over the sloping horizon, so insubstantial they could scatter with a single exhale. Golden sunlight filters through the windows, warm slants of it falling over the table where Julius and Max sit. Not that I’m looking their wayoften. Not that I’m sneaking curious glances at Julius or noticing the way he runs his hand ever so casually through his hair.
Definitely not.
As the weather improves, more customers trickle in. An old woman with her bags full of dragon fruit and marinated meats. A mother and her two toddlers, who press their faces right up against the cake display. A pretty girl my age, who somehow manages to make a plain white shirt and school skirt stylish. She looks familiar, and it clicks after a moment: She’s the one that guy in my year level was stalking during the Athletics Carnival.
She doesn’t seem particularly interested in the food. From the second she enters, her attention snaps to Julius, and she drifts toward his table.
