when the lunch rush kicks in, it’d be smarter to keep me at the cash register while you handle the food.”
“Gotta get your feet wet, hon. We’ll compromise. You finish prep, and then I’ll make the sandwiches. Because I think you need a trial run before we let you near the panini press.”
“Since when are you panini fancy?”
“Since your gram explained that it’s just a gussied-up grilled cheese that you can charge twice as much for.” Another loud laugh accompanied by a knee slap of his navy corduroys, as though it was the best joke of the decade. Then he caught sight of a man heading to the register. As he hustled over, he said, “When you finish with the lettuce, start slicing the tomatoes.”
“How many?”
“Until you’re sick of it, plus five more.”
Guess he had her pegged.
Sydney glanced down at her iPad. Thought about unlocking the screen for just a moment, to check email. To check for a certain email that would mean her career wasn’t irretrievably stalled by taking this unpaid sabbatical. Or worse, one that declared her boss had decided not to hold a spot for her. Because he’d been quite clear that option was on the table. Shockingly, the dying grandmother story had garnered zero understanding or sympathy from him. She’d had to volunteer to take the time unpaid to get him to agree to it at all.
But checking would lead her down a wormhole of what-ifs and more emails, and nothing would get done. As much as she hated being behind the counter at the Mercantile again, she would do her part while here. Because she wasn’t a sulky teen anymore. She was an adult with a work ethic who knew darn well that filling in the hours that were normally her sick gram’s was necessary.
Compromise could be the word of the day, however. Sydney pulled out her phone, and tapped to the Duolingo app. Being fluent in English and French got her through a good swath of the world. But learning Spanish would ease her travels considerably.
Ten minutes later she had two full containers of individual and mostly dry lettuce leaves. A small win, but Sydney would take every one she got. Suddenly, a hand swooped in and waved right in front of her nose.
Startled, her arms jerked up. Lettuce flew…everywhere. Sort of a re-enactment of the flour episode her dad had just recounted.
Furious, Sydney looked up to level a lethal glare at the owner of the hand. And up…and up. The man on the other side of the high metal counter was as tall as her dad. Bundled in a wool coat that belonged over a suit—so it marked him as a non-local. Dark brown hair with a hint of chestnut at the tips looked like he’d slept on it. Strands that gel probably kept smooth normally were curling into thick waves.
Thick waves that she’d love to sink her fingers into, under any other circumstance. Great hair instantly amped up the attraction meter on a guy.
And this one also rocked high, knife-sharp cheekbones that blended with a straight nose to give him the look of an English aristocrat. Or at least the way they were portrayed in the costume dramas she loved to binge on trans-oceanic flights.
Good hair, excellent height—yeah, he pressed all the right buttons. Except for two things: Sydney had zero plans to hook up with a tourist, and the way his ice-blue eyes were shooting darts of disdain her direction.
She yanked out her earbuds, and he managed to lob the first snark.
Raising one dark eyebrow, he asked, “When you’re done juggling the lettuce, can you get us some coffees…without spilling them?”
Ah, the joys of being in a customer-oriented field. Where the odds were that at least a quarter of the time the customer would be a certified jerk. Sydney hadn’t missed it one bit, and she sure as hell wouldn’t miss it when the jetway closed behind her in three months.
“No guarantees. It’s my first day. You might want to step back, out of the splash zone,” she said through clenched jaws. “Or, you know, maybe not wave your hand in my face without warning.”
“Maybe you should pay more attention to the job at hand than bopping along to your music.”
“I’m learning Spanish,” she snapped. And instantly regretted the words. She knew better.
Do not engage. Apologize and fix the problem.
Sydney’s grandma had probably spoken that mantra to her while Sydney had still been swaddled in a car seat for her first