Finding Mr. Write (Business of Love #5) - Ali Parker Page 0,55

the coffee shop POS and into the bookstore system, where I had to enter my employee identification number and navigate the bottom tabs on the screen to the credits section. I did my best to estimate what each book was worth, typed the book titles into the system, allocated their prices to the name, and put the books in a cardboard box behind the bar to be shelved and tagged before going on the floor.

The young woman took her in-store credit with a smile and began perusing the dense bookshelves at the back of the shop.

Meanwhile, the customers continued to come in a steady line. About half of them were regulars who already knew I was new, and they were the best ones to serve because they had wonderful patience and were willing to wait for me. Some even offered words of encouragement and noted how I was already faster than I was last week.

Those people made the overwhelm a little less intense.

Others, like the gentleman in a sleek black suit with perfectly styled hair and a shiny watch he kept glancing at while he tapped the toe of his shoe on the floor, didn’t help with said overwhelm. He watched me like a hawk while I made him his drink, took it with a scowl, and didn’t say thank you.

“Don’t sweat the asshats like him,” Callie said, tying her apron around her waist as she returned from her break. “He’s just one of those dicks who thinks his time is more important than anyone else’s. If anyone is ever rude to you, Mare will support you refusing to serve them. Just so you know.”

“Really?”

In my old job, that had been a big no-no. If a customer was rude, you smiled and made it better for them. Whatever they wanted, you gave it to them. If you couldn’t, you brought the manager in. It didn’t matter how disrespectful they were to you. You were to grin and bear it.

But I liked the sound of how Mare did things.

“Absolutely,” Callie said, moving in to take over behind the cash register. “She’s got no time for people who treat her staff poorly. She wants this to be a good place to work. How can you have that environment when you have trash clientele?”

“Your aunt is seriously the best.”

“I know. Just don’t tell her that. Her ego is already big enough.” Callie tipped her head toward the hall from which she’d just returned. “Do you want to go put your feet up and take a breather? I can hold down the fort while you take a break.”

“That sounds wonderful,” I said.

As I made my way down the hall, I realized how sore my body was. Working at this little coffee shop wasn’t an easy gig. Being on my feet all day, bending and crouching, steaming, receiving inventory, stocking shelves, fridges, and bookcases? It all took a toll on the body. Most of my tension was at the nape of my neck and between my shoulder blades. My hips hurt a little bit, too.

Sinking down into one of the chairs at the table in the break room felt heavenly. My sore muscles sang with relief and I fished my phone out for a distraction. I was going to text Wes and see how his day was going, but as I opened his contact info, my phone started ringing.

I beamed as a picture of my mom showed up on my screen.

I hadn’t heard either of my parents’ voices in a while and I missed them dearly. I answered the call and pressed the phone to my cheek. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, baby!” My mother’s voice was ecstatic. “Your father is here too and you’re on speaker phone.”

I grinned. “Hi, Daddy.”

“How’s the big apple?” my dad cried into the line.

“It’s good! You called at just the right time. I’m on my break at work. On to week two at the coffee shop and it’s kicking my ass.”

“New Yorkers are a different breed,” my mother said.

“You’ll be one of them in no time,” my dad added.

“I don’t know if I want that.” I giggled. “I don’t want to lose my small town charm. Anyway, how are you guys? Better question, where are you guys?”

“You won’t believe it,” Dad said.

“Take a guess,” Mom said.

“A guess?” I mused. “Of all the countries in the world how could I possibly guess?”

“We’ve always wanted to go,” Mom said.

“Always,” Dad agreed.

My parents had this way of talking like they were one person that always