Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 321(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Probably because I kept their favorite items. Hey, I didn’t want to spark a revolution. I’d added more than I retained, though, and our customers loved having choices. In a twist, it appeared that the residents of Elmwood had sophisticated palates and were willing to try new things.
Honestly, Nolan was the true genius, but I took some credit and teased Ivan that the diner had paved the way for Rise and Grind because…well, Ivan was fun to tease.
“You are always talking to yourself,” I lamented, shaking my head. “I worry about your marbles.”
Ivan scoffed. “My marbles are just fine. Thank you. Take your latte and scram, or I’m putting you on my no-share list.”
“That sounds horrible,” I deadpanned. “What are you not sharing?”
“Gossip.” His eyes twinkled merrily as he slid my latte across the marble counter with a theatric, “Ta-da!”
I stared at the glob of foam for a beat before meeting Ivan’s gaze. “What is that supposed to be?”
“A heart, you salty old B. I’m like the Wizard of Oz giving the lion the heart you lack,” he replied, fluttering his lashes.
“Oh, boy. You are mixing everyone up. The tin man has the heart, the lion has the brains, and—”
“No, the lion wanted courage. The scarecrow wanted brains,” a newcomer corrected.
Ivan widened his eyes. “Greetings, Mr. Thoreau!”
See? Everywhere.
“It’s just Riley.”
“Just Riley,” Ivan repeated, flashing a winning smile. “What can I get started for you?”
“That looks good,” he said, pointing at my drink. “I’ll have a latte, please.”
“You got it. One latte coming right up.”
I picked up my to-go cup, pivoting to face Riley. Damn, he was sexy. His red running shorts accentuated his thick quads, and his athletic shirt clung to his muscular chest like plastic wrap. I licked my lips, pretending to be entranced by the heart that looked more like a mushroom in my drink while I counted backward from one hundred.
Do not get a boner. Do not get a boner.
I tried to think of a clever exit speech, but English words dried up in my mouth, replaced by easier French ones…beau, magnifique, splendide.
Ugh. Time to go.
I raised my cup in a toast and smiled. “Enjoy your latte and…have a good—”
“I was hoping to bump into you,” Riley intercepted. He coughed as if embarrassed and briefly glanced out the window, adjusting his sunglasses.
“Oh?”
He licked his lips and switched his weight from his left hip to his right. “Yeah, I, um—”
“All set. Let me just add a little something special.” Ivan wrestled with the spout affixed to his industrial coffeemaker. When he was satisfied with the results, he handed the latte across the counter to Riley. “Here you go.”
“That looks like a penis,” I blurted before I could stop myself. “A petit one…with a minor ejaculation. Cute, you know?”
“I might actually kill you,” Ivan grumbled under his breath.
Riley snickered merrily and examined his foam art. “No, it’s definitely a leaf.”
Ivan clapped, shooting a triumphant grin my way. “That’s right. Thank you for noticing. JC wouldn’t know art if it bit him on the booty.”
“Hmph.”
We paid for our drinks, bade Ivan adieu, and headed for the door.
“Do you have a second?” Riley asked.
I halted, tilting my chin curiously. “Of course.”
“Thanks.” He shifted from one foot to the other again. “I know this is going to sound wacky, but I need a favor. I can pay top dollar…triple, quadruple, whatever price you name. We’d have to keep it between us, and I can certainly pay extra for your discretion.”
“Now I am extra curious. Is this a nefarious request? If so, I warn you, I’m not an assassin, and I don’t make naughty art in lattes.”
His whole face changed in an instant. The tight lines around his mouth softened, and laughter creased his eyes at the corner of his glasses. “That’s okay. I’m not feeling murderous, and I’m pretty sure this really is supposed to be a leaf.”
“It’s a dick,” I stated matter-of-factly. “But I couldn’t do any better.”
“That’s okay. I, uh…need something potentially more embarrassing.”
I bugged my eyes out comically, pleased when he chuckled. “What could possibly be more embarrassing?”
“Tuna salad.”
3
RILEY
Okay, that sounded…weird.
Jean-Claude squinted hard enough to leave a few new permanent creases on his brow.
“Tuna salad,” he repeated in his broad Quebecois accent. “Explain, please.”
I rubbed my stubbled jaw with my free hand. “Listen, I know this is an odd one, but…hear me out. I’ve found that a few things help me stay on track. I eat the same breakfast every day five days a week, and the other two are free days. On game days, I listen to the same song on my way into the arena, I put my pads on in a certain order, I fist-bump my goalie before I take the ice, and…I tape my stick with a particular color depending on the day.”
“You mean you’re superstitious.”