Blushing Pink Page 5

  "That's cool," Clay added blandly.

  Then they fell quiet. Maybe they'd temporarily run out of "obscure poets" to talk about—or around. Just then, there was a page over the loudspeaker: "Brock to the break room. Brock to the break room. Now."

  The three of them exchanged a confused look before Reese turned and scurried from behind the counter, across the expanse of the store, and to the back. As soon as she entered the break room, she saw Darcy coming out of the private office that she kept dead-bolted at all times so the employees couldn't see what was in there. Now, true to form, she hurried to close and lock her office door, but Reese still managed to catch a glimpse of an Eden's Crush poster hanging on the wall, and a black light on the desk.

  "Hi," Reese said to Darcy. "Is there something you need?" Like a soul? A bottle of Prozac? Hot coals to walk on?

  "Brock, people are on vacation, so you're gonna sub in at the cafe for the next two weeks," she said.

  "Oh... I am?"

  "Yeah, you're bright, aren't you?" she said sarcastically.

  "Well, it's just that I never work at the cafe."

  "You were trained for cafe duty, like everyone else," she said without sympathy. "God, Brock, it's not rocket science."

  "Believe me, I realize that."

  "If you have questions, ask Tina."

  Reese shrugged. "All right."

  "Um, maybe I should have made myself more clear," Darcy said slowly. "You're subbing in the cafe today. As in, now!"

  "Right, okay, okay," Reese said. Rolling her eyes, she turned away and thought, I knew there was a reason I hated that damn break room.

  Chapter 5

  Reese took a moment to swipe her brow of confectioner's sugar, and suck on the soft spot between her thumb and index finger where she'd spilled scalding hot coffee in her mad frenzy to serve the lunch crowd.

  It had gotten off to an awkward start. As soon as she'd come to the cafe, she'd met Tina, the cafe manager. She was a somewhat burly girl, with short, purply-red, frizzled hair. She'd tossed Reese an apron with what had to be a pitching arm, and announced, "We're gonna get along fine—as long as you know I'm not one of those phony people who's gonna smile and be all fake. I'm honest. I always tell people the truth."

  And this is one of your attributes? Reese had thought.

  Tina added, "And if I don't like you, I tell you right to your face."

  Can't wait.

  Now, though, they had a decent rhythm going. Tina was taking care of the register, while Reese baked, and so far she hadn't had anything told to her face. The baking was hard, but luckily all the recipes were posted up on the wall.

  The only real downside to making the food was having her back to the rest of the cafe, which was the cutest little place to be. Square wooden tables broke up the cozy space, and the milk bar in the center existed as a pristine black Formica island. Strings of white lights were woven through evergreen garland, and a Beatles CD was playing in the background—lifting up the day, which had gone from cloudy to pouring-down-rain in the last hour.

  Tina's cell phone rang. It was a special Roland & Fisk phone, distributed so Darcy could keep in constant contact with her operatives. "'Lo!" Tina said with authority. "Right. Right, boss. I'm on it. Over!" She hung up, set it back in her holster-type belt, and said, "Brock, I'm gonna leave you for a few minutes. I have to pick up lunch for Darcy. By the way, do you know if BK still sells Hershey's Sundae Pie?"

  "Uh... I have no idea."

  "Shit, they'd better, or I'm dead," she muttered, definitely to herself. "Okay, it's slowed down, so you should be fine by yourself for a while."

  "All right," Reese replied, and Tina turned and stomped off—not angrily, but in what Reese had come to recognize as her usual intense style.

  A few moments passed before customers approached the counter. Reese set down a pitcher of milk she'd been pouring into a bowl of batter, and turned to help them. "Hi, how are you today?" she said to the elderly woman waiting there, and the disheveled man standing next to her. "Can I help you?"

  "Yes, are the cinnamon rolls fresh?" the old woman asked—challenged, really, as though she were used to being bamboozled where cinnamon rolls were concerned.

  Reese said, "Um, ordinarily yes, but we actually don't have any more right now—"

  "What?"

  "I was about to put some in to bake—"

  "What?"

  "Mother, open your ears!" the man snapped, and then smiled tremulously at Reese.

  "Oh, no, no, it's okay," she said brightly to defuse the awkwardness.

  "What?"

  "They don't have the cinnamon rolls, Mother! Why are you so deaf?"

  "They don't have 'em?" she groused. "Why not?"

  "Mother, stop causing a scene! I hate it when you do this!" he yelled, but his mother didn't even notice. Still, Reese swallowed uncomfortably.

  "Really, it's fine," she said. "Um, can I get you something else? A fresh-baked muffin, maybe? A croissant?"

  "A muffin?" she repeated. "Well, do you have bran?"

  "Mother!" the man yelped, embarrassed, and making it weird when it didn't have to be. Well, weirder than it already was. What, was he afraid the cafe server would think his mother was concerned about being "regular"? (She hadn't until now.) And more to the point, why would she care?

  Reese gave him a quick closed-mouth smile that was meant to assure him it was fine. He gave a closed-mouth smile of his own, only not as quick, sort of slow and drawn out, and his meaning was unclear. "Uh, we have oat-bran muffins," Reese said.

  "What?"

  Okay, it was time for a little show, don't tell, so she went over to the display case and, from behind, pointed to the muffins in question.

  "What, that?" the old woman said, disgusted. "That's bran? It looks like turd."

  "Mother!" The man's face reddened fully now, and he turned to Reese, rolling his eyes with exasperation. "She is such an embarrassment. I'm really, really sorry."

  Reese wanted to shake him and say, She's not a cat who peed on the carpet; she's your mother. But she just said, "Please, it's not a big deal at all. Like I said, I'm putting in a new batch of cinnamon rolls. They'll take about fifteen minutes." She lowered her voice so other customers in the cafe wouldn't hear, and added, "On the house."

  "We'll wait!" he volunteered eagerly. Then he flashed one of those odd smiles that were starting to look plain demented now. "Come on, Mother, let's go."

  "What?" she quacked, as he pulled her toward an empty table.

  Less than a minute had passed before Reese's cell phone vibrated in her pocket. When she saw the number of the Goldwood house on the display screen, she immediately answered, in case it was an emergency.

  "Hello?" she said quietly.

  "Reese? It's Mom."

  "Hi, what's up? Is everything okay?"

  "Mmm-hmm, fine, I just wanted to see how you were. But I don't want to bother you."

  "No, it's okay," she replied, "I can talk for a couple minutes. What's new at home?"

  "Oh, nothing much. I've got some pate brisee in the oven, and gateau aux pommes cooling on the counter; you know how it is."

  Reese grinned. "Actually, for once, in a weird way, I do know," she said, taking a pan of lemon-poppy muffins out of the oven and setting them down on the counter. She slid the pan of cinnamon rolls in, and nudged the door closed with her elbow.

  "Have you given any thought to your toast for Ally's wedding?"

  "Well, the store just got in a new biography of Marcel Marceau," Reese said dryly. "I think I've found my hook."

  "What do you—Oh, no—"

  "But I don't want to ruin the surprise, so I'd better not say any more. Let's move on."

  Joanna mumbled something under her breath, and Reese could tell that moving on was just killing the woman. "Did you have fun last night with Ally and Ben?" she asked.

  "Yeah, it was okay."

  "Lane went too, right? Who else?"

  "Brian Doren." Just saying the name
out loud brought back vivid images from the night before. He looked even better than Reese had recalled. But unsurprisingly, he hadn't seemed too impressed by Miss Place Mat Pants.

  "Oh, that's nice," Joanna said conversationally. "I'm glad it was fun. So have you made plans with Kenneth yet?"

  Reese rolled her eyes as she wiped some scattered flour from the countertop. Classic Joanna Brock power play: Lull Reese into a false sense of security with small talk, then unleash the propaganda.

  "No, I haven't."

  "Well, why not?" Joanna nearly wailed. She abruptly cleared her throat and tried to sound casual. "Uh, I mean, when do you plan to see him?"

  "Look, I'll see him at the wedding, but I really don't know about anything else."

  "But, Reese—"

  "I'm sorry if that disappoints you, but I don't know what else to say. He just... look, I just don't think he does it for me anymore." She opened the oven to check on the cinnamon rolls. They looked okay, so she elbowed the door shut, wiped her hand on her apron, and poised her thumb on "phone off." She truly loved her mother to pieces, but this conversation was running out of steam. And fast.

  "Okay, Mom, I gotta go."

  "Wait, what do you mean 'doesn't do it' for you? I thought Kenneth was pretty darn good-looking! And I'm not just saying that. I mean it, sweetheart—mmm-mmm, what a catch!" She was audibly rabid at this point. Yes, it was definitely time for a more drastic approach.

  "Good-looking?" Reese echoed. "Are you kidding, Mom? I don't think he's good-looking at all!" Not exactly the truth, but Reese was a desperate woman.

  If she didn't dispel some of her mother's infatuation with Kenneth, she was going to be nagging her about him the entire time Reese was home.

  "What? Well, you used to like him. You can't tell me you didn't."

  "Yeah, maybe I liked him for, like, a minute, but that was back when I was trying to look at the inner man," Reese said. Actually, in the beginning, she had found Kenneth appealing, and not just his intellect, but also his unassuming, albeit nerdy handsomeness. But honesty was always secondary in conversations with her mother. Survival was what counted.

  "But the outer man?" Reese continued. She made a sound like blech! and finished, "Let's just say it leaves a lot to be desired."

  "Oh, sweetheart, you're exaggerating," Joanna said, sounding more confused by the second. "I met Kenneth."

  "But you've never gotten a real look at him, Mom."

  "Oh... well... I thought I did. I remember he has dark hair—"

  "Yeah, he has dark greasy hair," Reese said. "That is, if you can even call it hair."

  "What do you mean?"

  "It's a piece."

  "Wha—wait a minute." Joanna sounded scandalized. "He told you that?"

  Reese scoffed. "Don't you think I can tell a rug when I see it?" She almost laughed; her mother was just too easy. "Anyway, he's missing teeth," Reese added, still improvising. "And he has chronic halitosis."

  Joanna blew out a heavy sigh. "Oh, my goodness, I had no idea."

  "I tried to tell you, Mom. We're talking big-time uggo here," Reese added. "And that's who you want to get me together with? Thanks a lot."

  "No, honey, I just didn't realize!"

  "Yeah, that's great. You obviously think I can't get anyone better. You're ready to throw me at any deformed misfit who comes down the pike. Boy, my self-esteem's doing great."

  "Honey, no!" she yelped. "I was just... Oh, I should really stop interfering in your love life." You think? "I know I only met him the one time, but I thought you two were so cute together." Reese heaved an impatient sigh. "Okay, okay, you're right. I should butt out."

  "Okay," Reese said, "well, I've got to get back to work now."

  "Wait! You're not angry with me, right?"

  "I don't know...." Reese grinned to herself. "I need to cool down and think it over."

  "Okay, but just remember that I love you!"

  "Uh-huh," Reese said, feeling pretty victorious.

  "You know you're my precious angel," Joanna added supersweetly.

  "All right, Mommy, I'll talk to you later."

  "Okay, have a great day at work. And remember, if any nice men come into the store, don't act all sullen and unapproachable. Bye, honey, I love you!"

  Then she hung up before Reese could respond.

  Sighing, she snapped her phone shut. Here she'd been feeling triumphant, and her mother had managed to one-up her with the most infuriating last word possible. Reese would love to try that herself sometime, but knew she couldn't, due to a double standard that had revealed itself roughly at birth.

  Oh, well, she thought, just as she heard a deep male voice behind her. "Well, I have to tell you, that's the first I've heard about my teeth."

  * * *

  Reese whipped her head around and found herself face-to-face with Brian Doren. Her breath caught. Oh, wow. It was like every time he was the same, only much more vivid. The handsome face, strong jaw, clenched cheek—wait, the clenched cheek was new. And it seemed to come from... anger?

  "You'd better look away," he said flatly. "I wouldn't want you to turn to stone."

  What? What on earth...? Oh, no. Had Brian somehow overheard her conversation and thought she'd been talking about him instead of Kenneth?

  It seemed impossible, but when she mentally replayed the one-sided conversation he'd been privy to, she realized how it could have happened.

  Brian turned and walked off, shaking his head, but Reese found herself momentarily paralyzed. She supposed she was still too shocked to see him. She'd been working at Roland & Fisk for six months and had never once seen Brian Doren there—she definitely would have remembered. In a distant part of her mind, she knew it should be easy to clear this up. To catch up before he left and simply explain. But her heart was racing, her palms were sweating; and her feet were inexorably frozen.

  Brian had made it to the steps of the cafe by the time Reese managed to spring into action. "Brian?" she called out, feeling guilty as hell, even though she technically hadn't done anything. He kept walking. "Wait!" she cried, and hurried after him.

  She could hear the desperation in her heels as they clicked furiously across the shiny wood floor, and down the steps, onto the soft carpet of the store. "Brian, wait!"

  Finally he stopped, visibly let out a sigh, then turned around. He made just turning around itself seem a laborious effort. Oh, he's really annoyed. What a mess!

  "What?" he asked, his dark brown eyes suddenly falling hard on her.

  "Let me explain," Reese said quickly, brushing a careless wave of hair out of her eyes. "What you heard right now was all made up. I mean... I had no idea you were standing there."

  "Well, that was obvious."

  "No, really..." Her voice trailed off momentarily, as she struggled to compose an explanation that wouldn't make her look like a complete desperado. But it seemed futile. "What I mean to say is, um, I was talking to my mother and"—she's of the opinion that I'm turning into a real spinster—"she was..." blathering on in her usual relentless style. "We weren't even talking about y—"

  "Brock!"

  Reese jumped at Darcy's voice, and watched with doom as her boss stormed toward her, her charm necklace clanging and her finger pointing accusingly. "Is this your post?"

  Instinctively, Reese's face reddened. "No, Darcy, but—"

  "What is your post?"

  "I—"

  "I can't heeeaar you." Then she brought her hands up to cup her ears dramatically.

  "Excuse me," Brian said to Darcy, an edge in his voice, "I was asking this woman for help. Is there a problem?"

  For a shocking twist, Darcy fell silent. So did Reese, but then, what could she say? Anyway, there'd been something in Brian's tone that sounded reasonable but firm, and calm but very intimidating.

  "Oh, sir, of course." Darcy began groveling, and fiddling with her hair. Then she seemed to really notice Brian for the first time, and switched to an almost flirtatious tone. "I didn't mean to.
.. I just figured that she was bothering you."

  Reese shot an insolent look that Darcy didn't catch. But then she was pretty busy—kissing up to Brian the customer, and batting her eyelashes at Brian the man. Reese could not believe what she was witnessing! Darcy was licking her lips and contorting her head into unnaturally coy poses, while Reese was standing there trying not to slap her.

  She didn't even spare Reese a glance when she said, "Brock, when you're done with this customer, go back to the cafe." Then she giggled out of context, and trotted off.

  Reese resisted an urge to stick her tongue out behind the bitch's back, and turned to face Brian again. She could feel the flaming heat on her cheeks, and wished more than anything that she could take back the last five minutes.

  No, ten. She never should've answered her cell.

  She twisted her hands as she met his eyes. "Brian, you've got this all wrong...."

  He scoffed, like he couldn't care less anymore. "Forget it," he said, and walked away.

  This time she didn't follow him.

  She just stood frozen, shell-shocked and tongue-tied, watching him go. He moved briskly through the store to the front entrance, and then he was gone. Disappearing into the rain, into the masses of people clogging Fifty-fourth Street, and out of her life once again.

  Chapter 6

  By the time Brian got back to his office, he was royally pissed. There went his one hour of relaxing—or trying to—at Roland & Fisk. After four meetings that morning alone, all he'd wanted was his soup and his double espresso and to read the paper in peace. The last thing he'd expected was to be slammed by the help.

  He also hadn't expected the help to be the sister of his friend's fiancé, or the girl who'd sat beside him at the Applegate Diner just the night before—or the girl he'd devoured like a starving man at a party two years ago. Speaking of that, what the hell was that halitosis crack? He'd never heard complaints about his breath before, and he wasn't missing teeth, for chrissake!

  Damn it all. He was trying to forget what'd happened, but in truth, he was still rattled. It shouldn't bother him so much, but he was going to see her again at Ben and Ally's wedding in a few weeks, and if that was how she remembered him... He shook his head at the thought. Fucking embarrassing.