Living Out Loud (Austen, #3)(27)

I nodded. “If you want to stay, I have a feeling we can work something out. Why don’t you let me talk to Cam?”

Her face brightened with hope. “Would you do that? I mean, it might put her on the spot less if it came from you.”

“I think so too. Yeah, I’ll talk to her for you.”

Relief washed over her, and she hopped out of the booth to launch herself into me, her arms around my neck, her lips at my ear.

“Thank you,” she whispered, two little words so full of appreciation that they broke my heart.

I laid a tentative hand on her back, wishing I could stand up and really hug her. But instead, I let her go and leaned away.

She took the cue and stepped back, beaming. “You’re the best, Greg. I am so glad we’re friends.”

Friends. Whoopee, I thought.

But I said, “Me too.”

She slid back into the booth. “Did I interrupt you? What are you working on?”

“Just the schedule. Nothing that can’t wait.” I waved a hand at my laptop. “You know, we just got a new root beer in, and I’ve got some vanilla ice cream in the freezer. Want a float?”

“Oh, that sounds like exactly the thing to turn my day around.”

I scooted out of the seat. “Be back in two shakes.”

She just smiled up at me and began unbuttoning her coat.

I snagged a couple of chilled mugs from behind the bar and made my way back to the freezer.

I could have let her talk to Cam. I should have let her fight her own battles, but I had a feeling that I could ensure Cam wouldn’t say no, that she wouldn’t turn Annie out—the girl with the hole in her heart, the girl who had just gotten her first job in the big city. The girl who wanted to live, and Cam might say no. And Annie wouldn’t argue. She would hang her head and drag her feet out of here, and I would never see her again.

I wasn’t quite ready to let any of that happen. So I’d fight that battle for her.

Worst case, I’d tell Cam I had a crush on Annie, and she’d let Annie stay on that merit alone.

Out I went again and to the bar, which was starting to pick up, where I grabbed a couple of root beers, twisting the tops off with a satisfying hiss. And, supplies in hand, I headed back to the table where Annie was bent over a notebook.

“What’s that?” I asked as I set the mugs and bottles down.

She snapped it closed. “Nothing.”

One of my brows rose with the corner of my lips. “The look on your face says it’s definitely not nothing. Let me guess…a list of conquests?”

She snorted a laugh at that. “Hardly.”

I nodded my appreciation. “A hit list?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm. A list of donut shops?”

“No, although I might like to get my hands on one of those. Do you have one?”

I ignored the deflection. “Come on, what is it? I won’t judge.”

A flush crept up her pale neck, but she was smiling. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yes, yes, I really would like to know,” I joked. “Bad poetry? Band names? Baby names? Puppy names?”

She laughed. “It’s a secret, and you’ll never know.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Guess all you want.”

I frowned. “Aw, come on, Annie. I’ve got root beer floats, and I’m campaigning our boss on your behalf. Is it really embarrassing?” I asked, leaning forward with a smirk on my face. “A list of future husbands? Tell me I’m on that list.”

I tried to ignore the genuine hilarity she expressed at that, my pride wounded.

“That list doesn’t exist.”

“But if it did…”

“You wouldn’t be on it because you’re my boss and my friend, and you’re old enough to be my uncle.”

I narrowed my eyes in jest, but I really was pissed. “Fine, if you’re not going to tell me, I’ll find out myself.”

My hand snapped out like a cobra and snagged that little yellow notebook off the table, and she watched my hand in slow motion, stunned, her mouth hanging open.

“Oh my God, Greg!” She jumped out of the booth, stretching up on her tiptoes to reach for it as I held it well out of her reach.

“Now, what do we have here? God, I hope it’s bad poetry. I’m gonna read it to the whole bar,” I mused as I opened it to the page where the ribbon bookmark lay.

“Greg, gimme it,” she whined, hanging on my arm in an attempt to lower it.

“Living Out Loud—or Things Annie Daschle Has Never Done and Is Ready to Do Already.” I laughed, trying to concentrate as she hung her weight in the hook of my elbow.

“Dammit, Greg, I’m serious!”

Way in the back of my mind, I knew she was, but I kept going.

“One, get a job—crossed off. See snow—you’ve never seen snow?”

“Nope, that’s the big secret! You win! Now, give it back!”

I laughed. “Make a snowman. I think you’ll be able to manage that.” I scanned down the list, looking for something juicy, and when I found it, my smile fell. “You’ve never had a boyfriend?” I asked quietly.

She went still. “It’s on the list, isn’t it?”