An Optimist's Guide to Heartbreak (Heartsong #1)(14)

The man grumbles. “Your prices are problematic, son.”

“Our prices are competitive and in line with industry standards. We do good work.”

I try to remain invisible, but my bright yellow dress is like a smoldering spotlight, pulling Roy’s attention back to me.

“And this little thing hardly looks a day out of high school.” He pops a thumb over his shoulder at me. “How can I expect accuracy when I’m not confident she knows her math?”

Cal’s face is unflinching, his stance immovable. “I assure you, she’s competent.”

“She better be, Bishop, because I don’t want to find any surprises—”

Thinking fast, I blurt, “I love surprises. It’s funny that you never suspect them.”

Everyone goes silent.

Save for the crickets skittering around my brain.

Both Cal and Roy turn to look at me. Cal does a face-palm, silently begging me to stop talking, while Roy narrows his eyes and studies me curiously.

Then he barks out a laugh. “Three’s Company,” he blares with awe, slapping a hand on top of the desk. “You know your sitcoms, girl.”

Out of my peripheral vision, I see Cal’s posture unclench, his expression shifting from irritation to cautious curiosity as his gaze skips between us. I keep my focus trained on Mr. Allanson, leaning forward on my arms and nodding at his t-shirt. “It’s one of my favorites. I feel like today’s generation has no appreciation for the classics, you know?”

“You got that right.” His laughter rattles his chest as he flashes me a set of yellowing teeth. Then he turns to Cal, his fiery temperament dowsed. “How did ya score this one, Bishop? She’s a keeper.”

Cal folds one arm across his chest, the other elevated as he scratches at his jaw and glances at me, his surprise evident. He’s still looking at me while he replies to Roy. “Lucky find,” he says.

“I’d say so.”

Relaxing with relief, I keep going. “I brought in some homemade muffins for the clients today,” I add, reaching for the basket with two muffins remaining. “Here, take one.”

Roy’s smile hasn’t wavered as he plucks a still-moist muffin from the bottom and nods his thanks. His mood has brightened considerably, allowing Cal to go over his mechanical issues with far less tension, ultimately setting up a payment plan as a one-time courtesy.

I’m feeling proud of myself as I wave Mr. Allanson out twenty minutes later, letting the jingle bells ring through me like I’m cashing out a big win on a penny slot machine.

After Roy leaves, Cal turns to me before heading back into the bays, and an eyebrow lifts with scrutiny. “Three’s Company?”

“His t-shirt was a nod to the show,” I shrug, smoothing out my skirt. “My grandfather and I used to watch all those old sitcoms when I was growing up—Happy Days, Growing Pains, Family Ties. I thought maybe I could help.”

He just stands there for a moment, silent, studying me. His eyes slant as he nods his head, faltering briefly, before pushing through the big gray door and finishing up his work.

The last two hours roll by without incident, void of any more customers, and I use the time to make a list of things I can do to add some charm and an inviting ambience to the shop.

I’m creating vision boards in my mind when Cal sneaks up behind me.

“Lucy.”

“What?” I spin around, buoyantly. “Hi!”

Cal moves in beside me, tipping his chin to the computer screen with a glower. “Show me the sales summary for the day.”

A quiz.

I know how to access the sales summary, but Cal is standing so close to me, radiating authority and command, and smelling like an oddly intriguing cocktail of motor oil and earthy woods, that my fingers zip around the keyboard erratically. I click the mouse a dozen times when the screen freezes up, only causing it to freeze longer.

My knee starts to bob when I feel the fabric of Cal’s sleeveless hoodie brush up against my shoulder when he leans in closer.

“You’re getting hyper again,” he notes. “How much coffee have you had?”

I glance up at him with only my eyes. “None. I don’t drink coffee.”

“What?” His brows bend with bafflement. “Are you human?”

He asks it so seriously, as if there’s a chance I could have been hijacked by an alien replica. I wring my hands together to keep them from trembling. “I’m just nervous, okay?”

“Still? Why?”

I muster a quick, “You.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You’re intimidating. Borderline petrifying,” I admit, my eyes skipping over to the orchid plant. “See? Even your flowers are cowering.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, but something bleak sours his expression. A heaviness washes over him as he looks down at his feet, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

I guess he takes his decorative foliage very seriously.

“I can never keep the damn things alive,” he mumbles. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he pivots toward me with a sigh. “I’m not trying to scare you. This is just the way I am.”

“Perpetually grumpy?”

He levels me with a hard stare. “Difficult.”

“Well, you don’t need to be difficult around me. I’m easy.” My eyes round when I register the suggestive innuendo, and I try to backpedal, even though backpedaling often digs me into a deeper, more awkward hole. “Easy to work with. You know, to interact with. I don’t mean I’m easy…like a floozy. I just meant—”