Page 76 of How to Break My Heart 1

“I have to be, don’t I?”

I can hear the trepidation in her voice. With a heavy weight sitting on my chest, I take a seat on the stool and try to think of other ways to help Billie.

“I’ll call Chloe to help out. Take as long as you need,” I offer, feeling helpless.

Billie rushes to say goodbye so she can take her mom to the ER. I’m praying Marco is at the hospital and can maybe help her out. Given that we are a small town, the hospital isn’t that big and sits on the border of where two other towns meet. I’ve visited only a few times, but each time, it was busy, as they are always short-staffed.

I take a breath, mentally preparing myself to work independently for the day. It’s only after I mention Chloe on the call that I remember she drove into the city to take her sister to look at student housing near the NYU campus, since she’s transferring there next semester.

Maddy enters the café just before seven, helping me out with the morning rush before leaving for a meeting with the caterer at nine. Before she leaves, I assure her I will be fine on my own, since our regulars have left, so there won’t be too many customers in the store.

I’ve wiped down all the tables and restocked the glass cabinets with fresh donuts when a small bus stops at the front entrance. The doors of the bus open, and a bunch of elderly people slowly take each step off the bus and gather on the sidewalk. There are at least twenty of them, and they don’t look like locals.

One lady doesn’t take long to turn around and point to the café. They all nod in agreement, and before I have a chance to prepare anything, they enter one by one and occupy all the tables.

Great.

I lose track of time, taking orders and mustering up my patience when three customers list their dietary requirements. They felt it was important to inform me. Then they proceeded to tell me the whole story about their hip surgeries, which led to all these problems to begin with.

At the counter, I work the espresso machine, making sure I prepare each order correctly. God knows what will happen if the lady at table five accidentally drinks cow’s milk instead of soy.

God does know, and so do you, after she gave you a descriptive breakdown of her bowel movements.

The machine expels a grinding sound while crushing the coffee beans. As I momentarily glance up, I see Aston standing at the counter wearing a charcoal-gray coat with a light blue dress shirt. The shirt is slightly unbuttoned, exposing a small amount of his chest.

He cocks his head, rubbing his chin while looking deliciously sexy. “So, you are alive, then?”

Those green eyes dive into my soul, stopping my ability to breathe for just one moment. I shake my head to pull myself out of the trance, then respond, “Billie’s mom is sick, so it’s only me today. It was fine until this busload of customers arrived.”

I wait for him to say something to rile me up, but instead, he removes his coat and moves behind the counter. “Where do you need me?”

“Um… what are you doing?”

Aston throws his coat under the counter and begins to roll up his sleeves. “I’m helping you.”

The corners of my mouth curve as I fold my arms. “You can’t help me. I bet you’ve never even made your own coffee. You’veprobably got some hot maid who brings it to your bed each morning along with a happy ending.”

He continues to fix his sleeves as my eyes are drawn to the veins on his muscly forearms. Sitting on his wrist appears to be an expensive watch, but he leaves it on, unbothered by it.

“The maid was hot, but my coffee was not. So I fired her,” he deadpans.

“Wait! Are you joking or serious?”

Aston shakes his head with a smug expression. “If I can run a billion-dollar company, I can make coffee.”

I opt to give him the benefit of the doubt and spend the next few minutes teaching him. To my surprise, he quickly picks up the instructions and starts to work.

“You’re a lefty,” I tease, watching him closely. “So cute.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t pick up on that when you were in the bathroom with me,” he responds with an irritatingly smug expression, then leans in to whisper, “I guess you were too busy coming on my fingers.”

Heat rises to my cheeks, but I flatten my lips to hide my embarrassment. “Okay, we’re violating some sort of work code here.”

“Oh yeah, which one, Miss Woods?”

“Sexual harassment,” I tell him. “For now, I’m your boss. So behave or else.”

He keeps his grin to himself. “I never pictured myself as a submissive, but here I am, I guess.”