Page 26 of Loverboy
“Okay Posy.” He reaches back and fumbles with the strings.
“Hey, Jerry?” I say, reaching for the tip jar. “There was a lady in here who left a tip for you.”
His mouth opens in surprise. “The tips in the jar aren’t for me.”
“I know,” I say, because I realize I can’t make a habit of this, or the other baristas will have to pony up as well. “But she did it especially for you. Just this once.” I offer him both of the ten dollar bills I received today.
He takes the money with wide eyes. “Thanks, mister.”
“Oh, I thanked the lady for you. Don’t worry.”
“Wow, maybe she’ll come back tomorrow!”
“You never know,” I say with a shrug. “Could happen.”
“Bye, Posy!” he says, marching toward the back.
“See you tomorrow,” she calls after him. A minute later we hear a bang as the back door is slammed shut. Then she turns to me with narrowed eyes. “I don’t know what’s more surprising. The fact that you gave Jerry your money, or the fact that two women left you ten-dollar tips.”
“How do you know they were women?” I ask. “Plenty of men appreciate this face, too.”
She rolls her eyes as she lifts the tip jar, testing its weight. “Good. Lord. It’s just like the old days, Gunnar. Your tip jar was always bulging at the seams.”
“I can’t believe the boss is checking out my bulge,” I say before I think better of it. Oops.
“Gunnar!” she squeaks. “Do you have to make everything into a sex joke?”
“Sorry,” I flinch. “Old habits die hard. Hey—am I supposed to count the drawer?” I ask, pointing at the cash register.
“It depends on who’s working and how big a hurry I’m in. I think I’ll count it and then make the deposit while you finish cleaning up.”
“No problem.”
She takes the register drawer to the end of the counter and stands there to count up the cash, while I wipe down each of the cafe tables for a final time and invert the chairs on them.
With the broom and the mop that I spotted in back, I clean all the pie crumbs and an errant paper napkin off the floor.
It’s funny how natural this feels. I haven’t worked a food service job in ages. But there’s a comfortable rhythm to it that’s familiar. My work in security is very exciting, but no job is ever really finished. Closing up for the night feels like an accomplishment.
“All right,” Posy says into our companionable silence. “I need to run over to the bank. I can lock up now or leave you here for ten more minutes. Which is it going to be?”
“Go ahead,” I say. “I’ll finish up here, and then sit down to check my email. I’m expecting a message from my father’s doctor.”
Her face creases with concern, and I feel like a jerk. “Of course. Go right ahead. Just don’t leave before I get back.”
“No problem.” I watch her shove the cash pouch into her shoulder bag. “Hey—are you okay to just walk around alone with that?”
She stares at me. “I do this every afternoon. What are you, my self-appointed bodyguard?”
Well, actually…“Never mind,” I force myself to say.
“I took a full self-defense course at the Y, I’ll have you know.”
“You go ahead, then. Sorry to interfere.”
She walks out the door, and I count to ten. Then I get up and walk over to the window, pressing my temple against the glass so I can see her pass down the street. The moment she’s disappeared, I grab my jacket off the hook and pull a pouch out of the pocket. There’s a small camera inside, the size of a woman’s lipstick case.
I carry it over to the wall opposite the coffee bar and start looking for the best place to conceal it. Posy’s decor makes my deception pretty easy—the shelf with all the animal statuettes is perfect for this. If I’m careful, I can position it to show me the computer screen of anyone who’s sitting at the big table in front.
