Page 61 of Steadfast
The logo was black, and he picked out the craziest, brightest green paint on the page. “Nobody’s going to miss you in that color,” I said.
“I know it’s a little much, but I want to be visible.”
Not a problem. “You know, if you angled a white stripe down the door right here, your logo would pop even more.” I pointed.
The guy rubbed his beard. “That is not a bad idea. I want it legible.”
“Exactly.”
He clapped his hands. “Okay. Let’s make this happen. What do I do?”
“Make a deposit, and I’ll order the paint. I can fit you in next week.”Or anytime.
“Good deal,” he said, and we shook on it.
My father came in after that, probably because he smelled money. “You quote it right?” he asked when I told him about the paint job.
“Of course.”You dick. “Don’t forget—tomorrow’s payday,” I prompted him.
His answer was a grunt, but my reminder would probably do the trick. Sometimes he just plain forgot to pay me until I asked. When I was behind bars I’d bet he didn’t even keep track of the books. He probably just spent whatever landed in the till. But I wasn’t going to bust my ass for free. Every transfer from his bank account to mine put me one step closer to freedom.
At last it was quittin’ time. “I’m out of here,” I said. “Got dinner with friends.” I’d started showing up to the Shipleys’ early on Thursdays. It allowed me to help out in the kitchen and also spend a few minutes gossiping with May.
But first, some preparations. I got cleaned up and then took a walk to Crumbs. I’d become quite the regular customer. Their cakes were far from cheap, but they were quality. And K.K. was my new bff. She usually gave me a free cookie for the road.
The bell on the door jingled when I walked inside. Even though it was almost closing time, there were people seated inside, nursing the last espresso of the day, I supposed. I was distracted by the Christmas lights that K.K. had hung over the counter. I almost didn’t notice Sophie sitting at one of the little tables. But she lifted her pretty face, and even that small movement had my gaze zeroing in on her.
When our eyes met, hers went wide. And then they dropped down to her coffee cup, which she studied as if the secret to life was written there.
Across the table from her sat a guy.
Shit. As my stomach bottomed out, I hastily looked the other way.
I knew Sophie and I weren’t supposed to be a couple. Nobody could know about our Wednesday nights. But we hadn’t run into each other like this before, and to watch her actually ignore me gave me heartburn. It really drove the reality of the situation home—all I would ever get were a few stolen moments. No more than that.
“Hey, hottie,” K.K. teased. “What are you in the mood for this week?”
“What’s good?”
“Well, if you like your cake to look like wood”—she wiggled her eyes suggestively—“I recommend the Buche du Noel. It’s a French-Canadian thing.”
The cake did, indeed, look like a yule log, complete with some lichen piped onto the side for realism. The damn thing was forty bucks, though. “Those crazy French Canadians. I think I’ll take a cheesecake tonight,” I said, pointing. Then I put my credit card on the counter.
“Always a solid choice.” She moved away to box up my purchase
I stood there with my back to Sophie, feeling like shit. And eavesdropping. “Thank you again,” Sophie was saying. “You’ve been so helpful.”
“It’s my pleasure, Miss Sophie. Let’s do this again sometime.”
“Absolutely.”
If I could have stabbed myself with the ballpoint pen on the counter, I would’ve.
“Well, Officer Nelligan, I’d better be on my way in a few minutes.”
Shit. The base of my spine tingled. No wonder she’d looked freaked out when I walked in. That was acopshe was sitting with. The guy worked for her father.
“I thought you were going to call me Rob.”
