Closer to You (Book One ✓)

T W O

The rest of the shift goes much slower than the first half, as it normally does. We typically get an early rush as people head to work and students stop by before class, and then we do get a few regulars for lunch every day. But the early evening is always a slow time. People would rather get home than stop for coffee. Not that I blame them, I yawn, wondering if three cups of coffee in a shift is too many.

Nadine and I usually spend this time chatting, watching some TV in the corner until a customer pops in, or cleaning up. But we've kept the shop tidy today, and there isn't anything good on the television. "My head is pounding," Nadine murmurs, kneading her eyes with long fingers.

I look over at her sympathetically. She gets migraines every now and again. "Well, why don't you head home? I can close up tonight."

"Are you sure?" But even as she speaks the words, she is already heading behind the counter to grab her bag and remove her apron. "I'll pay you extra this week," She winks.

"You know that's not necessary," I refuse, stretching out on my bean bag chair.

"Mhm," she murmurs, collecting the rest of her things to go home. "You have a good night, Miss Emma," she calls over her shoulder as she leaves. I wave through the windowed storefront, grabbing a novel from the shelf and hopping on a stool behind the counter.

Only another forty five minutes, I check my watch. I sigh, opening the old book up, feeling the creaks of the worn out spine, inhaling the scent of its old pages. I'd grabbed it without looking, but it's an older copy of To Kill A Mockingbird, one of my favorites. I smile, beginning the first page happily.

Before I know it, it's four o'clock. "Closing time," I hum to myself, placing the book back on the shelf for another reader to enjoy. I untie my apron, placing it on my own special hook behind the counter. As I enter the break room to grab my purse, I hear the soft chiming of bells at the front door.

"Oh I'm sorry, we're clo-" I stop in place as I notice the same spiky hair I saw earlier this morning.

"Obviously." Beau mutters, his lips not even beginning to turn upwards. He looks around the shop, a dissatisfied frown on his face.

"We open at seven," I tell him curtly, throwing my denim jacket over my arm and finding my keys.

"I don't care when you open." He rolls his eyes. "I told you I'd be by at four to pick you up."

I almost trip over our welcome mat when I hear his words. "Excuse me?" The door is half open as I look over my shoulder, the breeze sending blonde strands in my face.

"Are you that dense that you don't remember or are you messing with me?" Beau's dark brows come together in an even deeper scowl.

"You didn't ask to pick me up." I turn to face him, arms crossed firmly over my chest.

He shrugs. "I asked when you were off work."

I glare at him, annoyed and confused. He glares back as if I'm the one being difficult instead of the other way around.

"I don't know who you think you are," I say finally. "But you don't get to storm in here and bully me into leaving with you." I watch his expression turn from annoyed, to shocked, to angry in a matter of seconds. I take advantage of his stunned silence to turn and exit the shop. Once I'm outside, I stare at him impatiently. "Almost done in there? I need to lock up."

Beau saunters out after me, taking his sweet time. I roll my eyes as I turn the key. "Who I think I am?" He finally spits. I look up at him, he's standing right in my personal space and I have to tilt my head back to see his expression. His face is scowling but his eyes seem somewhat amused. "Are you serious?"