Page 5 of Just One Moment
“Howare things with the new owner?”Iask hesitantly.
Shelooks as fed up as the last timeIasked her this. “Theirlack of involvement is really starting to grind my gears.Eachweek, we wait for some life-changing email from the buyer, but all they ask for are the same boring updates or to bossBootharound.It’sbizarre.Whatkind of owner doesn’t even show their face or reveal their name to their new employees?”
GeorgeandTed,JoandPatrick’sdads, founded and co-owned a seafood restaurant down the road calledOurPlace.Patrick’sdad sadly passed away almost seven years ago, leaving his eldest son to take over the family business.Tothe shock of everyone earlier this year,Patrick’smom andJo’sdad broke the news that the restaurant was struggling, and despite months of trying to save it, they had no choice but to sell.Oddly, the new owner is very hands-off.Sohands-off, in fact, that no one knows their name or what their future plans are.Thesilver lining is that everyone who works there got to keep their jobs, and nothing has changed.
“WhatdoesGrahamthink of it all?”It’sa hard task to keep my face neutral asIwait to hear aboutPatrick’sbrother.
“Tight-lipped as always.He’staken a step back from his firm, even dropped a few of his big clients to spend more time at the restaurant.He’sjust as worried as we are, though less vocal.Theuncertainty is starting to get toBoothtoo.”
GrahamandBoothare polar opposites.Boothreminds me of a hyperactive golden retriever who hasn’t been neutered yet, and he’s quite the ladies’ man.Graham, however, is an enigma.Ashy, handsome, and serious nut to crack.Healways looks deep in thought behind his glasses, which makes the brooding stare even hotter.They’retortoiseshell glasses, forPete’ssake.
“I’msure it’s a good thing he’s close by now,”Isupply.
“Absolutely.Lottieloves him,Claireis happy he’s not traveling into the city each day, and it’s nice having him around more.”
Claireis the matriarch of theSadlerfamily, and she’s always been sweet and welcomed me toRobinRoadwhenIopened the bakery.Shecomes in with her sons on occasion, but just once withGraham.Thinkingback to that particular afternoon whenGrahamcalmly, yet sternly, warned his older brother has me biting my bottom lip.PoorPatrickwas in a bit of a panic when he stormed in here looking forJohannaafter they foundout the restaurant was being sold, soIdon’t blame him for his abruptness.
“Watchit,” he’d said.Voiceall deep and gravelly.Itwas only our second time meeting, but it was certainly memorable…
“Didyou ever speak to him about working with the restaurant?”Johanna’squestion interrupts my daydreaming.
Mygrimace is hard to hide.InMarch,Johad suggestedIspeak toGrahamabout us partnering up.Tomy surprise,Ifound out he’s the restaurant’s accountant as well as being in charge of supplier relations.WhenJofirst mentioned it, the ideasIhad for the restaurant were endless.Lobster-shaped croissants.Freshbrioche rolls.Sourdoughbread.
Aftera couple of shots at the local bar,IaccostedGraham, who also happens to be a brooding hottie.Iquickly realized a bar wasn’t the place to build a working relationship, so what didIdo?Iscribbled my number on the poor guy’s arm—a very nice forearm,Imight add—with eyeliner and practically begged him to call me.
Only, he never called, and that was seven months ago, and he’s a hard man to “bump into.”Sure,Icould reach out to him, but soon after that night at the bar,Irealized what a shit show my financials were in.Therewas no chance in hell he would want to work with me and my shoe box full of receipts and invoices.Numbersare not my forte, butI’vedone enough research to knowIwon’t be dealt a hefty fine at the end of the tax year.
Itwas the responsible thing for me to get my bookkeeping in order first, before starting up any business arrangements.EspeciallywithOurPlace, whereIpresumeI’llneed to get approval from their faceless owner.
“Oh.Doyou know what?Ittotally slipped my mind.”I’ma terrible liar and from the quizzical browJoraises, she sees right through it.Mostpeople say they can read me like a book, but right nowI’mtrying my best to keep my pages tightly shut.
“Youforgot?”
“Mm-hmm.”Spinningaround,Igive her my back and hope she doesn’t see me gnawing away at my lip asIwipe down the milk steamer.
“Quinn.IfI’veoverstepped, you’d tell me?”Hervoice is cautious and my stomach drops.
“No!No!”Irush out, spinning around, and almost send the rag in my hand flying. “It’snot that,Ijust…IthinkIneed some accounting help first.”Embarrassmentfloods my cheeks.
“Well, it’s a good thingGrayis an accountant.Letme speak to him.”
“Gray?”
“Yeah”—she shrugs and takes another sip of her drink—“that’s what we all call him.”
“Oh.”Imake a mental note of the nickname, butIthinkIpreferGraham. “Youdon’t need to do that.”Ifthere’s one thingIhate, it’s favors.Maybeit’s juvenile, but after years of being told how lazy and what a burden you are, you start to see handouts as the easy way out.
Shestudies me for a moment, sensing my discomfort, then gives me a gentle smile. “Well, when you’re ready, talk toGraham.He’llhave to speak to the owner, butIknow he’d love to work with you.Nopressure.He’snot as big and scary as he looks.”
Noddingmy head slowly,Isuck my bottom lip between my teeth, holding in my rebuttal.Thelast thingIwant anyone to think is thatI’mnot serious.Anddespite only speaking toGrahamon two occasions, he’s someoneIdon’t want to disappoint.
I’dhoped to make another friend in town, but when he didn’t text or call,Iput it down to the factIcame across as unprofessional or annoying.Withoutsounding narcissistic,Ihave an innate need for people to like me.
Mymind wanders back to the evening at the bar sevenmonths ago.WhenIspotted a man in the corner, standing by himself,IaskedJowho the “tall, moody drink of water” was, and it just so happened to beGraham.
Short, neatly styled hair the color of sand right after the tide has gone out.Dark, thick eyebrows hidden behind his tortoise shell glasses, that do all sorts to my insides, frame vivid green eyes.Remindingme of the moss growing in the lush forests in the park.He’salways wrapped up in a knitted sweater or cardigan that does nothing to hide the strong muscles that stretch the wool around his shoulders and arms.
Yes,Iwanted to butter him up, however, something else drew me toward him.Theslight crease between his brows as he studied the room deepened when the music got turned up, which made me giggle.Hewas tall, very tall.Mysteriouslyalluring.Hedidn’t demand the attention of the room, but he had it—or mine, at least.