“Come near her and die,” Rhodes threatens, walking by and making sure to hit me with his bag.
I laugh as he makes his way out of the training room, flipping everyone off behind his back, likely running right back home to his wife and locking her away in his big dark castle so no one else can come near her.
I’d think it was sweet if I wasn’t so damn jealous of him.
“Well, you better get out of whatever rut you’re in because I’m pretty sure Coach will have our asses if anyone shows up dateless. Then we’d have to worry about Smith, too, because this is his passion project he’s heading this year.”
“I know, I know,” I grumble. “I’ve got it taken care of.”
Except I don’t have it taken care of, not even a little bit.
I am so screwed.
Something is wrong.
It’s the first thought that runs through my head when I pull into the parking lot of Scout’s Sweets. The line is snaked through the tables, so long it almost touches said lot, which is overflowing. All eight tables are decorated with bundles of balloons and completely full of customers. There’s music playing over a few speakers that are set up where there’s typically a little library for browsing.
There are a few patrons who appear annoyed, but for the most part, people are smiling, which I suppose is a good thing. Still, this line isn’t normal. There has to be a reason it’s backed up so much.
I grab my ballcap and tug it low over my head, then make my way toward the front of the truck. A few people throw me curious glances, but nobody says anything, and I’m glad because I am clearly skipping the line.
When I get about twenty feet away, I see what the problem is: Scout is alone, and she’s struggling to keep up with the line.
Her hair, which is usually a bit of a mess anyway, is even more chaotic. Her apron is covered in what I assume is flour. There’s a streak of it on her cheek. Her eyes are wide yet tired somehow, but even though she’s having trouble, she’s wearing a smile and greeting customers like a champ.
I’m not surprised when her gaze finds me standing off to the side.
Fuck. She looks worse than I thought, like she’s barely hanging on by a thread, and I hate it so much. Her eyes begin to glisten, and it seems like she’s only a few moments away from breaking down completely.
She shakes her head and mouths, Go.
I don’t.
In fact, I walk closer. I don’t stop until I’m waltzing into the truck like I own the place. I grab the other apron hanging on the hook and slide it over my head. Then, I spin my cap around and look at her.
“Put me to work.”
“Miller, I don’t have time for this today. I have—”
“Put. Me. To. Work,” I repeat.
Her eyes widen at the sternness in my voice, but to my surprise, she doesn’t argue. Instead, she reaches out and grabs a fistful of my shirt, yanking me closer to her. She pulls me in front of the register and points at it.
“You take orders, I’ll fill them. If they order a simple coffee, make it. Leave the complex ones to me. Make sure to hand them a straw if they order an iced coffee.”
“I got this,” I promise, even though I have no clue at all how to work any of the machines. “Go.” I wave her off, then shoot a big smile at the customer standing in front of me. “Welcome to Scout’s Sweets, the best damn donuts in the city. What can I get for you today?”
I swear I see her shoulders sag in relief in my periphery, but I refuse to look at her.
“Hey, can I get a half dozen Live Out Proud donuts?”
Oh crap, that’s right—she’s debuting her new donut. No wonder this place is packed.
“Sure thing,” I say, searching for the donut on the tablet and trying to figure out how to ring up a half dozen. “Just one second…” I mutter.
“Take your time, man,” the guy says. “None of us mind waiting. We’re all here to celebrate Scout for being so damn amazing. We can wait a few minutes, right, everyone?” he says loudly, addressing the crowd.
Multiple people throw their arms up and whoop loudly, cheering Scout on.
I love it for her, and I’m a little mad at myself for not seeing how amazing she is before.
“She’s thankful you all showed up today. Should have seen her gushing about these donuts yesterday,” I tell him, finally finding the button on the screen. I swing the machine over his way like I’ve seen Scout do so many times before. “They’re for her dads, which I think is pretty cool.”
He smiles up at me, pays, then steps off to the side to wait.
“Next!” I call out.
And that’s how the next several hours go. The line is crazy and seems never-ending, but when three o’clock rolls around, it finally dwindles until we only have a handful of customers left, and I’ve never been happier. I’ve had to sit through many autograph lines in my career, but never anything like this. I don’t know how Scout’s doing it because she hasn’t taken a break once since I got here, and there’s no telling the last time she actually had one.
“Hey,” I say gently, placing a hand on her shoulder and stepping up behind her.
She freezes for a moment before she realizes it’s me, then relaxes into my touch. I think it’s a good thing I’m standing so close to her because I swear she’s about to collapse into my arms. I’d catch her too.
“Take a break,” I tell her softly.
“Huh?” She seems dazed, like she’s working on pure instinct right now. I honestly don’t think she even knows what she’s doing anymore.
“A break—you need one. Take it. I can handle the rest of these customers.”
Her brows are crushed together when she finally spins around. I try my hardest to ignore how close we’re currently standing, but it’s hard because she’s right there. We’ve never been this close before…and I don’t hate it.
If she notices this too, she doesn’t say anything.
“Let me take care of this,” I insist. “Go relax.”
She traps her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing on it as she considers my offer. She’s tired. She knows she’s tired, but she’s scared to leave her baby in my hands.
It feels like forever before she finally nods and agrees to go. She unties her apron from around her waist and slips it over her head. She makes herself a fresh coffee, then disappears around the back side of the truck.
I take care of the last few people in line, then get to work on cleaning the truck the best I can. It’s a mess, but I’m sure once Scout sees how much she’s made today in tips alone, it’ll all be worth it.
I laugh when I slide a bottle of nutmeg onto the shelf, noting the other three bulk-size containers there. When I’m finished, I go looking for Scout.
I find her completely deflated, sitting hunched over in a fold-out lawn chair. I’ve never been back here before, but it’s clear she uses this area for her breaks.
She looks exhausted, like she could sleep for the next twelve hours and still not be rested. I approach slowly, dropping down into the chair beside her.
She perks up when she hears it squeak and starts to stand, but I grab her wrist to stop her.
“No. Rest.”