by Bria Quinlan
But he’d be a complete moron to turn down this opportunity to be a producer for DBS. This was the kind of stuff he really wanted to do. He loved to make music, even if he was only flipping the switches and turning the dials that made it possible.
A bright spot in the outside edge of his vision caught his attention and he rotated his head slowly to see Emily back behind the counter. His slumped-over posture straightened immediately, and he tried a smile on for her. She smiled back and Sage called it a win—even if it was small and half directed at the next customer.
Dang, she was pretty.
Okay, focus on the hutch. He rubbed his tired eyes and watched the lines blur on the page in front of him.
Crap. This was bad.
More coffee.
“Sage?”
Sage picked up his coffee and ignored the voice behind him, convinced it was a hallucination.
Because, why was his mom here?
At The Brew.
“Sage, baby?”
He nodded, surrendering to his tired imagination, and turned around. “Hey, Ma.”
Beatrix McNabb, his ma and a southern belle transplant dressed in her customary pastel palette, embraced him as he stood. “I tried to catch you before you left this morning, but I wasn't fast enough.”
She glanced at his table and then around The Brew. “I went over to Mrs. Callahan’s, since that’s where your dad said you’d been workin’, and she said you’d be down here. I have to admit, I had no idea this was even here. What a darlin’ little place. Is the coffee good?”
Sage grinned at her adorable ramble while she was already heading for the counter.
His ma.
Embracing life, one discovery at a time.
Emily stepped up to the front, Sage caught her eye and winked. “Best coffee in town, Ma.”
She set her little clutch on the counter and popped it open, directing her attention to Emily. “I’ll take a small hazelnut latte to go, if you don’t mind.”
“You got it,” Emily replied brightly before turning to fill the order.
“Listen, baby,” Ma said, turning more toward Sage and dropping her voice to just above a whisper. “Your father and I will be gone when you get home tonight. I didn’t want you to worry. I made sure the fridge and icebox were all stocked up.”
She sighed and tilted her head, giving him the Concerned Mother Face before patting a soft hand on his cheek. “You look so tired, baby. I know how you like to work yourself to death,” she admonished sweetly.
That’s when she took two hundred-dollar bills out of her purse and handed them to him. Sage snatched at it, hoping Emily didn't see. But she did. She was openly staring at their interaction, the coffee in hand, the lid half pressed down but temporarily forgotten.
“Here’s some money for food while we’re gone. In case what I left isn’t enough,” Ma continued, unaware of her son’s discomfort or their audience. She took a breath, her eyes scanning his face with more worry than was needed for a man his age. “Call us if you need anything.”
Sage swallowed, his heart beating the drums of guilt and shame. Well, so much for impressing Emily ever again.
“I will, Ma. Safe travels.” Sage hugged her tightly and she rubbed his shoulder vigorously, an action she used to prevent herself from getting emotional.
It wasn’t her fault.
He was her only. And not even by blood.
She loved him and never apologized for how she went about doing it.
Emily cleared her throat as she set the coffee on the counter, drawing Ma’s attention.
“I love your glasses,” Ma said. “Your entire outfit is cute as a button.”
Emily said something. Then Ma said something. They were conversing. Sage could no longer hear the words due to the roaring sound of his own ineptitude beating him over the head.
No way was he going to be able to convince Emily he was cool. Not after all those lovely revelations.
Ma left, and it was just him and Emily and Abby. And the two hundreds wadded in his fist. He didn't meet their eyes. He didn't want to know what pitiful disappointment looked like on Emily’s face.
Taking the two hundred dollars, he stuffed them into the tip jar, and turned back to his table.
He needed to finish a dining room.
5
Emily
So, Hot Artistic Guy was also Super Rich Guy.
Bummer.
If there was one thing I knew, it was that rich guys didn’t do anything long-term with girls like me. They saw us as nothing but toys.
Not that it mattered. I was off boys. Maybe forever. And no, that didn’t mean I was on to girls. Maybe off relationships was a better way to put it.
“Did you see that?” Abby nudged me.
“What?” I pushed the rolling pastry display stand down the counter and scrubbed at the mess under it.
“He stuck two hundred bucks in our tip jar.” She stared at the jar as if she thought it was a joke. As if it would be gone—or fake—if one of us reached for it.
I glanced in the jar—from a safe distance because that was a bucket full of money—and then back up at Abby.
“Do you think it’s a joke?” I asked.
She shrugged. A wordless Abby. That was…weird.
“Maybe he’s just screwing with us.” Because that, my friend, is what rich guys did. They screwed with you while trying to screw you.
“Maybe,” she said, and turned away, apparently done with trying to figure out the money in the jar.
I grabbed it, making sure it was just the two bills, then headed around the counter, Abby watching me with raised eyebrows.
I got to his—Sage’s—table and put it down there.
“You dropped this.” Because, what was I supposed to say?
“No. I didn’t. I put it in the tip jar.”
“Right. So, we can’t take it.” I crossed my arms, trying to look as tough as possible.
There was an insanely loud throat clearing from behind me.
I ignored it.
That was the thing with being little and blonde and wearing glasses and having freckles…Yeah. No one took me seriously. I was scrappy. Don’t mess.
“Why not?” He honestly looked confused.
“Because we’re not here to steal rich boys’ allowances. However will you live?” I hadn’t realized it till I was done, but I’d picked up his mother’s Southern lilt.
“I’ll live just fine on both of my jobs.”
Of course he would. He lived at home. Sounded like he didn’t have to worry about food or cleaning…or anything else, either.
“Listen.” He lowered his voice. “That’s not me. I’m not that guy. I pay my way. I’m living at home because I’m not home much. I’m usually on the road. And ‘living at home’ is an apartment on my family’s land.” He shrugged, but I could see the color on his cheeks. “And, trust me, I know how to buy groceries and cook for myself. I was actually going to do exactly that last night, but I got called into work.”
I stared down at him, wondering what kind of cabinet building emergencies happened at night, and shook my head.
“I don’t know why she felt like she needed to hunt me down and give me money, but it’s not because I don’t have my own—don’t work for my own. She likes to...check on me.” He took a deep breath and leaned forward. “How about we do this: You keep the tip, I keep my dignity, and we both pretend my mother doesn’t know how to find me on my break ever again.”
I stared at him, honestly believing he was embarrassed by the whole thing, but thinking there wasn’t a lot of space to get past the rich guy part.
Not that I was looking to get past it.
That was Megan talking.
Megan talked a lot.
Just not usually so directly in my head.
“Okay,” I said, only because of the dignity remark. Not that Abby and I couldn’t each use the extra hundred.
I headed back to the land behind the counter, slipping on
e hundred in my back pocket and handing the other to Abby.
“Abs,” I started, and smiled at her smirk. “He says he needs us to keep this to attempt to buy back his dignity.”
She pocketed the money. “I didn’t know dignity had a going rate.”
I thought about my rent and wondered if I could market dignity on Craigslist.
6
Sage
“Oh, Sage, darling, you look absolutely exhausted.” Mrs. Callahan patted his cheek the way a concerned grandmother would, her head tilting to the side.
It was the same look his mom had given him just the day before.
Apparently mothers everywhere were united in pointing out his obvious fatigue.
“Haven’t been to bed yet,” Sage answered, setting down his toolbox. Nope; instead, he’d been with rock stars. It had taken all night and he wasn’t even a little bit sorry.
Mrs. Callahan tsked. “To have the energy of your youth again,” she said wistfully. Sage didn’t inform her that she often had way more energy than he did most days and she really had nothing to worry about.
He knelt down and undid the latch on his toolbox.
“Don’t bother getting set up, sweetie,” Mrs. Callahan instructed as she bustled to the closet by the entrance. “I’m heading out. I tried to call you this morning, but you didn’t answer.”
Sage frowned and checked his phone. He had missed a call at five o’clock. “I must have been in the shower.”
“My daughter has run into a bit of trouble and I need to go to Chicago for a few days.” She handed her coat to Sage, who automatically helped her into it while she talked. “I’ll keep you updated on how long I’ll be gone. There’s no reason for you to be here if I’m not. Besides, after yesterday, you’re way ahead of schedule. I think you’ve earned a bit of a break.”
Sage nodded, glancing around the dining room he’d left in disarray the day before. She wasn’t wrong. After yesterday’s lovely humiliation, he’d managed to put together three chairs and a table before calling it a day.
Frustration was an interesting motivator.
“Would you be a dear and help me downstairs?” she asked, gesturing to the suitcase next to the door.
“Of course.” Sage hefted the case in one hand and the toolbox in the other. He had not been expecting a sudden day off. This would work out perfectly. He had time to have his coffee and study the book he’d found and brought with him before he had to be back at Luke’s tonight.
And maybe he’d have a nap.
If he had time.
You know that hazy fog you develop with lack of sleep and familiarity? The kind where you suddenly feel at home in a department store or gas station simply because you were too tired to activate your “public location” sensors?
Sage was there with The Brew. He’d been frequenting it long enough, and he had passed healthy levels of exhaustion about four hours ago. The Brew may as well have been his living room.
“Again, with the looking like an exhausted sailor.”
Sage sighed at Abby’s delightful greeting.
“Also, you’re early,” she tacked on for good measure. You know, in case he didn’t feel overwhelmed by her love already.
His eyes flicked to the kitchen doors, waiting for that ray of sunshine to show herself, but they didn’t open.
“She’s not here,” Abby supplied, plunking one of her tall shot glasses of caffeine goodness on the counter. “And I have a new one for you, if you’re feeling brave.”
“Oh,” Sage said with a frown. “Is she okay?” It was too big of a question. He knew it the moment it passed his lips, but by then it was too late.
Abby arched one eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. “Yep.”
“Cool,” he muttered, dropping his gaze to the shot glass. It was pink on the bottom. He took hold of it, held Abby’s gaze, and shot it back.
Almond, espresso, finished with...
“Is that raspberry?” he asked, smacking his lips together.
She nodded, a pleased light hitting her face.
“That’s good stuff, Abs.” He paid for his coffee and the shot and moved away from the counter toward his table when Abby spoke again.
“She’ll be here later.”
Sage glanced over his shoulder, but Abby was already busying herself and avoiding eye contact. He set his coffee down and then himself, his body feeling like it had aged ten years in the last two days.
Mrs. Callahan’s unexpected trip out of town had come at the perfect time for him. He was nearly finished with the dining room. All that was left was the hutch and two more chairs. Easily a week’s worth of work. But with the added obligation of recording for DBS at night, he really would have had to push himself.
Now he wouldn’t have to.
He drained his coffee and tried to focus on the enormous book in front of him. Most of this stuff he already knew from helping Greg set up the board on tour occasionally. The specific console Luke had in his garage was just slightly different. They were recording on analog—which was flipping sweet; Sage had long dreamed of being able to record on tape. But whoever had owned it last had made special modifications.
He was halfway to the restroom when he wondered if maybe he should take his book with him. He doubted very much Abby would prevent anyone from stealing it. Then again, who would want to steal a used book about recording and audio technique?
You know, besides someone like him.
When he exited the bathroom, his steps faltered. Emily was sitting at his table, paging through his book. He licked his lips, feeling a fresh flush of shame heat his cheeks as he remembered yesterday again.
Yeah, his dignity was completely intact; nothing to worry about there.
She looked up at him as he pulled out his chair.
“I saw your coffee was almost empty, so I refilled it,” she said, standing up in haste. “No sketches today?” she asked brightly, nodding to his monster of a book.
He tried to catch a glimpse of those baby blues, but she was looking at the book on the table. He’d considered avoiding The Brew the day after winning his lifetime achievement award for Failure To Adult, as presented by his mother. But the need for caffeine and the hope for forgiveness was too strong.
Considering Emily hadn’t completely snubbed him, he felt a hundred times better.
“Nope. Today I need to study for my other job,” he said. A yawn caught him off guard, and he covered his mouth with the back of one hand while reaching for his fresh refill. “Thank you for this.” He saluted with the cup before taking a scalding yet welcome swallow.
“Audio Cyclopedia,” she read the cover, tapping the thick book with her finger. “That's some heavy reading.”
Sage shrugged with one shoulder. “I read it once already. In college. Mostly, this is a refresher.”
“For your second job. Does this have something to do with the rock stars?”
Sage cracked a smile and scratched the side of his neck. “Yeah,” he muttered, looking down at the book. “I’m just glad I found it. It wasn’t easy to find the first time. I’m guessing it would be harder now.”
Emily pressed her lips together and her eyebrows twitched with a thought she didn’t share. Which was a shame, because he had a feeling she had a lot to say. Every once in a while he’d be rewarded with little flashes of the inner Emily, but they weren’t enough. He wanted more.
Sage sucked in a breath and went for it. “Do you ever have an evening off?”
Emily’s head jerked and her smile faded. She recovered and took a deep breath. “I work pretty much all of the time.”
Sage nodded. “I gathered that. But I was hoping you might have one night free for, say, food and conversation...?”
Her frown deepened, and she took another step backward. Usually, in his experience, this would be the moment someone would walk in, intruding on his very limited moment with Emily. He braced for the front door to open.
But it didn’t.
“
I really need to get back to work...” Emily pointed a thumb over her shoulder and attempted an apologetic look that didn’t look sorry at all.
Sage didn’t realize he was following her until he came to the edge of the counter and wasn’t allowed to go any further. Emily whirled around, her sassy edge from yesterday making a comeback.
“Look, it’s nothing personal. I don’t even know you. But I’m not dating anyone right now. Or for the foreseeable future.”
The slight color in her cheeks only made her more adorable and Sage had to fight off a smile.
“Good. Great,” he agreed quickly. “I’m so glad you said that, because I don’t want to date you, either.” He held his hands up, palms outward when her eyes widened. “Nothing against you. I’m sure you’re excellent girlfriend material. I just don’t see you in that way.”
Her eyes narrowed and her mouth got small as her hands landed on her hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Sage tucked his hands in his pockets and shrugged, walking down the counter. She followed on the other side. “All I asked was if you might want to eat food with me and talk. It wasn’t a date.”
She let out a stunted laugh. “That sounds exactly like a date.”
He shook his head once as he made a small show of thinking it over. “No, I’m pretty sure if I were asking you out on a date, you would know.”
She scoffed, her cheeks turning a lovely hot pink. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah,” he answered matter-of-factly. “Without a doubt.”
She stared at him, suspicion, distrust, and curiosity shining out of her gorgeous blue eyes.
He waited.
“Can I think about it?” she asked in such a way Sage knew there was a very definitive reason for her anti-dating policy. And he suddenly wanted to punch that jerk of a reason right in the nuts.
“Absolutely,” he said softly, a thought happening in the back of his mind. He turned it over a couple of times and then brought it to the forefront. “I mean, if you really need to think about just hanging out…”