Bittersweet Read Online Free Page B

up at him, raising an eyebrow. He hasn’t shaved today, and for some reason that makes his cheekbones look even more— Stop it, Cathy.
    “Obviously not,” Greg answers himself in a murmur, and I feel kind of bad. I take a sip of my coffee as a distraction, and decide I probably shouldn’t just stand up and drink it, so I edge onto a stool.
    “Uh,” I begin eloquently. “You’re not working either? I saw some TV people down by the riverside…” I add, fishing for info.
    “Oh, I’m not needed for a few days. They’re still setting up some of the other production stuff,” he replies, and then shoves a forkful of food in his mouth. How is it possible that he even looks good when he chews? So he is part of the Bittersweet crew then. Just passing through , I remind myself.
    He swallows. “Mmm,” he mutters, nodding at the plate like it asked him a question. “This is damn good.”
    Bobby glances over at us as he rings the bell for another order up. “Hey, Cathy, your friend there ordered your special,” he calls with a wink.
    “You came up with this?” Greg asks. “The peppers with the eggs? It’s good. Real good.”
    “Well, Bobby’s the one who actually made—”
    “Yeah, our girl knows her grub,” Bobby interjects. I flush a little—because more sweat is what’s needed here, obviously. “Her dad owns this place,” Bob adds helpfully, and Greg turns to face me.
    “No kidding?”
    I shrug, then decide I should probably try and use words. “Yup.”
    A warm smile unexpectedly spreads across his face, making his eyes sort of sparkle. I try and focus on not dribbling my coffee out of my mouth.
    “My father and brothers run a bakery in Brooklyn. Best ciabatta in the borough. Dad wanted me to follow in his footsteps too, but I—” He breaks off suddenly as the cell phone he’s placed next to his orange juice begins to vibrate. I can’t help glancing down at the screen, and see “B” flash up before he shuts it off without answering. He frowns a little and seems distracted from what he was going to say, so I take the opportunity to glug down my coffee.
    “I should probably get going,” I announce, and Greg glances up distractedly, his brow still creased.
    “OK,” he murmurs again, his sparkle gone.
    I stand up and take my coffee cup through to the rack of dirties, then head back around the counter and grab my water bottle, calling goodbye to Bobby and Jenna. I glance over at Greg, and this time I catch him looking at me . My heart stutters a little, and I open my mouth to say goodbye, trying to calculate if “see you around” sounds too much like I really hope I do—but he looks away again, calling over to Jenna.
    “You know, I think I’m ready for that refill now, sweetheart.”
    Greg’s eyes flick back to mine for a moment, but then his jaw clenches, like it did before he went off to the hotel without saying thank you. His reticence should be annoying—but I find myself thinking about how he changed when he talked about his family bakery, breaking into actual run-on sentences even. I like to think I know a defense mechanism when I see it. Borderline-rudeness could just be one of the weapons in his arsenal. Or maybe I just don’t want it to be his real personality…
    “See you later, sweetheart ,” I say to Jenna as she edges past.
    She nudges me with her hip. “ He can call me whatever he likes,” she whispers as she sidles over to fill his cup.
    I sigh and head toward the door as Greg leans over the counter to talk to her, and no doubt check out her name-tag area. I try to tell myself I’m not jealous. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jenna’s more his type anyway. She’s beautiful and sassy and… Anyway, I’m bad at flings, and that’s all he would ever be, if anything at all. I’ve barely said two words to him. Why should I even care?
    I head outside and shove my buds back in my ears, deciding I may as well jog back to the apartment, work off some of this new-found