Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
But damn, I couldn’t help feeling like I needed a win. For my dad, my uncle…my family. The years I’d lost had to mean something. I was aware that was a melodramatic take on what probably amounted to nothing more than an adult temper tantrum, but I was still reeling over that kiss, so sue me.
And the thought of Rob returning to Haverton like a prodigal son and setting up shop next door was so far under my skin, it wasn’t funny.
Or…maybe it was funny and the joke was on me.
7
ROB
Great H Bagels opened for business on a cloudy Saturday morning in autumn. The windows were so clean, they sparkled off the glare of the pendant lights over the counter. The glass cases adjacent to the marble counter were stuffed to capacity with a medley of flavored bagels: plain, poppyseed, onion, chocolate, everything—you name it, we had it.
We also offered specialty gourmet creations like the ones we’d served at our preopening party and a “build your own bagel sandwich” option, along with a variety of standard sandwiches ranging from breakfast to turkey, roast beef, chicken salad, and tuna.
Oh yeah, and we had pizza bagels.
I highly doubted we’d sell many, but I had no regrets. Every time I thought of that altercation or whatever the fuck had happened with Mateo in my kitchen, I got hot under the collar. Seriously. I wanted to punch a hole in the wall or punch his freaking gorgeous face.
Or kiss him again.
Not going to happen and not important. The important thing was…pizza bagels.
Which, by the way, weren’t terrible.
They weren’t flying off the shelves, though. Our best sellers so far were the baker’s dozen, the breakfast sandwich supreme with scrambled eggs, avocado, red onions, and special secret sauce…oh, and our gourmet smoked lox and caviar was a big hit. In fact, in the two weeks we’d been open, business had been fantastic.
Haverton liked bagels.
Not that I was surprised. Amber and I had done our research. A college-slash-beach-town practically required a bagel shop, and it was criminal that the residents had gone without one for so long. Of course, I knew that to some degree, I was the novelty.
The name alone was a nod to the football team. The Haverton Hawks were also known as the Great Hawks and the school itself, Great H. As an alumni and former player, I had no qualms with advertising my personal connection to the town. My jerseys from college and every pro team I’d played on had been framed and lovingly hung on the brick wall. It was a statement: I’m one of you. I belong.
Of course, if the bagels sucked, the novelty would wear off fast. But we’d hired a talented crew and with my grandfather’s recipe book and Amber’s marketing and culinary skills, we were in fine shape. Much to our neighbor’s chagrin.
I still couldn’t believe he was selling pizza bagels. Did I mention that Mateo Cavaretti was a dick?
“Mr. Vilmer, will you sign my shirt, please?”
I stepped away from the counter and smiled at the kid who might have been around ten or eleven. “Sure. Got a pen?”
His dad happened to have a marker on hand. I didn’t recognize him, but apparently, we’d had a statistics class together in college. He wanted to talk football, though, so I obliged for a minute or so before moving on to greet the other customers in line.
I was the resident celebrity here, and I knew it was important to use whatever we had to get people in the door, but I wasn’t naturally gregarious. I preferred being behind the counter, ringing up sales. However, the busier we were, the more distracting my presence was at the register.
Customers wanted a sporty side scoop with their bagels. What was Tom Brady like? Which QB currently had the best arm? Who was my favorite teammate? Where had I liked playing the best? I never minded answering questions, but being the focus of attention got old. I found myself dipping out of the shop for a breather, which inevitably led me to Boardwalk Pizza.
I didn’t always go inside. No, I was more of a lurker.
Other than Mateo, they were a nice group. Vanni was a goofball, Jimmy was a cool dude who was a little full of himself, and Sal was reserved but always friendly. If Mateo wasn’t at the counter, I’d say hello with a bag of free bagels and cream cheese on hand, order a slice, and shoot the shit for a minute or two.
Sometimes a growly Mateo would make an appearance and that was awkward, but whatever. I wasn’t going anywhere, so he might as well get used to seeing me around.
And maybe I was a little curious about that kiss. There were sparks here. Like the kind that sizzled in the air and sent tingles of electricity along my spine. I couldn’t have been the only one who’d felt it.