Whatever You Do Page 4

  Is this guy for real? I am not one of those girls who doesn’t like to eat. I don’t go out with guys to only order a salad and nibble at it for three hours. I don’t share food, dammit.

  The meal continues like this, except I can’t shovel in as much food as Carl can, so before I know it, Carl has polished off my parmigiana as well as his own steak. How can such a skinny guy eat so much damn food?

  I have no idea what we even talked about the whole time as I was too consumed in trying to protect my dinner. Thankfully, Carl doesn’t eat salad, so he did leave that right alone. Awesome.

  I sense Tate approach as a shadow falls over the table and his cologne fills the air, but I’m too busy pouting to look up at him and enjoy the sight.

  “How were the meals?” he asks.

  “Fantastic. Very authentic,” Carl answers.

  I don’t bother answering as, let’s face it, I barely got a taste.

  “Would you like to order some dessert? We have homemade Italian pastries.”

  “Oh God, I couldn’t possibly fit another thing,” Carl says as he rubs his flat belly. Fucker.

  Gritting my teeth, I try to fight the urge to jump over the table and strangle him.

  “Well, maybe Harper would like something,” Tate says to Carl.

  “No thanks,” I say, my voice cold and disinterested. What’s the point? He’ll probably eat it anyway. I just want this nose-dive of a date to be over.

  Tate leaves the table, and Carl and I say our goodbyes. Carl tells me he’ll call, and we then have an awkward hug. There’s no way I’ll be answering when that number appears.

  Sitting back in my chair, I take a deep breath. Thank God it’s over. I grab my phone from my purse and enter Carl’s number under contact ‘Do NOT Answer.’ I made it a point to not give out my address or phone number to the guys I met online. I don’t need that kind of backfire later. As I’m typing furiously, a plate is placed down in front of me and Tate takes the seat opposite mine once again.

  A cone-shaped pastry sits in front of me with what looks like custard spilling out of it.

  “What’s this?” I ask Tate, not able to take my eyes off the perfect pastry.

  “Cannoncini alla Crema Pasticcera.”

  I raise my eyebrows at him.

  “I thought you might be hungry. Noticed you didn’t get much dinner.”

  “You saw that?” I ask, surprised.

  “Uh, yeah, your anger was radiating all the way behind the front counter. I can’t believe he didn’t pick up on it.”

  “Right!”

  “I actually thought at one point you were going to stab him with your fork.” I laugh, knowing how right he is, and feeling a rush of affection. “You actually had your fork raised and aimed in his direction at one point.”

  I stare longingly at the dessert Tate so thoughtfully brought for me.

  “I’m sorry. I would’ve made you something more substantial but Maurice has left, and I can’t work the commercial kitchen to save my life.” He grins sheepishly. “Please.” He gestures to the cake.

  Don’t have to tell me twice. I pick up the pastry and take a huge bite. I can’t help but moan out loud. Not only am I completely starving, but also, this is the yummiest thing I have ever eaten.

  The custard oozes out all over my fingers, and I don’t even think twice before licking it all off, finger by finger, my tongue running up the length of them all. I moan again before meeting Tate’s wide eyes.

  “Jesus, Daisy. If I knew the show you were going to put on, I never would’ve offered you and numbnuts dessert,” Tate says shifting in his seat.

  “Tate,” I admonish as I put the rest of the pastry back on the plate, suddenly self-conscious about eating in front of him. Not that there’s much left; my big bite took more than half the cone.

  “Please don’t stop on my account. Seriously, Daisy, why in the hell are you so desperate for dates? You bat-shit crazy or something? Fuck, I’ll take you back to my apartment right now.”

  “That’s exactly why.” I laugh mirthlessly. “I don’t have a problem finding guys who want to sleep with me; actually, I’m a magnet for that type. The issue is they want to keep sleeping with everyone else, too.”

  Tate’s face drops, and his jaw tightens as he sits eerily still and stares at me. So still I can see the muscle in his jaw tick and the pulse in his neck throb.

  My eyes travel, and I can’t help but appreciate the sight in front of me. Butterflies stir low in my belly and warmth moves up my cheeks. Great, another completely inappropriate crush for me to harbour.

  No matter how good looking he is, though, I can’t let anything happen with Tate Washington.

  Walking into the coffee shop the following night I’m much more positive than when I left the previous night, with hope for much better luck on this date.

  Regardless, I have decided to not only order a meal but a few sides as well, just in case. I’m not going hungry again tonight.

  “Daisy,” Tate calls out from behind the bar. “You’ve decided to come back. Another date?” He chuckles.

  I want to slink away in embarrassment but decide to straighten my shoulders and lift my head instead. “Yes, I have another date.” At least I’m out there, finding a way to get what I want instead of sitting home alone crying into my Captain Crunch.

  “Did I hear Daisy’s here?” a strong accented voice comes from the kitchen.

  Tate smiles sheepishly as a short but large man comes barrelling out of the kitchen.

  “Daisy,” he calls.

  I look around anxiously, not sure what to say.

  “Maurice, stop,” Tate says, exasperated. A pinched expression on his face doesn’t hide the love shining from his eyes for the old man.

  “Harper, this is Maurice. He runs the kitchen here.”

  “Harper,” the man bellows as he makes his way towards me. “Tate has told me so much about you.” I wonder how much Tate could have possibly told him, seeing as he doesn’t really know me. Maurice wraps his large arms around my tiny frame, and something tells me I have no choice but to hug him back. So, I do.

  My eyes meet Tate’s, who is standing to the side, and he raises his eyebrows at me. I shrug and continue my hold on Maurice.

  Maurice finally pulls away, and I smile sweetly at the old man. “Lovely to meet you.”

  “Tate tells me you had a disappointing date last night.” He frowns.

  Heat rises in my cheeks. “Yeah, something like that.”

  “He also said he asked you out, and you refused?”

  I laugh loudly. “He didn’t ask me out in the conventional sense.”

  “Ah, yes, I’m sure. Our boy talks tough, but it’s all an act to keep people away. Don’t fall for it.”

  My eyes immediately find Tate’s, whose are wide and horrified.

  “Okay, enough, old man.” He pushes Maurice back towards the kitchen. “Don’t you have orders to fill?”

  Maurice chuckles. “Okay, boss,” he says and gives me a wink before he turns and heads back into the kitchen.

  I look at Tate with wide eyes—Maurice called him boss—but Tate shrugs and rolls his eyes, as if Maurice has lost the plot.

  “Crazy old coot,” Tate says, smiling fondly. “I only keep him around because he was my grandpa’s best friend, and not only has he worked here for fifty years, but he’s the best cook I know.”

  “I like him,” I beam as we make our way towards a table.

  “So, back for more punishment?” He smirks.

  “It wasn’t that bad,” I mumble. “It could’ve been worse.”

  Tate laughs. “So, who’s tonight then?”

  “His name is Tom. He is a little bit older, but I think a mature man could work for me. He’s an accountant.”

  “Boring.”

  “You can’t know that.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  “Everybody knows that, Daisy. Accountants are dead boring. Wouldn’t you be, if your job was numbers and figures all day?”<
br />
  I couldn’t really argue. Also, come to think of it, Brantley, the accountant from Argo, was undeniably boring.

  “Maybe,” I shrug, non-committal.

  Tate laughs at my expense again as he gestures to the table. “Take a seat. I’ll bring your chai tea latte out to you.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter.

  I set myself down onto the chair, and it’s not long before Tate sits down across from me, placing my drink in front of me before he leans back and sips his own coffee, as he did the night before.

  “Break?” I raise my eyebrows.

  “Yep,” he pops the P. “It’s my new favourite time of the day.” His smile is wide and genuine and lights up his face. He really is stunning, and I can’t help but run my gaze over his jawline, following the hard lines.

  As my eyes make their way back to his mouth, a tongue pokes out. I flinch back in my seat and meet his eyes, which are shining with glee. Busted again.

  He laughs, and I don’t hold back from laughing with him.

  “Whatever. You know you’re hot.” I roll my eyes.

  “Jesus, Daisy, don’t hold back. Though, I won’t lie, I’ve noticed how you look at me.” His cocky smirk is back, and I want nothing more than to slap it right off his face.

  “Why do you keep calling me that?”

  “What?” He fakes confusion. The glint in his eyes conveys that he knows exactly what I’m talking about.

  “Daisy. Why do you keep calling me Daisy?”

  “Ahhhh.” He nods. “We all have our secrets, and I’m going to keep this one to myself.”

  I glare and Tate stands, picking up his coffee cup. “Enjoy your date, Daisy.”

  Just as Tate’s ‘break’ has become his new favourite time of day, watching him walk away has become mine. My perfect, round, and tight view is interrupted as a short body covered in a cheap suit blocks my vision.

  Standing to greet my date, I rise until we are face to face, his eyes directly meeting mine. I look him up and down—I don’t know what for. Maybe I’m expecting him to shoot up a foot or maybe for me to shrink down.

  I take note of the wrinkles around his eyes, his worn skin, and his bald head. Tom here must have under exaggerated on his age. Thirty-five? I think he lost ten years somewhere.

  “Hi, Tom?” I extend my hand to his.

  “Harper,” he grumbles as he shakes my hand limply.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask, perplexed by his less-than-happy introduction.

  I sit down carefully in my seat as Tom flops down into his.

  “Yes.” He sighs deeply. “Well, actually, no . . .”

  “What can I get you guys?” interrupts Tate.

  I’m thankful for the interruption, even if only to have a minute to get my head around what’s going on here.

  Am I not what he expected? The old, short, bald man who clearly lied about his age and perhaps stole his nephew’s—son’s, even—profile picture. What in the hell is going on here?

  Tate leaves once he has taken our orders, and I glance his way quickly to notice him walking backwards. When our eyes meet, he mouths hot as he gives me two thumbs-up.

  I bring my gaze back to Tom. His eyes have watered up and a lone tear falls down one cheek.

  “What is going on?” I ask, exasperated. What in the hell have I missed? I know it’s not confusion over my profile picture. I purposefully made sure I picked one which represented the real me and wasn’t misleading.

  “My wife left me.”

  “Today?”

  “No,” he says glumly. “Three years ago.”

  “Okay . . .” I have no idea where this is going. Surely, he’s gotten over it by now.

  “She phoned me today to let me know she is getting remarried. She is telling the kids tonight and wanted me to know first.” Kids. Funny they weren’t mentioned on his profile. They’re likely my age. Ewww, change the subject Harper.

  “I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s been a tough month,” he complains. Tears fall rapidly down his cheeks. He pulls a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and blows his nose loudly into it. I cringe and scrunch my nose up in revulsion.

  Nodding, I quickly school my features, trying to look sympathetic when all I can think about is how I am going to get the hell out of here. I could make a run for it. I consider it for a moment as I glance longingly at the door behind me.

  When I turn back towards Tom, more tears have slipped down his face.

  “I lost my job earlier this month. They said I was making the other staff uncomfortable.”

  I continue nodding, while looking around the café rapidly, looking for anything or anyone to save me.

  “My car broke down last week, and I have no money to fix it.”

  The waitress approaches, and I look up at her with pleading eyes as she places our orders down on the table. She gives me a sympathetic smile and a pat on the shoulder, but walks away regardless.

  “My gerbil died a couple days ago.” I flinch back in disgust. A gerbil? I push my food away, knowing I’m not going to be eating on this date.

  “I can’t seem to catch a break,” he sobs.

  A box of tissues land on the table in front of us, and I look up to see Tate glaring down at me. “Pull yourself together, dude,” he spits at Tom, but doesn’t take his angry eyes off me.

  Tom ignores Tate’s presence and grabs a few tissues from the box before he cries into them, clearly having already saturated his handkerchief.

  His complaining and pity party goes on and on for what feels like hours. He is crying uncontrollably now. Like full-on, wracking sobs while I sit here, elbow on the table, head resting on my hand, daydreaming about a million other things.

  Well, not a million other things, just one. Tate. I watch him work, not taking my eyes off him for a second. The way he struts around the café . . . I don’t even think he realises he walks like that. I imagine that exact walk but naked—seeing that tight ass without the thick denim covering it.

  I narrow my eyes on his tattoo-covered arms. I want to see them up close, study the art, and find out what they all mean. I envision where they lead. Where else on his body do they cover him. Of course, he has to be naked in my thoughts to see all this. Are his chest and his back covered, too? Good God, his legs maybe?

  I’m in such a daze watching Tate I don’t see the tall blonde enter the café until she is by his side. Her long, thin arm reaches out and she wraps her fingers around Tate’s forearm. I’m aware of Tom and can still hear his wails, but I focus on Tate and the Amazon woman.

  She may well be the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Hell, the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. She even makes Tate look a little shabby.

  He turns his head, his eyes wide as her touch lands on his arm, and I sit on the edge of my seat, waiting to see what happens next. Who is she? His reaction should tell me all I need to know.

  Before Tate shows any emotion his head continues around, and his sharp blue eyes meet mine. I’m caught blatantly staring, and quickly flip around in my seat to face Tom once more.

  I don’t think he has even stopped for a breath, let alone to notice I haven’t been paying him any attention at all. My body heats with the need to look at Tate. To see him and God’s best creation, and how they’re interacting.

  Instead, I keep my eyes fixed on Tom and go back to nodding along.

  I don’t notice Tate approach until I hear his voice. “It’s time to go. I’m closing early tonight.”

  Startling at his words, I glance around and notice there is no one else left in the café besides us. She’s gone. Tate’s closing early. Is he leaving with her? Ughhh, I shouldn’t even care.

  Picking up my purse, I stand to leave. Tom goes to step towards me, and Tate takes a step forward to block him. I narrow my eyes at Tate in confusion, but his face is blank as he takes another step to the side to block Tom once more.

  Tom frowns at Tate but doesn’t say anything. “Well, it was great to meet yo
u, Harper. I hope we can do this again sometime.”

  My mouth drops open. Hell, no. Were we on the same date? “Sure,” I say, instead. Tate’s eyes go wide, and I shake my head. It’s not going happen, but I can’t be bothered going through any more awkwardness. This date has wrung me dry.

  I watch Tom walk away and wait until he leaves, not wanting to be caught out front with him.

  “I’m sorry for keeping you,” I mumble to Tate. I don’t look at him, but turn and walk away with my head down and shoulders slumped.

  Warm fingers wrap themselves around my wrist and halt my exit.

  “You don’t have to go. I just couldn’t watch it anymore,” Tate says quietly.

  I turn to him in surprise, and there’s a sad smile on his face. Laughing at the sight, I say, “It’s that pathetic, isn’t it?”

  Tate laughs with me. “It’s pretty fucking bad. Two for O, Daisy.”

  I slump down into my chair laughing, and Tate takes his usual spot opposite me. I notice he has already dimmed the lights, and the music, which usually flows quietly through the speakers, has been turned off. My eyes move swiftly around the café. I’m not sure if I’m expecting the blonde to jump out or what.

  I look back to Tate and can read the pity on his face. “Oh, my God,” I groan as I lay my head on the table. “This is way harder than I thought it would be. I must be doing it wrong.”

  “I don’t know if you can do online dating wrong.” He laughs. “I just think you need to screen better.”

  “What do you mean?” I lift my head to look at him.

  “Well, for example, as soon as you said Tom was an accountant, I told you it meant he was boring.”

  “Well, he definitely wasn’t boring. He actually had a lot going on.”

  Tate raises his eyebrows at me, not at all impressed with my joke. “That was a red flag for me, Harper. You need to look for these more often. As soon as you see a red flag, cut and run.”

  “Have you done this before? You sound like you have experience.”

  “No.” He laughs. “I don’t need online dating to get a date.”

  My stomach drops and so does my face, my lips drooping into a frown. I’m sure he doesn’t. I bet Amazon woman doesn’t, either.