Hitman Daddy by Aster Rae

5

Christian

"Here you go, Mrs. Samuelson."

My heart fills with warmth as I slide the cup of dairy-free raspberry ice cream across the counter to my favorite customer Mrs. Samuelson.

She's a delightful retiree who loves long walks in the park Saturday mornings with her grandson Tommy.

Her favorite order is a cup of iced hazelnut coffee and a small bowl of dairy-free ice cream for her grandson.

Right now, she's sipping coffee as her grandson eyes the doughnuts with lust in his eyes.

I let out a laugh.

"Tell me which one you want."

Tommy looks up at me with big blue eyes. He points to the gluten-free apple strudel in the middle of the shelf. "That one."

"Great choice." I wink as I grab the delicious donut with plastic tongs and slide it into a paper bag.

Tommy lets out a gleeful laugh as I hand him the bag and Mrs. Samuelson rolls her eyes.

"You know he shouldn't eat pastries in the morning."

"You only live once, Mrs. Samuelson."

"I'm afraid I'll have to take an IOU for the doughnut," she confesses. "I only brought enough for ice cream and coffee."

She holds up a five-dollar bill.

It takes everything in me not to chuckle.

"You're my favorite customer. You come in here every weekend and you always leave a great tip. The doughnut is free today."

"It's so good," Tommy groans as he sinks his teeth into the apple strudel.

"Say thank you." Mrs. Samuelson nudges her grandson’s ribs as she winks at me.

"Thank you, Mr. Christian," Tommy mumbles through a mouthful of strudel.

My heart overflows with sweetness.

I want to laugh but I content myself with a sip of my morning latte instead.

"I'll see you both next weekend."

When my two favorite customers in the universe exit the shop, Rowan, my favorite coworker, turns to me.

"You're never going to get promoted if you give all our goods away for free." Rowan gives me the side eye.

I take a sip of my sugar-free vanilla latte and cock an eyebrow at Rowan. "It's called maintaining customer loyalty. Those two could go to any ice cream shop in the Bronx but they choose to come here. When someone is that supportive of your business, you do everything you can to reward them."

Rowan heads to the ice cream counter and pulls the scoop out of the warm water.

After drying it on a fresh towel, he helps himself to a bowl of chocolate chunk ice cream and dumps it into a paper cup which he promptly fills with coffee.

As he sips his chocolate monstrosity, he turns to me. "Those apple strudels cost forty-five-cents to make and they’re our least-profitable item. Next time, offer him a cookie."

Rowan is obviously saying that because our delicious gluten-free cookies cost next to nothing to make. They’re scrumptious, sugary, and cheap, which is why we reserve trays to give away for free.

My favorite part of the day is when kind people wander in looking for ice cream and I can brighten their day with a free cookie.

Rowan is obviously salty AF because I'm going to get Employee of the Month again.

"Don't be jealous that I go above and beyond for our customers," I joke.

“You're being manipulated by an eight-year-old and you don't even know it. I'm trying to give you a set of balls."

I roll my eyes even though I know Rowan is totally right.

Rowan and I share more similarities than I can count. We’re basically the same age – he turns nineteen in August – and we're both into the same things.

Little things.

We've had countless conversations about how hard it is to find a decent Daddy in the city and how futile it is posting on Reddit.

We're even into the same types of onesies — the ones with dinosaurs.

While Rowan is partial to the cretacean age, I like the dinosaurs that existed before his favorites evolved.

He even has a giant book with tons of dinosaurs that we flip through when traffic is low.

We haven't hung out outside of the shop yet but I consider Rowan one of my closest friends.

Rowan sweeps behind the counter as he takes intermittent sips of his chocolate ice cream coffee.

I wipe the register down, clean the windows, and refill the doggy water bowl we put in front of the shop to help thirsty canines on sweltering days.

I grab the tin of home-baked gluten-free treats we keep beneath the cash and dump a handful into a stainless-steel bowl, then place it next to the water.

When I suggested having a "doggy station" outside of the shop at our employee meeting two weeks ago, my boss acted upon the idea at once.

It's a way to distinguish ourselves from established ice cream shops like Dairy Queen and similar chains.

It's local. Wholesome. Friendly.

It's also a way to distinguish ourselves in a crowded marketplace where you must do everything you can to set yourself apart.

When I finish refilling the doggy station, I head back into the shop.

Rowan grins when he sees me coming.

"I've managed to steer clear of this subject all morning,” Rowan says, “but my curiosity is killing me. What the hell happened Friday night?"

My cheeks flush pink.

Yesterday morning, I confessed to Rowan that I met a dark and mysterious stranger at Crave.

I didn't fill him in on the deets, but I gave him enough info to pique his interest.

Now he wants to know the rest of the story.

"A bouncer accosted me and checked my ID. Tristan and I ran before he could call the cops."

"That doesn't sound like the full story."

It's not.

My experience with the mystery man was so much more.

Butterflies burst into existence in my chest as I recall my interaction with him.

I barely stayed standing when those deep, powerful brown eyes made contact with mine while he admonished me for sneaking into the nightclub.

He was so strong.

Ferocious.

His muscles bulged in his tight-fitting suit and made me nearly want to swoon with warm fuzzies.

"I thought he was cute," I confess. "But he's a bouncer. He referred to the club as ‘his baby.’ When he found out that I was lying about my age, he'd have an obligation to report me to the authorities. The club could lose its liquor license."

"Is that why you left?"

"Sort of.” The memories of Friday night come crashing back. "I also couldn't stand the warm fuzzies."

Rowan winks at me. "It sounds like he looked at you like a T-Rex drooling over a happy herbivore. He was probably heartbroken that you ran."

A wave of warmth washes over me and my cheeks flush for two reasons.

First, the obvious. If the man at the club really looked at me that way, I screwed up my chance to be with someone so hot.

But I'm also getting shy for another reason.

Dinosaurs.

Rowan knows better than to mention dinosaurs around me.

"You can't mention dinosaurs when we’re on the clock," I growl.

I'll start to get shy.

I can already feel the warm fuzzies building in my chest.

Rowan lets out a sigh. "So I have to wait until we're off the clock to show you my new undies?"

"Fine. You can show me."

With a devilish wink, Rowan pulls out his phone and shows me a picture in his camera roll.

I nearly melt.

He has the most beautiful pair of dinosaur briefs I've ever seen.

"I need those. I'm so jealous."

Rowan laughs as he puts his phone away. "Find your own. These don't even have the dinos from your favorite era."

I force myself to forget it. "I'm ordering the same ones the second I get home from work."

"I'll send you the link on Etsy," Rowan jokes.

I make myself a second latte.

The caffeine and sugar-free vanilla syrup is an instant boost but my mind is still focused on the mystery man from Crave.

Is Rowan right to say he really wanted more with me?

Or did he approach me because he was upset that I put his boss' establishment at risk?

"Are you still thinking about the bouncer?" Rowan queries.

I nod. "Yes. But it's pointless." I stare at my toes. "I don't even know his name."

"You could always go back to the club," Rowan suggests.

“I don't think so.”

"Why not?"

"He has my ID."

“And?”

"He knows I'm not twenty-one. He'll kick me out the second he sees me."

That's when I see a dark figure walk through the door.