Page 167 of Faking the Goal

Because suddenly, Mom's entire demeanor changes.

Her shoulders slump. Her head dips. She reaches for the napkin beside her plate and dabs delicately beneath her nose.

I stare at her.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

"I suppose if we can't find anyone soon..." Mom lets out a small, weary sigh. "I'll just have to start covering more of it myself."

Taylor's brows immediately pull together. "But aren't you still recovering?"

"Yes, but what else can I do?" Another sigh, somehow even more pitiful than the first. "I've already been doing a little more than my doctor would probably like."

It's complete bullshit.

There isn't a chance in hell I'd let Mom spend hours hauling boxes around the stockroom while she's still recovering, and she knows it.

Taylor looks from her to me, clearly trying to figure out whether this is actually as bad as Mom is making it sound.

I give her a resigned shrug. "I'd help, but hockey starts back up soon. Once practices pick up again, I won't have enough time to cover everything."

Mom doesn't even look at me, but I catch the tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth.

Taylor worries her bottom lip between her teeth, looking painfully conflicted. Eventually, she closes her eyes and lets out a long sigh.

"Fine. Okay." She opens them again. "I'll work at the café."

I have to press my lips together to keep from grinning.

Mom has no such restraint.

She immediately claps her hands together. "Perfect!"

Taylor blinks at the sudden disappearance of the frail, overworked woman from thirty seconds ago.

I look down at my coffee before she catches me laughing.

"And it works out so well," Mom continues happily. "You already live close by, and you can make your own schedule. Morning, afternoon, evening—it doesn't matter. As long as the inventory stays organized and the new deliveries are unpacked and shelved, you can work around your classes and everything else you have going on."

"I can just come in whenever?"

"Within reason," Mom says with a smile. "You tell me what days and hours work for you, and we'll figure it out."

Taylor looks genuinely surprised by that.

"And you won't have to spend your whole shift dealing with customers," Mom adds. "Most of what we need help with is in the back. Inventory, deliveries, organizing the books before they go onto the shelves. The stockroom stays locked, and only staff can get back there."

The café already has cameras covering the entrances and the main floor, and the back area isn't somewhere a random customer can wander into unnoticed. She'd be working somewhere controlled, surrounded by people who know her, instead of walking around a dark fucking club full of strangers.

Mom gestures around us. "We have cameras everywhere, and if you decide to work in the evening, Ken-chan can come straight here after practice and keep you company until you finish."

Taylor glances at me.

I finally let the grin I've been fighting break through.

Her eyes narrow.

"Were you two just working together to guilt-trip me into this?"