It's Not About You Read Online Free PDF Page A

Sam and Debbie were already wiping down the empty tables, sweeping, mopping, refilling sugar, cinnamon and nutmeg and discussing what they'd be doing after work.  
    I was in the back, double checking my counts. Based off the week before's performance, the inventory, debits and credits, it looked like we had everything we needed.  
    "Hey Grace?" Sam stepped into the back as she untied her orange apron. "Is it okay if I clock out early? I'm opening up for Flower in the morning—she's got that doctor's appointment, remember? But she'll be in like half an hour later. My ride's here and I'd rather not make him wait."  
    "He being a bastard about it?" Yeah. I talked like that to everyone. The employees found it kinda fun. The manager had a potty mouth. I just kept myself and them from saying it to and around customers.  
    Sam was a cute girl, with one of those cool bobs that hung short at the back of her neck and then went long below her chin in the front. She was thin and all angles and I hoped she grew into herself before she hit twenty-five.  
    "Yeah…he hates waiting."  
    "You know, I can always take you home. You don't live that far from me and then he wouldn't have to wait."  
    "Oh no. No. Its okay. He wants to do it." She gave me a half smile and grabbed her time card.  
    "Oh…leave it. I'll clock you out."  
    "Thanks Grace!" She finished putting her stuff away, grabbed her coat and headed out the door.  
    I counted to five before Debbie came and said what she said every night. "I don't like her boyfriend. He's an asshole."
    "Yeah well," I said as I nodded and put the books in the desk and locked the drawer. "We know that. But we can't actually do an intervention until she wants one."
    Debbie Hollinger was a super model. Well…she looked like one. Brunette, all shapely curves and heavy lips. Deep brown eyes stared at me from impossibly pale skin. She was a freshman in college and was having a hard time balancing work with studying and boys. Her problem was boys. Lots of them. And they all liked to hang out at Trade In Beans . "Well, if she ever comes in here with bruises, I'm going to call the cops and report abuse."  
    "You and me, both," I said and smiled as she winked. We both heard the bell over the door jingle and she headed head back to the front.  
    Bruises and abuse. It wasn't the first time she'd declared that to me. She was looking out for her friend. But how could I tell her that abuse came in many forms, and sometimes the bruises were on the inside?
    I was finishing up with the POS system when Debbie came to the door. "Hey, this guy wants to buy what's left over in the case. But he wants it at a discount."  
    "Really?" I logged and stood, brushing my apron off. "What's left?"
    "Not much. Just a few scones, a brownie and one of those cheese cakes. I was taking them out for the donation box."  
    George and Bradford had an arrangement with Feed Atlanta Charities. Since it was bad business to sell stale, old goods, and it was wasteful to throw them out, we boxed them up and stuck them in the refrigerator for the next morning when someone from FAC picked them up.  
    I proceeded her back into the main room, ready to give the customer the spiel about paying for them at full price or they're donated—
    —and came face to face with Pretty Eyes.  
    A full week in the shop and I hadn't seen him, though I had thought of him occasionally. But since he didn't seem to be a regular—which I thought he was seeing as how George knew his name—I'd sort of brushed him to the back of the deck.  
    I paused for a second, causing Debbie to plow into my back—spectacularly. I glanced behind me before I continued to the counter. "Well, hello."  
    Recognition caught him off guard. He narrowed his eyes at me for a long second before his very attractive mouth pulled to the side and he pointed at me. "You were in line that day."  
    "Yes. I'm the old lady in line ahead of you."  
    He was still half shaven, longish