"Phew," I sighed.
Not 100% yet, but my legs work well enough to run the shop like old times.
It started a month ago. I'd finished closing up, sweeping the lot, when I tripped—smacked my hip hard.
"Ow!" I groaned, trying to stand, but my legs wouldn't budge. Panicking, I crawled to the door and yelled for my daughter.
Aoba's grumpy "What?" echoed from upstairs, but she bolted down when she saw me sprawled out—her freakout was worth watching. Leaning on her, I hobbled to the guest sofa, explaining I'd fallen and couldn't move my legs.
No pain, just dead weight—couldn't even get to the doc myself. I didn't want a fuss, but we called an ambulance anyway. Off-hours meant a big hospital, where they found a fractured femur.
No pain with a break? News to me after forty years—knowledge I'd rather not have earned. Surgery bolted it up, and after weeks of rehab, I'm back on my feet. Still stiff, but I can stand, walk, sit—shop's manageable. Aoba helps on off-days, so we're scraping by.
Today, she finished the lunch rush, made herself a sandwich, and headed upstairs. It's past 3 PM now—shop runs 7 to 4. Late stragglers are rare, so I started wiping tables when the bell jingled.
"Wel… come! One? Sit anywhere," I called.
"Yes," he replied.
I deserve a medal for not gasping. A jaw-dropping pretty boy stood there—ten years younger, I'd have pounced; twenty, I'd have tackled him on the spot. You dodged a bullet, kid—lucky, I mused, ducking behind the counter. Grabbing water, I snuck my phone out and texted Aoba. A stud like this? Rare. Time for some mother-daughter eye candy.
'Emergency! Get down here NOW'—sent in five seconds.
Thirty seconds later: 'Sleepy'. She's still a flick-input snail.
Forget that. 'Hot guy alert! HOT GUY ALERT! You'll regret missing this!'—nine seconds.
Two seconds later, footsteps thundered. "…Mom? For real?" Aoba grumbled, tying her apron, looking pissed. Why?
"Look, over there—young guy at the back booth, facing away. Go gawk up close. Here, water. Take his order—get his number, sizes, girlfriend count too!" I shoved the tray at her.
"…I'm good. You go, Mom—you love hot guys," she shot back.
"Helping the shop's enough filial piety. Go!"
"Ugh," she groaned, taking the tray and trudging to the booth.
She's all tough, but she's as guy-shy as I was young. She'll blush and fumble—I'd tease her later. Peeking, though—
"Welcome!" she bellowed.
That idiot—yelling like that? She's a nervous wreck. I braced for him to storm out, but he started chatting—he was the eager one. Huh?
Aoba ties her apron tight to downplay her chest, but she'd rushed—loose now, those pointless mounds on full display. Guys always stare there; I figured he'd balk.
Nope—talking away, all smiles. When did my girl turn pickup pro? He might spill his digits and stats—I watched, hyped. Hell, push him onto the sofa! I'd slap a "Closed" sign up and lock the door for her and my future grandkid, stiff leg be damned.
"…Mix sandwich, toasted. Coffee too," she said, strolling back.
"Coward," I muttered.
"Huh? What?" she snapped.
I tossed bread in the toaster, chopping veggies, but gave her props. "Didn't know you had pickup skills."
"…Wasn't picking up."
"You two were chummy."
"I wasn't having fun."
"Quit fronting… Wait, huh?" I paused. He'd sounded chipper—she'd been dodging. "No guy immunity turns you that timid? That's a once-in-a-lifetime shot—grab his number! He's into you!"
Her chest's a curse—over a hundred centimeters, we both wrestle to hide it daily. But he didn't care—kept chatting, her twin peaks right in his face as she stood by his table. No way he missed them. That's why she bolted—didn't want a stud ogling her rack.
"Don't think chances knock twice! Listen, or you'll regret it!" I pressed.
"…What do I do?"
"Spill coffee—offer cleaning cash, say you'll apologize later, snag his contact!"
"That's nuts! It'd never work!" she protested.
Giving up before trying? That pisses me off. She's my kid for a reason.
I pointed at her face, silent.
"What?" she blinked.
"That's how I got you."
Proof's right here.
"…Seriously? Dad got jumped?"
"Don't make it sound bad! It started messy, but it was love—relax!"
Last saw him two years ago—hope he's fine. Timid guy, probably knocked up someone else by now. I've got Aoba, so no leash needed.
She froze at the bombshell. I smacked her butt.
"Ow!"
"Forget old tales—focus on now!" I scolded her cluelessness. "Love underdogs like us can't be picky—this world's brutal!"
"Am I… getting lectured?"
"Here—sandwich, coffee, your latte. Can't spill? Ask to chat and sit with him!"
"…Won't that scare him off?"
"He might not come back anyway—strike hard first go!"
She's too soft. A top-tier stud unbothered by her chest? A unicorn. Her green years don't see it.
Bang him, and it's solved—don't, and you're stuck. I handed her the tray.
"You're not bad-looking—push hard, and you've got a shot!"
"…So I'm pretty like you?"
"Wish you took after me more."
"That confidence? Respect," she deadpanned.
Truth—Aoba's dad was sweet, not hot. Genes don't lie.
"Go—forget closing time," I said.
"…Fine," she sighed, heading off.
She served, swapped a few words, and—bam—sat down. Nice! I fist-pumped behind the counter. Grandkid odds? If she pops one young, great-grandkids are in play. Am I winning life?
I'd treat them to oyakodon right now, my heart racing—calm down, watch. His face was hidden, but Aoba seemed into it. Laughter bubbled up; she's a pickup ace. They leaned in, vibing—I could crash at a manga café and leave them to it.
But five minutes to close, he stood, bringing the receipt to me. Aoba, what the hell!? Say it's on us and wink him back! I hid my panic, sliding to the register with a service smile.
He smiled back, handing it over. Wait—he's into me? Parent-child combo meal?
"Thanks—it was great. Sorry for staying late," he said.
Polite as hell. Endangered species alert.
"No, sorry—hope our girl didn't bug you," I replied.
"Not at all! Natsuki-san… Aoba-san's helped me tons at school."
"Huh?"
He knows her?
(A/N: You hear that? That's the sound of me busting down your front door, grabbing you by your collar and screaming in your face... "Where are the Powerstones reader, where are the POWERSTONES?!?!?!?!?!"
Remember, if we reach 50 Powerstones, I'll post an extra chapter.)