Happily Ever After: A Romance Collection

by Amelia Wilde

  “Unbelievable!” I shout into the empty store.

  This would happen to me. Mr. Sex On Two Legs moves to town, seems into me, and then turns out to be my worst enemy.

  I lock the door and check it twice. There can be no lights, even now, because it would bring people flocking. Even now, they’re out there on the sidewalks, looking for any sign that businesses are open. A bunch of them are. Not me. If I have to make one more latte today my soul will explode like an overworked espresso machine.

  Cleaning in the dark it is.

  I pull out the disinfecting spray and start with the big things first. Dash did his best to keep up with me, but there are still random mugs littered everywhere. Can you believe that? Some people still wanted to sit at the tables in here and on the sidewalk and drink out of a real cup, never mind the hordes. There’s still smoothie mix spattered everywhere. Smoothie boxes were harmed in the making of the first summer weekend in Lakewood. How did I not know? Even the waitress at Good Eats knew about the big Fish-Off. She did seem a little bewildered by the size of the crowd. I’m going to look into that. Maybe we made a list of the top ten random towns in New York to visit.

  I scrub and scrub, my back aching. The mats on the floor do an okay job of buffering my feet from the hard tile floor, but I’ve been tamping down espresso into portafilters since the dawn of time, and it’s taking its toll.

  How could he?

  The thought rattles around in my brain, echoing again and again in time with the sanitizer. I have so many questions. Why didn’t he tell me that he was moving here to be my direct competitor? Why did he bail me out today if he’s only going to open a shop across the street? People will be into the novelty. This place will go under in a second. It’s barely hanging on as it is.

  It was only a little awkward at Good Eats, when I shoved the rest of my sandwich into my mouth, got up, and left. Not quite yet, he’d said. And I’d mumbled never through the sandwich and walked away with my head held high.

  When the bathroom toilet is scrubbed, and the floors are mopped, I wash my hands in the sink for a luxurious several minutes and get on the phone. First call, Leonard. He answers on the first ring.

  “Ellery,” he says, sounding wary.

  “I got your delivery,” I tell him. “Thanks.”

  “But?”

  “You know what I’m going to say. This weekend’s the first big Fish-Off in Lakewood history. I’m totally slammed, and it’ll be the same tomorrow.”

  “How much do you need?”

  This is beginning to sound illicit. I eye the bags on the front counter. “If you don’t want to keep driving back here every two hours, I’ll need at least five bags of coffee. Same of espresso.”

  “They’re micro-batches, Ellery, I can’t just—”

  “Leonard, look. I appreciate the craft here, but at this point, I’m making a daily announcement that we’re out of coffee. How do you think that looks in a coffee shop?”

  There’s a pause. “Not good.” He half-stifles a sigh. “I’ll get on it tonight, okay? I’ll swing by again in the morning. How’s your aunt?”

  “She’s doing all right.” I think. “Thanks, Leonard.”

  No sooner have I hung up the phone than it rings again. Medium Roast doesn’t get a lot of calls as a general rule, so my guess is pretty good.

  “Medium Roast, Lakewood’s Premier Coffee Shop,” I say into the phone.

  “Ellery,” answers my aunt. That’s all it takes. Things are not good down in Bradenton.

  “Aunt Lisa,” I say, injecting every ounce of chipper into my tone that I possibly can. However tired I am, she sounds a thousand times more exhausted. “How are you?”

  “Oh, I’m fine, I’m fine.” There’s a lingering pause. “Fred’s mother isn’t doing well. She’s having trouble healing. You know, her hip—” A lump comes to my throat at the sound of her struggle. She’s always been the one helping other people, not burdening them with her problems. I don’t know how to assure her that it’s no burden. “It’s hard on Fred. You know how he is.” I do know. It must be killing him that he can’t fix this.

  “I’m so sorry,” I murmur into the phone. “Are you doing all right? You know, I’m sure my dad would come down if—”

  “No, no,” she says with a subdued laugh. “I’d never want to take David away from his work.”

  “His work is a farm.” Yes. My father did quit his job as a software developer to become a farmer when I was halfway through high school. Don’t ask me why. Something about loyalty to the land. “I’m sure the animals can survive for a few—”

  “How’s everything at Medium Roast?” Her tone turns wistful. “I wish I was there. I always loved the summers in Lakewood.”

  “It’s…” God, I’ve never been so torn in my life. I want to tell her that things are crazy. I want to ask her for a little more leeway with the suppliers. But is now the best time, when she’s clearly looking for good news? “It’s busy,” I say, settling somewhere in the middle. “We’ve been running out of cups and lids.” I chuckle a little to make it seem zany instead of worrisome.

  It makes Aunt Lisa laugh. “You never can tell with that shop,” she says as if she’s talking about a wayward child who she still loves dearly. “Customers don’t seem to mind. Gives the place a little character.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “I’m working on the financials for last month as soon as I get a minute,” she barrels on. “Your paychecks are coming through all right?”

  Before she left, she set up a new direct deposit system for me. It was easy because there are no other employees. “Yes, they’re fine. But I think we’re going to need a few more people on staff. Honestly, Aunt Lisa, it’s—”

  “I know. Busy on the weekends, dead during the week. It’s a tough call.” I can practically see her thinking face over the phone. “If you can find a person to help you on the weekends, that might be all right.”

  “It’s not only the weekends, but—” How do I phrase this gently?

  Someone calls for her in the background. “I’ll be right there, Fred. Anything else, Ellery? I’m sorry we don’t have much time to talk.”

  “No. Nope, everything else is fine.”

  “I love you, sweetheart.”

  “Love you—” There’s a click as she hangs up mid-sentence.

  I stand in the silence and stare across at the boarded-up storefront across the street.

  All of this pales in comparison to the biggest question of all.

  Why do I still want him?

  14

  Dash

  Rosie claps her hands and squeals when Norma opens the door.

  That didn’t take long.

  “Thanks for doing this,” I tell her. “It’ll take a couple of hours to go over the renovations.”

  Norma smiles at me. “It’s what I do,” she says, reaching out her hands for Rosie. “We have a good time.”

  She’s not lying. Rosie babbled about “Noa” all the way home yesterday evening. I tried to keep up the chatter while I stewed about Ellery.

  Our dinner date ended abruptly, which was my fault. I should have said something else about the shop. Come at it from a different angle. But after a day standing behind the counter at Medium Roast with her, I can’t understand for the life of me how the place is still open.

  Ellery is by far the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen, but sex appeal can’t help the fact that the store is ridiculously understaffed. She’s walking a tightrope every day when it comes to getting supplies. It has to be frustrating, but she never complained. It can only be good for her if I open up another shop. I smoothed over a lot of disgruntled feelings yesterday. Ellery is working in a powder keg. At the very least, I’ll take some of the pressure off.

  And if Medium Roast has to close? It’ll be all right. She can come work for me if that’s what it takes.

  I park in the alley behind my new store and walk around to the side door. From here, I can see the corner where Medium R
oast is. There’s a crowd for sure, but it’s a little less intense than yesterday’s. A little. Through the front window, I can see Ellery, hands flying, keeping up. She doesn’t look panicked. Not from here. Something tugs at my chest. I want to go in there. In fact, I will go in there, after this meeting. But she’s not going to accept my help again. Not now that she knows the truth.

  “Mr. Huxley,” comes a voice from over my shoulder. “You made it!”

  “I sure as hell did,” I say, sticking my hand out for Martin to shake. I met him once in the spring when I hired him and his crew to rework this building. For a long time, it was a clothing store. It sat empty for a couple of years during my grandfather’s decline. “Finally.”

  Martin steps out next to me, looking toward Medium Roast. He shakes his head. “That place,” he says. I’m not sure what the correct answer is, so I nod along. “You ready to see inside?”

  “More than ready.”

  Martin beams. “Let’s go.”

  I’m expecting dust. I’m expecting a few loose ends. Things to finish before I unleash my new business onto Lakewood.

  That’s not at all what I find when we walk inside.

  Martin goes ahead of me, pointing out everything. “So you’ve got your counter back here. Plenty of storage space. The under-counter fridges came last week, so we popped those in. Let me know when you get the big machine, and we’ll help with that too.”

  This place isn’t under construction. It’s done.

  The dark wood floors gleam. The tile in the kitchen area is brand new. Everything smells like fresh paint and promise.

  He leads me around the space. A side hallway leads to two restrooms, each with two stalls inside. “This used to be a shared corridor, but the other renters moved out, and it looks like your grandfather reclaimed it, so we bumped out here, and here—”

  It’s fucking amazing.

  It’s easily three times the size of Medium Roast, maybe four, and unlike that building, the paint on the walls isn’t starting to peel. There’s space and light. People are going to love this.

  I ignore a hard twist of guilt in the center of my chest. Maybe I had considered backing out of all this in the middle of last night, tossing and turning in my bed. Maybe I thought that if it wasn’t nearly finished, I could pivot, make a different decision, keep Ellery from being so betrayed.

  But this is ready to go. It’s up to me to take it the rest of the way.

  Martin brings us back to the center of the building and sticks his hands in his pockets. “What do you think?”

  I crane my neck to look in every possible direction. “What else do you have to finish?”

  “Nothing,” he says with a grin.

  “I—” I blink, trying to take it all in. “I got the impression there were still things to do.”

  He bobs his head proudly. “There were a couple of things, but we hurried over the weekend. I thought it’d be a nice surprise.”

  “It’s a great fucking surprise.”

  “Plus,” Martin says, his expression turning serious, “you’ve got to open. It’s pretty urgent, boss?”

  “What? Why?” My mind spins through all the different permits I had to get from the city, guidelines, deadlines. Did I miss something? Shit, did I miss something big?

  He juts his chin in the direction of Medium Roast. The whole building will be visible through our front windows once the construction plywood is down. The paint job on the front is gleaming. Medium Roast has a facade that’s almost too faded. “You’re losing money,” he offers. “That Fish-Off shit brought hundreds of people here, and they all want coffee. There’s not much else to do in Lakewood.” He laughs, the sound echoing off the walls. “It’s the perfect storm. But you don’t want to miss out on it. Could be like this every weekend.”

  Adrenaline hums in my veins. Of fucking course I want that. Of course I want to see this place full of people, full of life. Once this store is opened, it’ll be the start of everything. My grandmother’s dream will be real. Rosie’s future will be pleasant as hell. And I won’t have a spare moment to think about Serena, not ever again.

  You’re already forgetting her, whispers a voice in the back of my mind. And it’s not because of this coffee shop.

  That may be true, but the girl taking up all my brain space now probably hates me.

  We step back out into the alley, and I steal a glance over at Medium Roast. I started a thing with Ellery. I should finish it before things get really awkward. “If you need anything else, send me a text,” says Martin. “I’ve got another job.”

  I square my shoulders and prepare to cross the street. “Me too.”

  15

  Ellery

  Dash doesn’t know I can see him over there next to his shop. He’s in clear view, right in the alley, but he’s been looking too long to realize I’m looking back.

  In short glances, between customers.

  My heart pounds at the sight of him. Blue t-shirt showing off his muscles. Shorts in the summer heat. His chestnut hair catches rays of the sun as he steps out onto the sidewalk.

  Oh, God, he’s coming over here. He’s coming over here. What am I going to do?

  Sell him coffee, that’s what. No more, no less. He won’t have a reason to linger. Not today. I’m managing it, somehow. Maybe it’s that the crowd is a little better behaved than yesterday, but I’m keeping up. After that phone call, what else can I do?

  “One black coffee,” I say absently, my eyes still on his gorgeous form.

  “He’s hot,” the woman buying the coffee says. “Is he your boyfriend?”

  That snaps me back into reality. We’re both frozen, she with dollar bills in her hand, me waiting to receive them. “Uh, no. No, he’s not.” This customer is one of the cool ones. Her red hair is piled on top of her head in a bun, and she’s wearing the kind of sundress that I could never pull off—flowing and tie-dyed—without looking like a muumuu. She looks familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. She strikes me as the kind of person who would have been on the cross country team in high school. I can almost picture the way she runs.

  A little girl with fine hair rising around her face in little curls tugs at her hand. “Are we going to go to the beach?”

  We both look down at her. She’s a startlingly beautiful child. “Of course, sweet pea. I just need some coffee first.”

  It comes to me. “Valentine?”

  “Yeah!” she says, her face lighting up in a smile. “Do we know each other?”

  “Art class. I was a freshman and you were a senior. Ellie Collins.”

  “Ellie, oh, my god, I am so rude. How have you been?”

  I open my mouth and lie. “Good. Great. I’m back in town for a little while.”

  “We’re here on vacation,” Valentine says wistfully. “It’s the city life now.” She smiles again, her face transformed by joy. “I don’t mind it, though. Lots of restaurants.”

  I liked the restaurants, too. “Don’t I know it. Have a kickass vacation,” I say, feeling abjectly lame in her presence. She’s gracious and kind and not living here anymore. I failed at that too, but I keep my head held high. This is fine.

  I finish ringing her up and she glides toward the carafes on the counter. A man comes in from the side door, a dark-haired baby in one arm, and kisses her on the back of her neck. It’s so intimate and sweet that I look away. “You ready?” he asks her.

  “I’m ready!” cries the little girl. “Daddy, let’s go!”

  He gives the woman a look. “Let’s get this girl to the beach.”

  “Let’s get me to the beach.”

  I’m totally not jealous. Not even a little bit.

  There’s a lull. Another group—it looks like a family—is waiting outside the side door, but there aren’t any customers for the moment.

  Oh, Jesus, I forgot I was watching for Dash. It’s too late now to whip my head around and press my face up against the window, so instead, I turn away, playing it as cool as huma
nly possible. I grab the cleaning spray and wipe down the space in front of the espresso machine and the register, keeping my eyes on my own work.

  The door swooshes open, and I look up. Is my smile real enough? Why am I suddenly pretending that I didn’t know he was coming?

  He lets the door shut behind him and raises a hand in greeting. “Just me.”

  God, he is fine. I want to brush up against this traitor until all our clothes are on the floor. Yet I also hate him for what he’s about to do.

  “Welcome to Medium Roast, Lakewood’s premier and only coffee shop,” I tell him. “What can I get for you?”

  He sticks his hands in his pockets and tries not to smile. “I wanted to make sure you’re all right?”

  I point at my chest. “Me? I’m fine. Why would I not be fine?”

  “You left dinner in a rush.”

  “I heard some disturbing news, but I’m over it now.”

  He doesn’t take his eyes off mine. “I’m sorry about that.” The old man reading a paper at one of the tables gets up and shuffles toward the side door, tucking it laboriously under his arm as he goes. “I should have—”

  “Not decided to build a second coffee shop right across from this coffee shop?”

  Dash steps closer to the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “I think I made the right call on that.” He glances around Medium Roast, and a fierce defensiveness bubbles up in my gut. “This place is past its prime.”

  “If you don’t like it, you can leave any time.” My face burns. My aunt is doing her best with the repairs and general upkeep, but I’m not in charge of the purse strings. I can’t order the place renovated because it needs a new coat of paint.

  “I came in here to tell you that I shouldn’t have been flirting with you yesterday.”

  My breath hitches in my throat. Can this get any worse? Am I going to get dumped by a guy before we’ve even done anything? How much more salt does he want to pour in the wound? “You’ve said it. Now you can get out.”