by Amelia Wilde
Shit.
Someone like Ellie means finding someone who’s willing to brave the incendiary signage and learn how to make drinks all in forty-eight hours, and nobody has called about an application yet. The number for the store is on the sign in the window, but not a single person has taken me up on it.
It would be the nicest possible option if I could convince her to come work for me.
But that’s not going to happen. She’ll never abandon Medium Roast. There are other things, too, that I need to sort out in my mind. I understand why Ellie put down her camera, but it nags at me. I don’t want her to waste away behind a coffee counter forever. What about the things she dreams of? What about fulfillment beyond that janky little store?
It does give her time to dance, which is a true gift to the world, but other than that...
I shove my phone into my pocket and head for the door. I’ve got applications all ready to print. I’m not above standing out on the sidewalk to hand them to people if that’s what it takes.
Twenty minutes later, I’ve walked the three blocks to the print shop at the other end of downtown Lakewood. I’ve got work to do, whether the protesters—that’s what they are, standing over there with their sign—like it or not.
I check myself in the mirror before I go out. Hair, fine. Outfit, fine. It’s a t-shirt and jeans. I don’t look like the devil. Maybe if I show myself, they’ll stop thinking I’m out to destroy what’s apparently the cornerstone of all of Lakewood.
I take the stack of printed applications in my hand like a shield, square my shoulders, and go out through the side door, marching straight to the sidewalk.
Time to hire some baristas.
31
Ellery
I don’t see the sign at first because there are customers. There are so many customers compared to other summer Wednesdays that I finally ask one couple what brought them to Lakewood in the middle of the week like this.
“It’s a Destination,” says the woman—coffee, black—with a laugh, tossing her sandy hair over her shoulder. I can hear the capital letter in her voice.
“Right, a Destination,” I say, giving her an encouraging smile, like I might know what she’s talking about. “Who, uh...who said it was a destination?”
“You don’t know?” She lifts her oversized sunglasses so she can look at me with raised eyebrows. “I bet the internet is bad here,” she decides.
“It’s not bad, I just—”
“This town was on a list of New York’s best-kept secrets,” she says, leaning in, even though I clearly work here and we’re both standing here together, list or not. “It was on Secret Getaways dot com.” She flicks her eyes up and down my outfit. “You should check it out. They have style tips, too.”
I laugh out loud because this is my coffee outfit. Even if I was into fashion, which hasn’t been my top priority since I came back to Lakewood, it would have no place at a job where there’s more boiling water than most other places. The woman laughs, too, holding her to-go cup delicately in her hand. Her boyfriend, who looks like a city boy himself, wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her away.
So SecretGetaways.com rats out nice places to the entire world. You learn something new every day.
I’m in the middle of replacing an empty carafe when I notice the regulars out by the curb. It’s not out of the ordinary for them to stand around one of the outdoor tables. It’s Morris’s cane that catches my eye, banging on the concrete while he makes a point.
How long has it been? At least two hours, and they’re out there still.
At the front of the crowd is Walt O’Hannigan, who’s been in every single day since I started here. He comes in, he gets coffee, he leaves. He never struck me as any great fan of Medium Roast, but maybe I wasn’t paying attention...because he’s the one holding up a big sign by the curb. I’d bet ten dollars that it doesn’t say anything nice.
I cannot have this.
It’s time for at least one drastic measure.
There are three more people in line after the couple, but this can’t wait. “I am so sorry about this,” I say to the man who steps up to the counter next. “But there’s something sort of urgent I have to take care of outside. Are you here for drip or a latte?”
He starts to smile at me like a grade-A lecher, but my dead serious face must deter him. “Drip.”
I press a cup into his hand and dig out the sign from beneath the counter. This sign says back in five minutes. “I’ll be right back,” I tell him. The lady behind him lets out a heavy sigh, but give me a break, there’s a rebellion going on outside the shop, and I am not going to be the one who gets blamed for it.
It’s a gorgeous day outside, warm and sunny and clean, and people are milling around outside trying to see what the sign says and generally standing in the way of all humanity. A good half of them are tourists, but there must be thirty people out here blocking the sidewalk. I barge straight through them and up to Morris and Walt.
“Hey,” I shout over the voices. They’re going to hear me this time. “What are you doing?”
I inch my way out toward the curb. We’re about to hit the morning rush and cars are making their way through downtown, so I can’t step out into the traffic to read the sign. I have to crane my neck. I’m sure I look ridiculous.
“Evelyn!” cries Morris, pumping an ancient fist into the air. “We’re not going to let this stand!”
“What?”
I finally get a good look at the sign. It’s hand-done, and it says Lakewood’s ONLY coffee shop is HERE! in giant letters.
I look from one of them to the other. I can’t even shut my own mouth. “What is this?”
Walt pipes up. “We want people to know that Lakewood’s only coffee shop is right here, and it’s not going anywhere!”
“Walt!” I try to keep my voice under control. “There is another coffee shop opening across the street. It’s not the only one anymore.” I have to keep it together. There are tens of tourists hovering all around, and I can’t be the barista who freaked out in the middle of the sidewalk, much less at people who are defending her own store. “This sign has to go.”
“It’s not going,” he says, sticking his chin in the air. “We’re not letting this city slicker take a dime from Lisa and Fred.” There’s a pause. “Or you.”
My chest goes cold. I’ve been so wrapped up in last night with Dash that it hadn’t hit me—this is about more than me, more than feeling sorry for the girl behind the counter. They tried to appeal to Dash with that line of reasoning last night, and it didn’t work.
“They wouldn’t stand for this,” I say, a car whizzing past. Idiot has to be going over the speed limit. “Other businesses have a right to exist here. If we can’t compete—”
“You’ll do nothing but compete!” shouts Morris. “I won’t buy my coffee anywhere else! And all these guys are with me!”
“Me, too!” Mary Marshé, fresh from a yoga class with her bag slung over her shoulder, joins in. “I don’t want some new business owner barreling in where they’re not wanted.”
A cheer goes up among them.
“Fine,” I say, waving my hands to stop this nonsense. “But take down the sign.” Walt squares his jaw. “Walt, please. It’s not a good look, okay?”
“Hey! Is anybody working here?” It’s the pissed-off lady from the shop, shouting from the open door.
“I’m trying,” I call back, and sprint for the counter.
32
Dash
“Hey.”
The word is half hissed, half whisper-shouted from the alley. I’m busy trying to give my best smile to the crowd of people walking past, but this is hopeless. I should have known it would be a hard sell the moment I stepped out here. I need high school kids or college students home for the summer, not tourists. Most of those people, if they’re in Lakewood at all, already have jobs for the summer. I can’t imagine coming here unless you had something locked up. Or unless it was a summer cot
tage situation.
“Psst.”
It could be anyone. It could be some asshole coming to harass me for having the balls to open a second coffee shop in Lakewood. But I risk a glance over toward the direction of the alley.
It’s Ellie, her ponytail hanging low behind her head.
“Come over here,” she hisses.
“They can all see you,” I tell her, facing the street to Medium Roast, where there is still a crowd gathered at the curb, though the fiery appearance by Ellie earlier seems to have taken care of the sign.
“They’re not looking,” she stage-whispers. “Morris is trying to figure out a chant. Look.”
She’s right.
“Come over here. But make it look natural.”
I turn and stride over to the alley. By the time I wheel around the corner, Ellie has flattened herself against the wall.
“What are you doing?”
She takes my shirt in her fists and yanks my face down to hers. “This.”
For all her begging last night, she’s not about to say please. Our lips crash together in a whirling mix of stress and relief and sweetness and hurt, all of it set free right here in the alley. She’s got the scent of espresso all over her but she tastes fresh and clean.
I only get a grip when she moans into my mouth. “Ellie,” I mumble against her lips, trying to pull back. She won’t let me at first. “We’re in the alley—”
Her eyes open wide. “Shit. I’m going to have snuck over here for nothing.”
“Let’s go.” I take her by the hand and hustle her toward the side door. We’re inside The Coffee Spot in less than ten seconds, both of us breathing hard, checking over our shoulders.
Ellie bends to look through the main room to Medium Roast across the street. “Do you think they saw us?”
“Probably.”
She looks for another long moment. “Nah,” she decides finally. “They’d be over here at the door if they knew I was about to get nasty with a city slicker like you.”
I shake my head. “They’ve been standing over there all day. Do you really think...wait, what?”
Ellie pulls her head back into the narrower side room and puts her hands up on my chest, backing me against the wall. I think it’s going to be a continuation of the alley, but instead, she stares at my chest like it’s going to reveal something to her. Then she turns her head to the side and lays her cheek against the fabric of my shirt.
My arms go around her on instinct and she relaxes against me. My mind grinds to a halt, clicking uselessly against itself like an engine that won’t turn over. I want her here in my arms forever. I want to be doing so much more than hugging.
Ellie takes a deep breath in and lets it out, then tilts her face up to me for a kiss that sends pleasure ricocheting in slow motion all through my arms, my legs, my chest. It’s a slow and steady kiss, the kind that puts us right in the center. What else matters? Nothing but this. With her tongue playing at my lips I don’t care at all about The Coffee Spot, or finishing anything that I’ve started other than this kiss.
She makes a sound deep in her throat, high and pleading, and it throws us full speed ahead. One moment I’m hugging her and the whole thing is pretty fucking chaste for two people who couldn’t even take the time to find a bed last night. The next moment she’s clawing at my shirt and I have her face in my hands, commanding her movement, claiming her as mine all over again.
I ignore the nagging feeling that she’s not. Is she? Is now the time to say something about it?
No. Now is the time to act.
“Oh, God,” she breathes, cutting her eyes toward the windows that overlook the alley. “We can’t…”
I turn her, moving her effortlessly until I have her backed into a corner. It’s the only corner in this entire space that’s not visible from the alley. She’s a puppet in my hands, holding on for dear life, eyes closed, and I love it. I love every second of it. I love stripping her shorts down to her ankles and pulling one of her feet out. I love taking her panties in my hands and tearing them apart, the fabric ripping along a front seam. And I love lifting her into my arms, bracing one hand against the wall, and letting her wrap her legs around me.
She came here ready, and I sink into her like last night never ended. Ellie rocks her hips forward against mine, and I press my lips against her collarbone. Her heart is beating fast underneath her skin. Mine matches hers, pounding, my skin tingling with the risk of all of this. Of getting caught. Of putting my business in the center of a scandal.
Of falling in love with her.
Ellie is a thunderstorm, intense and strong as a lightning flash, and she cries out into the side of my neck as she comes. I release into her, her ass balanced perfectly on my hands, her weight against me, and it’s the riskiest thing I’ve ever done because I’ve already fallen.
I’ve fallen for her, and nothing will ever be the same.
33
Ellery
After I got my aunt and uncle’s personal army to put their oddly tame sign away, the view across the street was cleared.
Dash stood there for most of the morning, a stack of papers in his hands, smiling at everyone who passed by. He looked like he could have walked out of a magazine. Flawless perfection. Muscles working beneath his t-shirt.
Did it have me hot and bothered?
Yes. Yes, it did.
Then there were the smiles.
Oh, Dash was smiling. He was giving everyone the same professional smile. But all the women on the street were not living up to his code of professionalism. They flashed big, sultry grins at him. They arched their backs and showed off their boobs in cute little halter-tops. They let their hips sway as they walked away, calling things back over their shoulders.
At first, I thought the irritation was coming from working as a barista, covered in a fine layer of coffee dust, tamping drinks with all the strength in my arms from too early in the morning. But it wasn’t that. I’ve been at this since the spring, so my right arm is pretty strong and buff. We don’t need to talk about the left one.
At two thirty, a woman in a flowing sundress cut so low I could see her belly button sashayed up to Dash. I could tell by her sunglasses that she was a tourist. I could tell she was not looking for a job. She was looking for a man, and Dash was right there on the sidewalk.
Sheer, hot jealousy rose in my throat. Jealousy. It made no sense. He’s not mine.
Mine or not, something in me snapped when she reached out and pressed her palm against his shoulder. No, my soul cried out.
“No,” I said out loud, cutting off the elderly woman who was busy ordering some complicated frozen thing that would take twenty minutes to make and still taste like crap.
She gasped. “What did you say to me?”
I forced my gaze to her, heat flaring in my cheeks. “Of course,” I said, covering my momentary lapse not in the slightest. “I’ve got it.”
I rushed the damn drink.
You can bet I rushed it.
I rushed it, and I rushed the last few people through ordering their lattes and getting out the door. It was not the customer service that Aunt Lisa would approve of, but guess what? Sometimes a girl has more important things to do.
I closed early. I’ll come back tomorrow and clean early.
But for now, I’m going to bask in the fact that I made it all the way around the crowd gathering in defense of a coffee shop that’s bound to go under unless I take some drastic measures—and soon. I made it past them into a cool corner in Dash’s store, and he took me. God, did he take me. There’s something about hot sex in the daylight that makes me feel like I’m in control.
Why did it never feel this way with Sol?
Because I wasn’t in control, probably.
When Dash is spent, he holds me up against the wall for several long moments and then lets me down slowly, letting me get the feeling back into my legs. I’m weak in the knees and a slick layer of both of our juices is painting my inner thighs.
“Oh, perfect,” I say, catching my breath. “A bathroom.”
“Pristine, too,” he says, stretching his arms above his head. “Never been used.”
He’s right. Every tile is gleaming, the dispensers full, and I take my sweet time cleaning up.
When I’m done, I find him out on a low backless ottoman that’s clearly supposed to serve as a sofa, his jeans back on, arms behind his head, grinning at me.
I take my place beside him. It is my place, I’ve decided. He folds his arm around me like we’re a couple. The air between us gets heavy.
We both start talking at the same time.
“So what made you think to—”
“I didn’t like that woman with the—”
He laughs, drawing a finger down the side of my arm. “You first.”
“No, I’m…” I shake my head. “I’m not going to argue. I can answer your question, anyway. I came over because I had to watch you flirting with other women all day.” It’s not quite true, but it’s not quite a joke, either, though that’s how I meant for it to come out.
Dash shifts and the mood darkens a shade. “I tried my damnedest not to flirt with any of them,” he says, and something twists inside me, coiling so tightly that I can’t look him in the eye. “It still bothered you?”
I swallow down the white lie on the tip of my tongue. “Seeing you out there in the sun...” The image is so powerful it nearly takes my breath away. “I wanted you. But—”
He waits. He doesn’t rush me. He doesn’t tell me what I’m thinking. He waits.
“I wanted you to be mine.”
Dash takes in a long, steady breath, and a bubbling anxiety curdles in my gut. Oh, Jesus. He’s going to say that this has all been a mistake. A stupid fling. He’s a man under stress finding something fun to do his first week in town.