Happily Ever After: A Romance Collection

by Amelia Wilde

  Whatever it means, the tourists seem to be talking to each other. By noon they’re coming in groups. A line forms at the counter then goes out the door.

  An answering crowd gathers across the street.

  There’s no sign—whatever Ellie said to them must still be in effect—but badass Walt stands at the curb with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring in the direction of The Coffee Spot.

  I don’t have time to glare back.

  I get lost in the rhythm of pulling shots, steaming milk, letting it swirl together in the to-go cups. Brewing more drip coffee. Opening more gallons of milk. People come in, people go out, all of them talking about the new place.

  It feels strange, to work like this. Investment banking was nothing like this. There was no space for mindless motion. Friendly chatter was limited to the water cooler.

  “Aren’t you handsome,” crows an older lady who wants a cup full of steamed milk and nothing else. She winks at me. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  The next time I have time to look across the street, Walt is still there, still glaring. There are people camped out at the tables in front of Medium Roast. Let them camp. I don’t care.

  The hours slip away into the afternoon. Around four I see the sign in Medium Roast’s window go off. It’s like an alarm clock ringing. It’s like that same clock is shouting enough, enough.

  Pretty fucking good for a first day. I have a register full of cash, enough supplies to get through tomorrow and the next few days without a problem, and Ellie, right across the street.

  I’m cleaning up, wiping everything down, when she appears at the side door. A soft knock. Timid.

  As soon as I see her face, I know. This is not good.

  37

  Ellery

  Dash’s face lights up with a smile, but it falls away as quickly as it came. “Ellie...” He steps back to let me in.

  It smells different in The Coffee Spot. It smells like a real, functioning coffee shop, but with notes of fresh paint. Dash looks slightly dazed. “Did you send them home?”

  “Who?” He’s got a rag in his hands and heads back toward the front counter to finish wiping it down.

  “Your people,” I say, looking for any sign of the college kids he has to have hired already. He has hired people already, hasn’t he? With all this nice remodeling, he can’t have let staff members fall by the wayside.

  “Not yet,” he says, rinsing out the rag in the still-gleaming sink. He tosses it into a basket underneath the counter—God, that is a classy basket—and washes his hands. “I got a couple of applications, but I ran out of time to call back. Once I’m done cleaning up, I will.” There’s a strange, distant tone to his voice as if he’s been underwater for a long time. Time to resurface. I know that feeling. You can get into the groove of making drinks, of trying not to burn the hell out of yourself, of talking down people who get intense about things like foam and drizzle, and when the end of the day comes you don’t know quite where you’ve spent it.

  “Wow.” I’m having to talk around the lump in my throat. “I figured you’d have people.”

  “I didn’t think of it,” he says, and then bends down to the sanitizer. He pulls out blender parts and a few stray mugs and puts them carefully back into their places.

  I came here to say something.

  I don’t want to say it.

  Last night, my phone rang on the beach. I picked it up. It was Aunt Lisa, her voice trembling, stretched to the breaking point.

  “Ellie, why didn’t you tell me?” Those were the first words out of her mouth after I said hello.

  I froze. Which thing was she talking about? The protest sign? Dash? Something to do with my dad’s farm? I didn’t have any updates on the farm, or myself, really, other than Dash. “What do you mean?”

  She’d sighed heavily, exasperated. I’d raised a hand and waved Dash into the house for the shower. It’s not like Lisa to be so down, so easily irritated. “You didn’t tell me that a new shop is opening right across the street. That would have been good information to know.” Her tone was sharp. It made me feel fucking stupid. I hated it.

  “It shouldn’t change the day-to-day at Medium Roast.” I tried to keep things upbeat. “A lot of the regulars—”

  “I’ve heard about what the regulars have been up to, Ellie, and I can’t believe you tried to interfere.”

  “It was one of the crazier things I’ve seen since—what?”

  “What people do on a public sidewalk is not up to us.” Her voice shook, and for the first time it hit me—she was angry, not sad. “If they want to defend our business, you need to let them.”

  “The sign was a little much, and—”

  “What do you not understand?” Her voice had dropped to a deadly quiet. “Tell me, Ellie. Are you not getting it? We can’t afford to lose customers to another shop. If they want to stir the pot a little, let them. You focus on your job. Nothing else.”

  I was speechless. Breathless.

  “Now,” said my aunt, after an agonizing wait. “Was there anything you needed at the shop?”

  “Coffee.” It was the first thing to surface in the shock. “We need deliveries more often. More cups and lids.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Then she hung up the phone without a goodbye.

  I stood by the water, listening to the waves lap at the shore, for another fifteen minutes before I could bring myself to move.

  I couldn’t speak to Dash about it then. It took most of the night to let the shocked hurt subside. I get that Aunt Lisa is under serious pressure right now. I see that. I hear it in her voice. But the Lisa I’ve known all my life would never have allowed people to do that. Not even to get ahead.

  I couldn’t find the words last night, but I have to find them now. I have to do something. I have to do lots of things, but first, I’m going to do the hardest one.

  “Ellie, what’s wrong?” Dash is done putting the dishes away.

  “Can we talk?” It’s stupid, and I know it’s stupid, but I say it anyway.

  The corner of his mouth hints at a smile. “We’re already talking.” He doesn’t have to say we’re more than talking. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “Okay.” Where the hell do I start? I’ve been worrying over this for hours, tossing and turning all night, and now, under Dash’s green, bright gaze, I’m losing my nerve. “That call I got last night when we were swimming.” When we were about to do a lot more than swim.

  His face turns serious. “You didn’t say much about that. Is everything okay?”

  I bite back the urge to say that it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine. It’s not fine. “No. Not really. The person calling was my aunt.”

  “The same aunt who owns the shop, right?”

  “That same one.”

  His brow wrinkles with concern. “Things aren’t going well in Florida?”

  “No.” I twist the hem of my shirt in my fingers. “And she heard about how things were going here. She’s very upset. It sounds like...” Jesus. Say it. Say the humiliating thing. It’s Dash. “It sounds like the store’s on thin ice. I mean, I knew that going in, but I guess I didn’t realize the full extent, and now, with all the changes—”

  Dash steps around the counter and silences my babbling with a finger to my lips. One touch, and I’m trembling in anticipation. It’s ridiculous how much I want him. How much I want from him. This isn’t the worst idea, is it? Terrible ideas are all over the place. It’s worth a try.

  “How can I help?” He laughs a little. “I’m pretty handy with a paintbrush if you’re thinking of renovating.”

  The pressure is building to a breaking point. If I don’t say it now, I’m never going to. “It’s not that.” One last breath. “I need you to close your shop.”

  38

  Dash

  I laugh out loud, the sound settling over the quiet space in the shop. She’s fucking hilarious, this girl. “That’s good,” I say, running a hand over her hair. “That�
��s really good. But what do you need, Ellie?”

  She looks up at me, hair tousled from a full open-to-close shift at Medium Roast. She’s got bags under her eyes. She asked me about hiring staff, but I’ve never seen anyone else in Medium Roast with her. How long has she been working like this? Is it the work that’s driving her to make this ridiculous request?

  I wait for a smile. I wait for a laugh to tell me this is a joke. Another round in this thing we’ve got going on, where we’re cutthroat competitors in the cutest little tourist town New York has to offer.

  It doesn’t come.

  She stares steadily up at me.

  Is she serious?

  She’s serious.

  She can’t be serious.

  She is.

  I take my hand away from her face, and she catches it in midair. “I know it sounds crazy.” Her eyes are huge and pleading, and the way her bun is off center, making its way almost to her shoulder, tugs at my heart. “I don’t want to have to ask you this, but I’m honestly” —Ellie takes a huge breath and blows it out through rounded lips— “I’m scared for my aunt and uncle. If they lose this shop…” she shakes her head.

  “They can always start another shop, Ellie. New stores open all the time. Besides…” I rub at her shoulders, trying to bring her back to reality. At least close to reality. “I’ve had my shop open one day, and Medium Roast is fine.”

  “It’s not fine,” she says, stepping back. “We lost customers today, and I can’t even…” she glances around at all the new installations, the fresh paint, the even tiles. “I can’t say that they’re wrong to come here. But the tourist traffic is what’s going to tide us over through the winter. Tide them over through the winter,” she corrects herself. “I could always try to find other work, but Medium Roast is their livelihood.”

  I take her face in both my hands. “Ellie, listen to yourself. Your aunt and uncle left you, alone, to run their permanent nest egg?” Anger clouds her eyes. “No, don’t take it that way. You’re amazing. You can do anything. But Medium Roast needs more than a good barista. We both know it. It needs new paint. It needs new walls. It needs suppliers and managers who can get things to you on time. Did you have enough coffee for today?”

  Ellie frowns, her cheeks pressing against my palms. “Yes.”

  “And when you open tomorrow, will you have enough to get through the morning?”

  She shakes her head. No. Of course not. “I might not, but you’re still being condescending as hell.”

  I take my hands away. “I’m being honest. You came in here asking me to close my shop. I’m not going to do that.”

  Scarlet color floods her cheeks. “I thought you’d at least consider it, after...” she can’t finish.

  Wait. “Consider it after we slept together?” An ugly, twisted feeling is rising in my chest. It didn’t start with her. I was optimistic about this move, about this business, about this chance at a fresh start, but every glance thrown this way has been a chink in the armor. And that sign—Jesus, that sign was fucking stupid. A protest. Against a coffee shop. Another local coffee shop. It’s not as if I’m some national chain swooping in to slash and burn everything in Lakewood’s downtown.

  Maybe sleeping with me is Ellie’s own form of protest. Maybe this hasn’t been a magical fall into the kind of love I can count on. Maybe it’s been a setup all along so that she can come to me right now with this question and bank on the fact that I’ll be so enamored with her that I’ll agree.

  “Yeah,” Ellie says, her voice rough. “I thought you would consider it because of how close we’ve become, sex or not. Fuck, Dash. You don’t have to be an asshole.” Her hands flutter up to her hair and she turns slightly away. “It hasn’t been that long, but I still thought it was worth a chance. They’re my family. I had to try.”

  “You think I don’t have a family?” I can’t force down my anger any longer. “I have a family, too. A daughter. Who can’t run out and start another business.” I grit my teeth, trying to keep the words in. It doesn’t work. “Is that what you were thinking when you came over here? That my daughter is less than your grown-ass aunt and uncle?”

  Ellie’s face has lost all its color. “No,” she whispers. “I would never want anything to happen to Rosie. She’s the sweetest—”

  “Then think about what you’re asking,” I thunder. “Think about it for five seconds before you—” I cut myself off, but the words come tumbling out. “I’ve been open one day. For Christ’s sake, Ellie, see how it goes. If Medium Roast can’t fucking handle it, then maybe you need to sit down with your family and reevaluate what you’re even doing in the business.”

  Ellie’s chin quivers, but I’m too consumed to let it affect me now. “I’m sorry. I thought—”

  “You didn’t think. You’re too busy living in the past to realize you might have to grow up and do something different for the future.”

  Ellie’s jaw drops. It crashes into me then, what I’ve said.

  “Ellie,” I say urgently, the hot rage swirling down the drain. “That’s not what—I wasn’t talking about what happened to you. I meant that—”

  “You know what?” she says, voice trembling, forcing a smile onto her face that breaks my heart. “This was probably a mistake. No,” she waves a hand between us, “it was definitely a mistake. I’m sorry I got in the way of your new store.” She’s backing up toward the door, one hand behind her, searching for a wall. “Best—best of luck.” Her eyes are shining with tears, and I hate myself for them. “I’ll be coming for you.” She tries to make it jaunty, but it’s fucking heartbreaking. “Watch out.”

  39

  Ellery

  “I never used that as an excuse,” I say into my steering wheel.

  Then I lay my forehead on top of my hands and let the tears come.

  For a minute because this is making me feel stupidly pathetic, and I can’t stand it.

  I pick my head up and look at myself in the mirror. Looking back at me is a hot mess.

  The hard knock against the driver’s side window makes me jump a foot in the air. Oh, God, it’s him. He came to apologize and caught me crying. My heart soars with relief...then crashes back down to earth when I turn my head. Then it soars again. What a roller coaster.

  “Hey,” says Honey, her forehead wrinkled with concern. “Why are you crying in there? Are you overheating? You should come out!” She has a big grin on her face and looks for all the world like a supermodel who stepped off a photoshoot and into downtown Lakewood.

  “You’re back!” I shriek, and she barely has time to jump out of the way and avoid my car door. I jump out and throw my arms around her. This is how I felt after a long vacation away back in school. I bet it’s like reuniting with a favorite sister. I only have a brother. “You didn’t tell me you were coming back.”

  “I might not make it out of this hug alive,” she says, pretending to be strangled. I let her go and she steps back to take me in. “What’s going on, Ellie? Rough day at the shop?”

  “More than that,” I tell her, and I can feel the floodgates opening.

  “Whoa,” says Honey, patting my shoulder. “This is not a parking lot conversation, clearly. Where’s your wine?”

  I laugh in spite of myself. “Not in the car, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  She surveys me once more. “You need a shower and a drink. Your place or mine?” Then she laughs out loud. “Kidding! Mine is still rented. You’re driving. Pull yourself together.”

  At my house, Honey rushes me into the shower and says she’ll be right back. I lose track of time a little bit. Showers are good for thinking. They’re also good for sulking. But eventually I smell chocolate chip cookies. That, and the hot water runs out.

  I throw on shorts and a tank and wander into the kitchen still toweling my hair. Honey is pulling a tray of warm cookies from the oven using an oven mitt shaped like a fox that I keep hanging on a peg near the stove.

  One glance and she nods. “T
hat’s better.”

  “Oh, thanks.” She puts the tray on top of the stove and flips the cookies onto a clean plate with a spatula. She knows me. There is no good reason on earth to keep cookies waiting, even if you have to eat them with a spoon.

  “You don’t have any plans this evening, do you?” Honey picks up the plate and brushes past me, leading the way into the living room. “Ha! These are your plans. Get used to it.”

  In the living room, my coffee table has been transformed. She’s thrown a folded-in-half tablecloth over all of it, lending it an air of sophistication. She’s popped popcorn into a classy serving bowl I got at a thrift store. Perched on either side are two glasses of wine. It hasn’t touched my lips yet, and I’m already starting to relax. Heartbreak will hit me later. For now, cookies, wine, and popcorn.

  Honey puts the plate down on the table with a flourish and falls onto the couch, tucking her feet beneath her. She picks up a wine glass, waits for me to pick up mine, and holds hers out between us. “Cheers.”

  “For what?”

  “Friendship,” she says, wearing her signature grin. “Now put a cookie in your mouth. And tell me everything.”

  I tell her about the cold mornings of the springtime when the frost would cover my car and make it a real bitch to leave the driveway. I tell her about the way Medium Roast is constantly out of shit. I tell her about the regulars who I’m in a love/hate relationship with. I tell her about the day Dash came to town. I tell her about twerking. I leave nothing out.

  We drink one glass of wine, then two, and then the bottle is gone.

  Honey looks at me sagely from across the couch when I’m finished talking, twirling her wine glass between her fingers. She’s been more careful than I have. She still has some left. “I don’t think he meant it, El.”

  “He meant it,” I say it with passion. I might be slightly drunk.