Happily Ever After: A Romance Collection

by Amelia Wilde

  The first few of this woman—I can’t remember her name—are a little awkward, the composition off. But then one comes up on the screen. Her little girl, framed almost perfectly, holding hands. It’s sharp as hell and lovely.

  Maybe Honey does have a point.

  I’ve always looked down on these kinds of photography businesses. Aunt Lisa and Uncle Fred didn’t pay for me to become a natural light lifestyle photographer in Lakewood, but the more I look through the images, the more I see that they aren’t bad. That they are actually pretty good. A few adjustments here, a few adjustments there. Make the set look cohesive.

  By the time I look up from the computer again, the gallery finished, it’s three in the morning. But I don’t feel tired. I feel awake. I feel alive.

  That, plus a decent helping of heartache. I’m buzzing with the accomplishment of editing a stack of nice photos for someone—done on the fly, no less—but there’s nobody here to tell. There’s nobody in my bed waiting for me. The silence is a lonely one.

  Fine. I’ll admit it.

  I only want that empty space to be filled by Dash.

  More than one empty space, really.

  With the new burst of energy, I sign up for an online gallery, add a password, and upload the photos. The gallery’s pretty professional for something free. Seeing all the images there makes me feel a funny kind of warmth. I haven’t felt that since...

  Since I met Dash.

  The woman’s email is on a crumpled piece of paper in my purse. The gallery has an email all ready to go.

  Maybe, I think, lying under my covers, still awake. Maybe...

  46

  Dash

  I haven’t slept. Or maybe I have, and I didn’t know it. That’s been known to happen to people, right?

  Either way, I’m wired as hell as I drive from Norma’s to The Coffee Spot. Chris’s advice has been rattling around in my brain all night. On the one hand, how dare he? He’s the younger brother. On the other hand, shit, he’s right.

  The regulars are waiting like they wait every morning, but there’s been a subtle shift. I go into The Coffee Spot from the side door and peek out onto the street before I turn on the lights.

  They’ve divided themselves.

  Some are waiting for Medium Roast.

  Some are waiting for me.

  It’s an edgy kind of standoff, and the vibe on the street is a tense one. Such divided loyalties. I’d laugh, but I know how serious this can get. You can lose a love over it.

  You can...but I’m not going to.

  Seeing those cars parked out there gives me an idea. It’s a tiny-ass idea at first, not worthy of speaking out loud, but then one of those shadows leans forward and spots me inside the store.

  That’s it.

  I’ve been looking at this all wrong. In my mind, it’s been me against them, though they’ve been slowly coming to my side ever since Medium Roast went on that strange hiatus. Medium Roast—no, since Ellie went on that strange hiatus. There’s no sign of her, but all the coffee lovers are still out there. They’re torn, but they need caffeine nonetheless.

  And I need them.

  I have the solution to everything.

  All I have to do is convince them to help me.

  I sprint back behind the counter and grind enough espresso to start the day, and then get the drip coffee started.

  I’m opening early.

  It takes some convincing to get Lou Brewer to sit down with me.

  He’s been standing across the street since the beginning of all this. I recognize him from Ellie’s description and the fact that he makes return trips throughout the day for refills. He’s not as flashy as Morris and Walt, but he’s been out there, all the same.

  I catch him on the other side of the street, waiting to see if today’s the day that Medium Roast will return.

  “Sir!” I shout into the summer morning glow.

  He ignores me at first.

  “Sir!” I try again. “Coffee!” I raise the to-go cup in my hand. I don’t know how he takes it, but I’m hoping he’ll need cream and sugar. That way he’ll have to come inside, and I can get the information I need straight from the source.

  He hesitates, his head swinging back to look at Medium Roast.

  It’s closed up tight, the butcher paper still on the windows.

  Then he looks at me.

  Checks his watch.

  Looks both ways.

  Jogs across the street.

  “What is this, some kind of bribe?” he asks as he comes to a stop, eyeing the to-go cup.

  “Do you take it black?”

  “No,” he says, making a face. “Two creams and a sugar.”

  “Come on in,” I tell him. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  Lou nestles himself into one of the chairs in the side room, looking down into his freshly creamed and sugared coffee and shaking his head. “I shouldn’t be in here.”

  I sit down across from him. Everybody who’s going to be in right now will want drip coffee—they always do—and they can shout if they need to. “I’m glad you are because I need your help.”

  That perks him up. “With what?”

  “Tell me about Lisa and Fred Collins.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Why do you want to know about them? Isn’t it enough that you’re putting them out of business?”

  “I don’t want to put them out of business.”

  “They’re two of the nicest people I’ve ever met,” Lou says fiercely, not bothering to hear what I’m saying. “They’ve bailed out everybody in this town at one time or another. They bought me a used car when mine died in the middle of the winter forty years ago when my daughter was small. I had a new gig at the cement plant up the highway and couldn’t miss—” He waves a hand, dismissing this for the main point. “You won’t meet more generous people. They’re not here right now to defend themselves from you city sharks because—” He presses his lips together. “I can’t say exactly why, but you shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “That’s exactly why I need your help,” I say, trying to appeal to his best nature. “I need to talk to them.”

  Lou takes a sip of the coffee, and his eyebrows go up. “This is good.”

  “Thank you.” I keep it cool. It’s satisfying to hear, but that’s not the point of this conversation.

  “What do you have to say to them?”

  I lean in, glancing around like a cartoon character to make sure he gets the point. “I have a business proposition.”

  Lou’s eyes glow. “What is it?”

  I sit back straight. “I can’t tell you. It wouldn’t be right to tell someone else before—” He nods. Of course. “All I wanted to know is if you had a phone number I could reach them at.”

  He looks at me like looking is going to tell him everything he needs to know about what kind of person I am. Is he deciding I’m the monster I’ve been made out to be? Is he realizing that he’s already made a deal with the devil by buying my coffee and liking it?

  I look back.

  He keeps looking.

  “You’re not some kind of scammer, are you?” he asks, his voice betraying a hint of uncertainty.

  “I swear to you,” I say, raising my hand in the air like a boy scout. “I am not a scammer.” I do wish I could have asked Ellie for this phone number instead, but that’s not an option at the moment.

  “Okay,” he says finally, and relief floods my veins. “You got a piece of paper?”

  47

  Ellery

  Two weeks later

  “Ellie! You’re not going to believe this!”

  Honey ambushes me as soon as I step outside Medium Roast. It’s been a long day, one of the buzzy summer afternoons when everyone seems to want something frozen. I ran out of coffee at two o’clock and had to make people to-go cups filled with watered-down espresso. I never thought I’d say this, but it’s probably best that I had to run those damn blenders for hours in a row.

&nb
sp; “What?” I shout back, a little too loud. “What am I not going to believe?”

  Honey’s still wearing a studio smock covered in different shades of paint, and she looks slightly flushed like she ran here from her house three blocks away from the center of town. Without the air conditioning, it’s hot, so that probably explains it. “You got a client.”

  I roll my eyes. “I had a hundred clients already today. I am so not making any more coffee. The store is clean, and—”

  “A photography client.”

  “What?”

  Honey was true to her word, setting up a Facebook page for my new “business” the same night I edited those photos. When the woman emailed back to say how much she loved them, Honey struck up a conversation, using her as a testimonial.

  “They messaged your page to set up the appointment. I’ve been watching, and I already confirmed. You’re closing early tomorrow.”

  “Wait, how early? I can’t just—”

  Honey’s eyes sparkle. “You can, and you will.” She throws her arms around me and squeals. “Three o’clock tomorrow,” she says, then turns and hustles back down the street. “I’m in the middle of a painting! You’re going to be great!”

  I’m a basket of nerves all night and all morning.

  Texts fly between me and Honey.

  This is a bad idea.

  You’ll have your phone. You can do this!!!

  I’m not going to do it.

  You’re doing it.

  This goes on right up to the moment I close the shop. I have a plan. Zip home, shower, meet at the beach. It’s not secluded, so if this “client” is a serial killer, they won’t have much of a chance. In the shower, I practice smiling and giving directions. Honey says it’s for headshots. I can do that. I can. Of course I can.

  At ten to three, wet hair pulled back in a bun, I stand on the beach near the playground, looking for the client. It’s hard to look cool when I’m so nervous, but I check the settings on my camera, get them dialed in, pretend everything is fine.

  “You must be the photographer.”

  The voice comes from right off my left elbow and my entire body leaps into action. I put on my biggest, brightest smile. “Yep! My camera’s all set to go and—” The sentence ends in a gasp when I see his face.

  Dash.

  Oh, my God. No. Not now. Not when I’m about to meet the client. I can’t be a wreck on my first job. “Dash,” I croak. “You’re at the beach.” The sight of him fills me with a wild excitement and an equally wild dread. “You can’t be here right now,” I say in a rush, politeness be damned. “I’m meeting—”

  “Me.” He drops the word into the air like a diamond.

  Finally, my brain catches up with his words. “You’re the client?”

  His nod is so confident I could cry. “Yep.” He looks out at the waves on the sand. “Where should I stand?”

  I’m dying. I’m dying and I’m dead of hope and sadness and heartbreak. I can hardly speak. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes,” he says like nothing ever happened between us, or like everything happened between us, I can’t tell. “I want you to take my photo.”

  My hands shake around the body of the camera, and I flip the on/off switch on and off, on and off. There’s so much I want to say. He looks at me, unflinching.

  Do your job.

  I turn around and scan for some open shade with the lake in the background. There’s a tree. Perfect. “Uh, over there,” I say, trying to keep my chin up. I’m not going to burst into tears. I am not.

  He strides to the tree so quickly that I almost break into a jog to keep up. Under the branches, he sticks his hands in his pockets and waits once again. “This good?”

  “Yeah,” I say. Pay attention to the light. Pay attention to the angle of his face. He looks like a fucking dream, in jeans and a white t-shirt, and I want to do more than take his photograph. I’d do him right here, in plain view of everybody, if we weren’t mortal enemies. I raise the camera to my face, make a few more adjustments, and take a few shots.

  He looks into the lens and then shifts. “Any tips?”

  Oh, God. “Yeah,” I say, forcing surety into my voice. I don’t feel it, but what else am I going to do? “Turn your body toward the lake a little bit. Not your head. There.”

  He turns this way and that, and I take photo after photo. Then we move to a different spot, up against the brick of the concessions stand. It’s empty at the moment, which is good because I might die at any moment. I can’t catch my breath.

  Finally, I lower the camera. He stays leaning against the building, his green eyes catching the sunlight.

  “Why did you hire me?” I ask him, my voice low and trembling.

  “I wanted to see you,” he says. “I have some news.”

  My entire soul plummets straight to the center of the earth. He’s leaving town, that’s what this is. I’ll have won and lost at the same time.

  “What’s that?” My voice is neutral, barely?

  “I miss the fuck out of you.”

  My breath catches in my throat.

  “I miss the fuck out of you,” he says again. “And you know what? I’m sick of having this shit between us.” He waves his hand in the air between his chest and mine.

  “Having what—”

  “I am done not being with you because of a pair of warring coffee shops,” he says, standing up straight and stepping closer. “So I took some drastic measures.”

  I swallow hard. “What—what drastic measures?”

  He comes another step closer, and he’s inches away. All that’s between us now is my camera and our clothes. “Here’s what I did. Are you ready?”

  I nod. It’s all I can do.

  “I went into business with your aunt and uncle.”

  The words don’t make sense for the space of five long heartbeats, and when they do, a shriek escapes from my mouth. “You did what?”

  “I bought that little coffee shop on the corner. They’re both part of an umbrella company now. There are money details, but I’ve got the funds to cover staff and overhead for now—”

  “Staff?”

  “Starting tomorrow, I’m having someone come in to train six people for each store.”

  I want him to touch me so badly.

  “I want to be with you, Ellie. I want you to be in my life, every day. I want you to do what you love. And look,” he glances down at the camera. “You took photos of a client, and nothing terrible happened. On the drive home after this, nothing terrible is going to happen. The past is past.” He takes a deep breath. “This is now. And right now, I don’t want to be without you. Ever again.” He steps back, putting a little distance between us. “You don’t have to make any decisions right now. I’m not going anywhere. You have my number.”

  With that, Dash turns and walks away, back toward the parking lot.

  He gets ten steps before I can move, and once I do, I’m moving.

  I run after him, camera bouncing against my chest. I’m two steps away when he finally starts to turn, but it’s too late. I tackle him. Full body. It takes both of us over, me landing heavily on him, his back on the ground.

  “Fuck that,” I say, and then I crush my lips against his, kissing him harder than I’ve ever kissed anybody. “Don’t ever walk away from me again.”

  48

  Dash

  My heart pounds, one hand on the steering wheel, one hand gripping Ellie’s so tightly my knuckles are white. She can’t wipe the smile off her face. She also wouldn’t drive her own car here, insisting on staying with me.

  “God, I missed you,” she whispers as we fly toward the cottage.

  “You have no idea how much I missed you,” I tell her, hitting the brakes and making the turn with as much care as I can in this moment.

  She’s on me as soon as I step outside the car. I don’t know how she got out that fast, but she did, abandoning her camera on the front seat. Ellie wraps her legs around me and holds on tight.
>
  And me? I’m practically bursting out of my jeans. I want her. I have to have her. And she’s mine.

  All we need to do is get into the house.

  I hustle us both there as fast as I can go with this tigress wrapping her arms around my neck, kissing down the side of my jawline, licking at my earlobe.

  I never want this to end.

  In the house, she jerks her head toward the counter. “Kitchen?”

  I shake my head. “No. You, princess, deserve a bed.”

  It’s perfect, because I washed the sheets yesterday, in case things went well today. I made the bed with military precision. Ellie doesn’t notice it at all. I let her down onto her feet at the foot of the bed. At some point, I thought I might try to take things slow, but she’s not having it, and neither is my cock. Ellie has her shirt halfway over her head by the time I think to get my jeans off.

  When I look up again, she’s naked and glorious, looking a little shy.

  First things first.

  I put one hand under her jaw, on the smooth skin of her neck, and tilt her face up toward mine. Her eyes are so gray they’re almost blue. I kiss her, slow and deep, and she presses her hips forward to meet mine. “I love you,” I whisper into her ear.

  “I love you too,” she whispers back. My entire body is fire. My entire body is alive. “But Dash?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I need you. To fuck me,” she adds after a breath. “Just so there’s no confusion, I—”

  She doesn’t get another word out before I have her spread out on the bed. Not another word, except for a moan as I drag my fingertips down from her collarbone to her clit, circling it once, twice, three times before I sink the length of me into her. Ellie lets out a hiss like she’s touched something hot and opens wider for me, her ankles locking together behind my back.