Unwrapped: A Holiday Romance

by Amelia Wilde

  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?

  Chapter Fourteen

  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 Roast 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.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  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 s
idewalk.

  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 humanly 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.”

  “No,” he says. Is he blushing now? What the hell is this? “I came in here intending to say that, the thing is—”

  “—that you should choose another town for your coffee shop?”

  “—I don’t want to stop talking to you. I like you. Plus, I think if we worked together—”

  “I’m going to stop you there. We’re not working together.”

  I take the spray and aggressively wipe down the display case. I forgot to ask about the baked goods. They come on a truck from one of those big box food service stores, and everybody thinks they’re homemade. The truck hasn’t shown up in three weeks, but when I called, they didn’t have the account on file, so it’s one of those things.

  “We did it pretty well yesterday.”

  That’s it—that’s the killing blow. I can’t ignore the fact that I owe him one. I owe him a big one. He’s now on the list of People Who Have Bailed Me Out, right along with Aunt Lisa and Uncle Fred.

  He’s still looking at me when I work up the nerve to look back. “What do you want, Dash? I get it. I owe you. But what do you want me to do?” I swallow my pride. “How can I help you?”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t want anything in return,” he says, and his voice is pleasure, sheer pleasure. “All I want—” His eyes blaze into mine. “If you ever have a spare second, stop by. I don’t want to be enemies.” His phone rings in his pocket and he pulls it out, frowning. “I have to take this. But please. Stop by. I want to talk.” Then he lifts the phone to his ear and goes back out onto the sidewalk. In seconds, he’s out of sight.

  “I don’t,” I whisper.

  It’s not true.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dash

  That did not go as planned.

  I’m the kind of man who finishes things. Projects. Jobs.

  Lovers.

  I don’t leave women hanging, is what I’m trying to say.

  I meant for it to be a clean break with Ellery. Thirty seconds into the conversation and I’m tongue-tied, begging her to stop by my coffee shop. To stop by my coffee shop. What the hell was I thinking? That she’d take me up on the invite, see how great it is, and fall into my arms?

  I wouldn’t mind it.

  What a wasted opportunity. She wanted to do something for me, so I played the perfect gentleman and put the ball in her court. Of fucking course I did. And it was mortifying.

  More than that, it was tempting as hell. Ellery looks amazing even in a t-shirt and jean shorts, which is her typical coffee shop uniform. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to lock the door and bend her over that counter, windows be damned. It would be the event of the century in a place like Lakewood.

  The rest of Sunday goes by in a slow crawl. Rosie naps on and off, exhausted from trying to toddle over at Norma’s, and she’s sweet when she’s awake. So sweet, so in the mood to cuddle, that that’s all I do. We watch the waves roll in and out on the sand together. In the last heat of the afternoon, I put her in her bathing suit—it’s pink, with ruffles around her butt—and hold her hands while
she wades in the shallows. The water against her little chub rolls makes her laugh and laugh.

  It almost makes me forget about Ellery.

  But then the night comes, and I lay awake in my bed. No matter which way I toss and turn I still feel pulled toward her. I don’t know where she lives, but my arms ache with the wish that she was here, sleeping next to me.

  Or not sleeping.

  A little past two in the morning I get out of bed and dig a notepad out of my old briefcase. It’s time to make some plans.

  The phone rings right next to my head, scaring the shit out of me. I bat at it out of pure instinct, and it flies off the bed, hitting the floor a moment later with a harsh crack. I curse and swing my legs off the side of the bed. Where did that damn thing go? It’s still ringing, so it must not be busted, but I don’t want to deal with all the bullshit required when you get a new phone.

  The screen, thank Christ, is not cracked.

  I swipe to answer the call and press it to my cheek. “What the hell do you want at this ungodly hour?” My voice sounds gravelly and rough. I didn’t sleep until almost four.

  My brother Chris laughs on the other end of the line. “It’s seven in the morning, my man. You’re telling me that baby of yours isn’t up yet?”

  “Not today, asshole.”

  “You sound like shit. Were you out partying last night?”

  I rub a hand over my face. My eyelids are glued together with sleep, and it takes a few tries to get them all the way open. “What do you want?”

  “Were there girls there?” Chris is two years younger than I am, and this is a long-running joke. There was a very short period in our lives where he wasn’t invited to the same parties I was. He’d always ask me about the girls at the party. Then he joined the football team, and his innocent questions were all over.