Sweetheart (The Busy Bean)

by Sarah Mayberry

  He flipped a towel over his shoulder, then leaned a hip against the stainless-steel counter as he obligingly took a mouthful.

  “It’s good. As always,” Roderick said, shrugging his broad shoulders.

  “There’s nothing different about it? Nothing stands out?” I asked.

  “It tastes like good coffee. Why, what’s up?”

  “Our coffee numbers have taken a dip.”

  “It happens sometimes. We had to scale back on danishes last month, but this month greedy Vermonters can’t get enough of ’em. Go figure.”

  I really wanted to believe him, but the falling coffee sales played on my mind for the rest of my shift. When Audrey came in to take over for the afternoon, I almost brought it up with her before chickening out.

  She and Zara must have noticed the numbers, and they hadn’t said anything to me. If they weren’t worried, I shouldn’t be.

  That theory went out the window when Zara checked in with me as we tag-teamed the following afternoon.

  “Hales, before you go, you haven’t noticed anyone saying anything about our coffee lately, have you? No complaints or comments?”

  “No one has said anything to me,” I said, reaching up to tuck my hair behind my ears. Then I took a deep breath, because I’m about to turn twenty-six, and I’m a goddamned grownup. “But I’d noticed our coffee sales are down.”

  “It’s so weird,” Zara said. “We’ve had dips before, but never for coffee. Coffee is what keeps this ship afloat.”

  I could tell she was worried, and Zara did not strike me as being someone who worried for no reason.

  “Maybe I could ask a few regulars if they’re happy, or if they feel like anything has changed?” I asked. “Be proactive about it, get some feedback.”

  “Hmmm. I wonder if that would signal we’re worried about something? Leave it with me,” Zara said. “Audrey and I will put our heads together and come up with a plan.”

  She spun away then to serve a customer, and I looped the strap of my crossbody bag over my chest and exited into the early afternoon sunshine. The parking lot was busy with cars coming and going, and I waited while a pickup reversed out of a space. I was about to head across the lot when I happened to glance inside a nearby sedan and caught sight of a large takeout coffee cup in one of the cup holders in the center console. A black logo was visible on the side of the cup, and I leaned close until I could read it.

  Colebury Diner. Huh.

  The Colebury Diner was our chief competitor in town, a tired old place on Main Street that was mostly frequented by older members of the community who liked their affordable “sandwich and a cup of joe” deals. The diner’s menu was as old-school as their clientele, and, for sure, their coffee wasn’t as good as ours.

  Curious, I returned to the Bean’s entrance and leaned against the wall nearby. Five minutes later, a slim woman with curly blond hair exited and headed for the sedan. I immediately recognized her as a regular. I could even take a guess at what was in the bag she was carrying—one of Roderick’s delicious blond brownies. Normally she bought her treat along with a large soymilk latte, but not today.

  She pulled her seat belt on before reaching for the coffee cup in her console and taking a big sip. Then she glanced up and caught me watching. Busted, her expression read plainly, and I knew I was onto something.

  She’d taken her coffee business elsewhere, but hadn’t been able to give up Roderick’s baking genius.

  I pretended to check my texts until she’d driven away. Then I started up the hill toward Main Street, determined to do a bit of sleuthing. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to the diner. Greg and Dean, the two middle-aged brothers who ran the place, had never seemed that interested in the business. They hadn’t updated the aging decor or altered their food and beverage offerings in years, one of the reasons why the Bean had created such a splash when it first opened. I peered through the window when I arrived and found it hard to believe that some of our customers had abandoned the quirky charm, great food, and ambience of the Bean for this dark, dinky place.

  I went inside and placed an order for a latte with Greg. Naturally, he asked after my parents and my sister because Colebury is a small, close-knit town and everyone is always up in everyone else’s business. I told him they were well, then stood against the wall and noted that most of the tables were full, and in the five minutes I waited for my coffee, nine customers came in to order takeout drinks.

  In short, the place was jumping.

  I found out why when I got my latte. I exited to the street and started walking home before I took the first mouthful, giving it a chance to cool, but the full-bodied coffee goodness that flooded my mouth stopped me in my tracks. I took a second mouthful, but it was just as delicious as the first—smooth and rich, with enticing berry and chocolate notes.

  This was why our coffee sales had tanked, without a doubt. I worked at the Bean, and even I would pick this coffee over ours.

  Turning on my heel, I walked back to the diner and slipped inside. I waited until Greg had finished serving the customer in front of me before offering him my brightest smile.

  “This coffee is so great. Can I ask what brand of beans you’re using?”

  His brother Dean glanced up from where he was wrangling the coffee machine, a sour look on his face.

  “We know you work at the Bean now, Haley. Did Zara and Audrey send you up here to spy on us?”

  I blinked, taken aback by his aggressive question. “No. I was just on my way home.”

  “And you thought you’d grab a coffee after working in a coffeeshop all day?” Greg asked, eyebrows raised skeptically. “You’re lucky we even served you at all.”

  I could feel myself turning pink. I didn’t like being the center of attention at the best of times, and this definitely was not one of those.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” I said, because there didn’t seem to be anything else to say. Then I escaped outside.

  Okay, that had been the opposite of fun. But at least I knew why our coffee sales had been plummeting.

  Remember my compulsive need to solve problems, even when they’re not my own? Well, that was one explanation for what I did next. The other is that I’m pretty stubborn, and Dean and Greg had pissed me off with their rudeness.

  I walked briskly down the narrow pedestrian walkway that connected Main Street with a small parking lot behind the diner and a couple other businesses. I shot a furtive look over my shoulder, feeling as though my nefarious intent must be obvious to anyone watching. Clearly, I was not cut out for covert operations.

  I rounded the corner and spotted the diner’s bright blue Dumpster. I scooted alongside it, and tested the lid. It lifted easily, so after indulging in another guilty over-the-shoulder glance, I flipped it back and peered down at a tangle of random garbage. It had all been baking in the summer sun for hours and smelled truly horrific. I swallowed hard and glanced at the back of the diner, conscious of the fact that Greg or Dean might exit at any second.

  In other words, this was no time to be squeamish.

  I had to tilt all my body weight forward over the Dumpster’s edge so I could reach in far enough to sort through the garbage.

  Side bar: it really sucks being short sometimes.

  The metal edge pressed painfully into my stomach and the smell almost made me gag, but after rummaging for a few seconds I spotted what looked like a commercial coffee bean bag. I pulled it free, sliding back to earth before taking a huge step backward, away from the stench. Sure enough, I was holding the crumpled remains of a coffee bag. I smoothed it out and discovered a simple printed sticker on the otherwise plain bag: Dark Horse Coffee Roasters Black Sheep Blend. An address in Montpelier was printed in smaller font underneath.

  Huzzah. Mystery solved. The Colebury Diner could kiss my ass.

  I headed for home, speed-walking all the way, desperate to wash my hands. It wasn’t until I’d scrubbed them twice that I sat down at my laptop and goog
led Dark Horse Coffee Roasters. Weirdly, no website popped up. There wasn’t even a phone listing.

  I sat back in my chair, momentarily stumped. The only explanation I could think of was that the business was so new, the owners hadn’t gotten around to building a website yet. I was invested in seeing this fact-finding mission through, so I grabbed my car keys. Montpelier wasn’t far, and it wasn’t as though I had any better plans for my free time.

  That was a pretty sad admission, but I wasn’t about to dwell on the pitiful nature of my social life. It had been pitiful for a while, and was likely to remain so, given the current prospects in my small town.

  It was midafternoon by the time I found the address on the highway just outside Montpelier. A white-washed barn that looked like it had been converted into some kind of business sat a few hundred feet back from the road, its gravel driveway deeply rutted. The double doors facing the road were open, a white delivery van parked nearby, its rear doors also opened wide.

  I was getting out of my car to go ask for a price list for my new bosses when a man emerged from the building. Tall and broad-shouldered, he was hefting a couple of boxes. I got a quick impression of dark-blond hair, beard scruff, and well-muscled arms before he disappeared behind the van doors. He was hidden for a few seconds, then he stepped back into view and recognition hit me like a freight train, momentarily robbing me of breath.

  Holy shit, it was Daniel Beck.

  I reacted instinctively, hunching down and sliding back into my car, scooching down as low as I could, hoping like hell he hadn’t seen me.

  A tide of embarrassed heat washed over me. What the hell was I doing? I had no reason to hide from Beck. It had been two years since he and my older sister, Jessica, had broken up, and three years since they’d left Vermont to move down to New York together. He probably wouldn’t even recognize me.

  And it’s not like he’d ever known I’d had a crush on him. I had been very, very careful not to reveal my interest to anyone.

  And by interest I meant my raging lady-boner for everything about him, from the top of his dirty-blond head to the toes of his size thirteen feet.

  The truth was, he’d barely even registered my existence the few times Jess had brought him home. That hadn’t been an unusual dynamic when my gorgeous, professional model sister was around, but it had been especially painful with Beck.

  It had been a relief when they’d made the move to New York. For lots of reasons.

  But that was all ancient history. There was absolutely no reason for me to be hiding in my car like a crazy person.

  Stop being a ding-dong. Get it together.

  I straightened, then took a deep breath. I was here on a mission for the Bean and my new bosses; the revelation that Beck was involved with Dark Horse in some way was neither here nor there. I got out of the car and smoothed my hands down the sides of my jeans.

  Here goes nothing.

  Sweaty of palm and racing of heart, I started up the driveway.

  3

  Beck

  “I won’t be back for a couple of hours,” I called out as I grabbed the last carton. “Make sure you lock up when you leave.”

  “Cool,” my brother called from the back room where the coffee roasters live.

  I glanced around to make sure I had everything before striding out to the van. We had two deliveries on board, both to new businesses near Waterbury that my brother signed up last month for a discounted trial. As a start-up business, we’d learned the hard way that we had to sharpen our pencils to lure potential customers away from their regular suppliers.

  I slammed the van door shut and almost jumped out of my skin when I saw a woman was standing there.

  “Fuck me,” I said, and I could almost feel my mother flicking me on the ear for cursing. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there,” I added quickly.

  “It’s my fault. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” she said.

  “Not a problem. How can I help you?”

  She was on the short side, with medium-brown hair that just grazed her jaw, and there was something about her heart-shaped face and big brown eyes that made me want to take a step closer.

  She cleared her throat. “Is this your place?”

  “Me and my brother, Sam. Just heading into our third month of operations.” It was kind of cheesy, but I still got a little explosion of pride in my chest when I talked about what Sam and I had created together.

  “Hey, that’s great, Beck. Congratulations,” she said, her eyes lighting up.

  I frowned, confused by the fact that she seemed to know me when I didn’t have a clue who she was.

  “I’m hopeless with names. Do we know each other?” I asked, studying her face.

  She was pretty damned cute, and I was confident I would have remembered if we’d met.

  “Sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Haley Elliot. You used to go out with my sister, Jessica.”

  Adrenaline hit me like a bucket of cold water to the face, spiking my heart rate in an unwelcome rush. I clenched my hand around my car keys.

  “Jess and I haven’t had anything to do with each other for years,” I said, turning away from her to check the van doors were secure, letting her know this was not going to be a long conversation.

  “Of course. I didn’t mean... I’m not here about Jess.” She shook her head as though she was annoyed with herself for not being clearer. “I work at a coffeeshop in Colebury, the Busy Bean. I had some of your coffee today, and it’s pretty amazing. I was wondering if you had a price list or something I could give to my bosses?” She smiled hopefully.

  My response came from my gut, knee-jerk and unequivocal. “Sorry, but we’re at capacity right now,” I lied. “We won’t be taking on any new customers for a while.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh. Okay. Do you have a waiting list?”

  “Not at the moment. Listen, I really need to hit the road. I’ve got deliveries to make.”

  She blinked. “Sure. Sorry. I didn’t mean to hold you up.”

  She took a step back and lifted her hand in an awkward goodbye wave. Then she turned on her heel and walked down the drive, her steps brisk.

  Like she couldn’t wait to get out of there.

  Guilt assailed me as I yanked open the van door and slid behind the wheel. I’d just been pretty fucking cold and rude to someone who’d come on a simple business errand. Whatever Jess’s crimes had been, her sister was not responsible for them.

  The thing was, it had taken me a long time to get my head straight after Jess had tangled me up in knots. I’d blamed myself for getting sucked in to her chaos. For caring. For not standing my ground and for staying as long as I did.

  Fuck, I’d blamed myself for everything and then some.

  I was good now, but it had taken time, a lot of rum, and a lot of work, and I wasn’t about to let anyone or anything mess with that.

  So, yeah, I’d been an asshole, but sometimes you had to be in order to protect yourself.

  Jess Elliot had taught me that, along with a bunch of other things I would have preferred not to know.

  I started the van and pulled onto the road. There was no sign of Jess’s little sister, but the memory of the shock in her big brown eyes stayed with me as I drove toward Waterbury, and it started to bug me that I hadn’t quite caught her name when she introduced herself. I searched my memory, trying to dredge it up, but nothing came to me.

  She was younger than Jess, I could remember that much. And she was shy. She’d barely said a handful of words the few times I’d had dinner at Jess’s parents’ place. I could remember being mildly fascinated by how unlike the two sisters were, one confident, tall, blond and slim, the other shy, short, mousey-brown and curvy.

  Was it Helen? That didn’t feel right. Lacey? Maybe.

  Not that it mattered, because we weren’t going to cross paths again. Not if I had anything to do with it.

  I was still feeling jumpy and off my game by the time I returned to the barn after the
delivery run. I let myself in and made my way through the various work spaces to the studio apartment at the rear of the building.

  I tossed the car keys and my phone onto the wooden pallet that served as my coffee table as I entered. Larry looked up from where she was spread-eagled on the couch, her skinny tail thumping against the cushions. Her mouth stretched into a yawn, making the spray of hair around her nose bristle, then she leapt off the couch to come nudge at my knee with her head, trawling for ear scritches.

  I leaned down to oblige my dog, but even the warmth of her soft black hair beneath my hand wasn’t enough to calm me tonight. I really fucking hated that Jess still had enough power to rattle me. It made me feel like a fraud, like I’d been fooling myself thinking I was completely over her and all she’d put me through.

  I gave Larry one last stroke down her neck then strode to the fridge to grab a beer. Standing at the kitchen sink, I swallowed cold, malty goodness and waited for the alcohol to take the edge off.

  When I’d caught the coffee bug traveling through South America and come home to Montpelier to start up Dark Horse, I’d known there was a chance I’d run into Jess again. She grew up in Colebury and her family still lived locally. It made sense that she’d come home occasionally, even if her Insta feed told me she was still living in New York. At the time, I’d told myself I wasn’t going to exile myself from my family and friends because of her. That would be giving her way too much power.

  But I’d been back eight months now, and no one had so much as mentioned her name. I’d let my guard down, become complacent.

  It wasn’t until I was halfway through my second beer that it occurred to me that maybe me being rattled was actually a good thing. Instead of being evidence I was still getting over Jess, maybe it was proof of the opposite—that I’d moved on, and I was only feeling this unsettled because I’d forgotten she even existed.

  I liked this new theory a lot, so I decided to go with it. To reward myself, I opened up our current sales spreadsheet on my laptop and studied the steadily growing numbers that indicated Dark Horse had the potential to be the kind of business that my brother and I could build our futures on. As soon as she decided I was settling in, Larry came over and lay down at my feet, her long legs tucked close to her body, her head draped across my boot.