Sweetheart (The Busy Bean)

by Sarah Mayberry

  Every single one of our customers had increased their orders week-by-week so far. That meant people were responding to our product and coming back for more. I estimated we were only a couple of months away from reaching capacity with the second roaster, and the moment we got even close we’d order a third unit. Then we could really start to grow.

  After shutting the laptop, it hit me that my brother would be mightily pissed if he knew I’d turned down the chance to win the Busy Bean’s business. He had literally criss-crossed the state visiting cafés, bars, and restaurants, pimping our beans shamelessly, and I knew how hard he worked for every sale. He’d mentioned the Bean as an aspirational customer a few times, conscious they were the kind of business we wanted to be in partnership with—interested in local food, pushing the envelope, drawing tourists to the area.

  I shrugged the guilty thought off. As far as I was concerned, missing out on an opportunity was worth it if it meant keeping my life a Jessica-Elliot-free zone. End of story.

  Tossing the beer can in the recycling bin, I reheated last night’s pizza and crashed in front of the TV with Larry curled up by my side, anesthetizing myself with a hockey game I’d recorded, saturated animal fats, and my dog’s unconditional love. Not a bad way to end the evening.

  4

  Haley

  Thinking about Daniel Beck’s rudeness kept me awake half the night.

  I’d had more than my fair share of experience with rude assholes working as a waitress. I’d been called names, had my ass slapped and pinched. Once I’d even had a woman throw money at me when I didn’t tell her what she wanted to hear, one of the many reasons I preferred serving coffee rather than alcohol these days.

  No one had ever cut me dead as coldly as my sister’s ex had today, though.

  It wasn’t so much what he’d said, but the way he’d said it. I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his eyes had flattened when I’d told him who I was. One minute he’d been smiling and looking embarrassed about dropping the F-bomb in front of a complete stranger, the next he’d been staring at me like he wanted to scrape me off his shoe. The turn-around had been so abrupt, I was still suffering whiplash hours later.

  Lying in the dark, I stared at the ceiling and fretted over what his knee-jerk dismissal meant.

  Because not for a second did I believe that a brand-new coffee-roasting business was not hungry for new customers.

  After several hours of ceiling-staring, I’d whittled the options down to two theories. The first was that his breakup with my sister had been messy. Being intimately familiar with the kind of conflict my sister was capable of creating, I knew there was a high probability that Theory One was on the money.

  My second theory was that Jess had told him some horrible made-up thing about me that had caused him to balk at having anything to do with me. It wouldn't be the first time she'd pulled that trick.

  When I was six, she’d warned my new friend from school never to ask me for a sleepover because I was a chronic bedwetter. When I was fourteen, she’d told my best friend I was only cultivating her in order to get to her older brother. Both claims were completely untrue, but that hadn’t stopped people from believing her. She'd always been possessive and needy, and she considered me her exclusive property. Anyone who got close had to be scared off so she could retain my undivided attention. It was the way she was wired, and I’d always understood that.

  Didn’t mean I was happy with the fallout, though.

  I finally fell asleep in the small hours, my brain spinning like a hamster wheel going over and over the same territory. I was so sick of being stuck in my head by the time I arrived at work the next morning, I threw myself into the day’s duties with so much gusto Roderick wanted to know what I was on and if he could have some.

  “It’s called lack of sleep,” I told him as I prepared to race back out into the dining area to deliver two meals.

  “Oh, that. I’ve got that on tap,” he said with a dismissive flick of his hand.

  I ferried the meals to table ten, then hustled back to the counter to serve two takeout customers. The next time I had time to look up, it was one o’clock and Audrey was tying on her apron.

  “I’m it, Hales,” she said, holding out her hand for me to tap out.

  I did so with a smile, loving that we were at the stage in our employer/employee relationship where I had a nickname as well as shared in-jokes.

  “Any change in our coffee sales?” she asked hopefully as she familiarized herself with what was left of this morning’s pastry offerings in the display case.

  “I think we might be bottoming out,” I said. “Today’s pretty much the same as yesterday.”

  “God, I hope so. Hopefully we’ll see a bounce soon and we can get back to being the little coffeeshop that could.”

  I really, really didn’t want to bring up the subject of Dark Horse and Daniel Beck, but I couldn’t not tell her what I’d found out yesterday.

  “About that. I have some intel,” I said.

  I explained about spotting the Colebury Diner cup and my fact-finding mission, skirting around the part where I’d gone Dumpster-diving on behalf of the Bean. I figured I was the only one who needed to know about my pathological need to be helpful. Her eyes grew round as I told her about Daniel Beck’s claim they weren’t taking on new customers.

  “Whaaat? How is that possible? How can they not want new business?” she asked.

  I opened my mouth to explain about Daniel having dated my sister and my two pet theories on why he’d sent me packing, but the smart part of my brain kicked in before the words could leave my mouth.

  Audrey did not need a crash course in Elliot-family dynamics. No one did.

  “I guess he must have his reasons,” I said.

  “Well, hopefully our regulars will come back once the novelty wears off. Our coffee is still pretty damned good,” Audrey said, her chin coming up. “We can more than hold our own.”

  I remembered the mouth-gasm I’d experienced when I’d taken my first sip of Dark Horse coffee yesterday. I was pretty sure people were not going to get sick of having that experience on the regular, but I didn’t want to puncture her balloon.

  “No one can beat Roderick’s muffins,” I said supportively. “Everybody raves about them.”

  Her eyes narrowed infinitesimally, and I remembered too late that she and Zara had done all the baking before Roderick came along.

  “I’m sure your muffins were also amazing,” I said. “I mean, your chicken salad is to die for. That dressing is so delish.”

  Audrey burst into laughter. “Poor Haley. You should see your face right now. I promise you, I am more than happy for Roderick to be a better baker than me.”

  “Well, good,” I said.

  She gave me an impulsive hug, then pushed me toward the door. “Go make amazing shoes for rich people. And make sure you take lots of pictures so we can see how the other half lives.”

  No lie, that hug left me feeling distinctly warm and fuzzy as I walked home. I’d always liked the Bean, and when I’d seen their advertisement for a new employee, I’d figured it might be a fun place to work. But I’d never imagined how quickly Audrey, Zara, and Roderick would come to feel like they were an integral part of my life.

  Which was probably why I detoured past the Colebury Diner on the way home to do a little more casual reconnaissance. I was really hoping Audrey’s prediction that our regulars would soon come back wasn’t too far-fetched, but my stomach sank when I saw there was an actual line out the door when I arrived.

  Fuck-a-doodle-do. This was not good. At all.

  I watched a handful of our regulars patiently waiting to get their hands on a cup of coffee heaven and felt sick because I was one hundred percent certain that Daniel Beck would have been happy to sell his beans to Audrey and Zara if I had been a complete stranger.

  But I wasn’t, and that meant the Bean was being punished for my sister’s sins.

  I couldn’t let that stand. I just c
ouldn’t.

  The realization made me swear under my breath. God, I really didn’t want to put myself in a position where Daniel Beck could be horrible to me again. But apparently I was going to.

  I trudged home and let myself into my apartment. I delayed the inevitable by making myself a peanut butter sandwich, then I went and sat on the back stoop while I ate it, trying to work out my strategy. No matter how I looked at it, I kept coming back to the fact that I was probably just going to have to wade in and point out the obvious—that no matter what my sister had done, he was cutting off his nose to spite his face. And that it wasn’t fair to punish Zara and Audrey because of whatever history he had with my sister.

  And somehow I was going to have to point all of that out in a way that didn’t get his back up. Piece of cake, right?

  I sighed as I contemplated the last mouthful of my sandwich. I was not the charming Elliot sister. Everyone knew that. I didn’t know how to smile and light up a room or laugh and make people laugh with me. I definitely didn’t know how to flirt with the opposite sex—or anyone, really—to get them to do what I wanted. The idea that I might even try was laughable. But I had to give it a shot. I couldn't not try to smooth things over. If I failed, I could always come clean to Audrey and Zara and hand the problem over to them.

  But not before I'd done my best to fix the problem I'd inadvertently created.

  Stop dicking around.

  I shoved the last bite of sandwich into my mouth, then dusted off my hands and pushed to my feet. Time to woman-up and do this.

  There was more traffic on the road than last night, but it was still a quick drive to Montpelier. I was relieved to see the white delivery van parked in front of the barn when I arrived. Someone was there, then. It would be super painful to have psyched myself up to come beard Daniel Beck in his den only to discover he was out doing deliveries.

  I didn’t give myself time to get cold feet, just climbed out of my rusty hatchback and marched up the driveway to the barn. A hand-drawn sign on one of the doors announced that Dark Horse Coffee Roasters was open. I hesitated a second, trying to decide if I should knock or just walk in, the way I would with any other business.

  Knock and walk in, I decided. That way I was covering both bases. I raised my fist, but the door opened before my knuckles could meet wood, and I found myself in the truly absurd position of knocking on Daniel Beck’s impressively hard chest.

  “Hi. Sorry.” I snatched my hand back, trying not to be disheartened by the wary expression that came over his face at the sight of me. “I was wondering if we could revisit our conversation from yesterday? Not to be a nag or anything, but because I think it might be beneficial to both of us. Well, to you and the Bean, anyway.”

  “Sorry, the situation hasn’t changed.”

  He didn’t sound very sorry. He bent down to pull up the bolt securing the other door and pushed it wide, then glanced at me as if to say, Why are you still here?

  “The Busy Bean is one of the fastest growing coffeeshops in this part of Vermont,” I said. “Why wouldn’t you want to do business with them?”

  “I really don’t have time to get into it. And even if I did, I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  His eyes were as flat as stones, his voice devoid of warmth. I could feel my courage seeping away as he opened the rear doors of the van, revealing a battle-scarred interior.

  It was time to go for broke, so I shoved my hands into the front pockets of my jeans and addressed the gorgeous blond elephant in the room.

  “Is this about my sister?”

  He didn’t look at me, but his shoulders twitched, almost as though he was trying to shake something off.

  “No.” He moved past me, heading inside to where a number of plain packing cartons waited on an old workbench.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  He hefted a box and met my eyes squarely. “I don’t care. I’m not talking about your sister, so I think we’re done here.”

  He carried the box out to the van, throwing it into the back with a notable lack of finesse. Because I couldn’t think of anything else to do, I strode inside and grabbed a box, too, figuring he couldn’t refuse to talk to me when I was performing manual labor on his behalf.

  He was frowning when I turned around, but I just walked past him and deposited the box in the van.

  “I think you’re making a big mistake,” I said on my return journey to collect another box.

  “My business, my mistake,” he said, grabbing two boxes in his burly arms. “And you helping me load the van isn’t going to change anything.”

  I hefted another box, not ready to give in yet, and my hip knocked a stack of paperwork on the table, sending pages fluttering to the ground.

  “Shit. Sorry.” I dumped the box and bent to collect the papers. My hands slowed when I registered what I was holding—a series of clip-art depictions of horses, some of them more successful than others. Someone had even attempted to place a few images in boxes or circles to create a logo of sorts.

  A bad logo, but I could see what the intention was.

  Beck took the papers from me as I straightened.

  “Thanks. I can take it from here.”

  “But I—”

  “No buts, Lacey. This isn’t a negotiation. Have a good day.”

  For a moment I was so confused by him calling me the wrong name that I just stood there like a dummy.

  I’d introduced myself yesterday when it had become clear he didn’t remember me. But apparently he hadn’t bothered to note my name.

  Meanwhile, I’d spent half the night staring at the ceiling, reliving our brief interaction over and over.

  A tide of embarrassed heat rushed up my chest and into my face as a humiliating realization hit me: even though I’d sold this visit to myself as me advocating for the Bean, it had really been about me seeing Beck again.

  I’d wanted to be near him. I’d wanted him to notice me. And he hadn’t even remembered my name.

  This was the problem with unrequited crushes. Even when they’d reached their half-life they were still strong enough to turn you into an idiot of the highest order.

  Without saying another word, I pointed myself at the door and started walking, desperate to be out of there. I pressed my hands to my hot cheeks once I reached my car.

  “You are such a dick,” I told myself, sliding behind the wheel.

  I mean, what had I been thinking? That he’d look into my eyes and realize he’d chosen the wrong Elliot sister all those years ago?

  I laughed out loud at the absurdity of the thought, the sound sharp as a gunshot.

  Then I started the engine with a twist of the key. As I pulled out onto the road, I promised myself I would not waste another second on Daniel Beck, delicious coffee or no delicious coffee. The Bean would find a way out of its coffee slump some other way, but I was done making a fool of myself with my sister’s ex.

  5

  Beck

  “What was that about the Busy Bean?”

  I tore my gaze from the tiny hatchback disappearing down the road to glance at my brother. “What?”

  “That woman—was she from the Busy Bean?” my brother asked.

  He’d obviously overheard our conversation from the packing room. I stared at him, my mind a complete blank.

  “It’s a yes or no question, Danny,” Sam prompted, clearly wondering what was going on with me.

  “She works there, yeah.”

  “And you sent her away?” Sam adjusted his stance, finding his center of gravity.

  Awesome. He’d switched into combat mode.

  “It’s a little more complicated than that,” I said.

  “Okay. Explain it to me.”

  I registered a crinkling sound and looked down to see I’d fisted my hand around the papers Jess’s sister had bumped off the table.

  “She’s Jess Elliot’s sister,” I said.

  Sam blinked. “Didn’t know she had a sister.”

&nb
sp; “Well, she does. And I don’t want anything to do with that family, so...” I shrugged.

  “But she was here to talk coffee, right? That's what it sounded like, anyway.”

  I dumped the paperwork and grabbed the remaining boxes for the delivery.

  “It’s easier this way.”

  I packed the rest of the boxes into the van, then secured the cargo net so they wouldn’t slide around when I was on the road. When I turned around, Sam was still standing there.

  “We can’t afford to turn away business. Especially not from places like the Busy Bean,” he said. "That exclusive deal we had with the Colebury Diner ends this week and the Bean is literally at the top of my list to recruit."

  “I’ll make some calls, do some more scouting,” I promised.

  “So you’re going to let Jess fuck you over again?”

  “That’s not what this is,” I said, somehow managing not to yell the words. The idea of Jess Elliot having any influence on my life made my gut curdle.

  “You throwing away good business is the definition of cutting off your nose to spite your face. And for what? Jess is still in New York. Zara Rossi and Audrey Shipley own the Busy Bean. You wouldn’t even need to deal with Jess’s sister. I don’t see what the issue is.”

  I couldn’t hold his eye. We both knew I didn’t have a leg to stand on. The truth was that the decision to shut Jess’s sister down had come from my gut. She’d caught me when my guard was down, and I’d reacted instinctively to defend myself and my hard-won peace of mind.

  But Sam was right—refusing to do business with the Busy Bean was pretty much the definition of shooting myself in the foot.

  “You don’t have to have anything to do with it. I’ll handle everything. Make the deliveries, all of it,” Sam said, his tone easier now that he knew he had me on the ropes.