Sweetheart (The Busy Bean)

by Sarah Mayberry

  Beck-starved because he hadn’t been into the Bean since last Thursday, which meant a whole week had passed since I’d laid eyes on him. Seven whole days in which my imagination had turned every tall, blond man I saw into a possible Beck, because that was what my desperate, horny little self wanted to see.

  I kind of hated myself for being sexually obsessed with him when he was avoiding me, sending his brother to do the Bean delivery on Monday so he didn’t have to run the risk of being near me. The whole situation had me so confused, because I knew I hadn’t imagined the intensity of our kiss. I hadn’t imagined the way he held me, how hard he’d been.

  But now he was doing his damnedest to not be in the same room with me again. It was beyond baffling, and more than a little wearing on my self-esteem.

  I was so damned sick of thinking about it, I made a disgusted noise in the back of my throat, earning me a side glance from the older woman shopping the paintbrushes nearby. I gave her a reassuring smile and pulled out my shopping list, determined to stay on task. I’d just added three bottles of Bluestone leather paint to my basket when a voice sounded behind me.

  “Haley Elliot. I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  I turned to find an attractive blonde woman bearing down on me, her high-heeled sandals click-clacking on the concrete floor. I recognized her as one of my sister’s high school entourage but couldn’t for the life of me remember her name. Caitlin? Catherine? Something with a C, I was pretty sure.

  Whatever her name was, she was impeccably, elegantly dressed, her makeup flawless, not a hair out of place.

  “Hi. How are you?” I asked, acutely conscious of the fact that I’d left the house to make my supply run wearing a paint-splatted T-shirt, a pair of old jeans cut-off at the knees, and my grungiest pair of Chuck Taylors.

  “I’m so good. Crazy busy with my two girls, but loving every minute of it.”

  “Oh, you’ve got kids now?” I asked dutifully.

  “Cara and Hannah. Four and two.” She flicked her long hair over her shoulder, her smile wide and bright, and suddenly my memory kicked into gear.

  Her name was Charlotte, and she’d been on the cheerleading squad with my sister.

  “What are you up to these days?” Charlotte asked.

  “I’m working at the Busy Bean in Colebury,” I said.

  “Oh, I’ll have to pop in and see you. I love that place. This is such a coincidence—I was just having a group chat with some of the other girls from school and Jess last week,” Charlotte said. “Such exciting news about her Vogue cover, don’t you think? I’m going to buy ten copies if she lands it.”

  I frowned, confused, and Charlotte clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “Damn it, I am such a big mouth. I think that was supposed to be a secret.” Her laugh was high and nervous. “Please don’t tell her I blabbed, she’ll be so mad with me.”

  There was a strained look around her eyes, and I knew she was genuinely worried about how my sister might react if she learned Charlotte had betrayed a confidence. I understood why—Jess could be ruthless when she felt let down by anyone.

  “My lips are sealed, don’t worry,” I said.

  I was pretty sure Jess would have told us if she’d landed a Vogue cover, but she sometimes had a very loose relationship with the truth. While there was a possibility she was withholding information from my parents for reasons of her own, it was also possible she was embellishing her career to impress her old high school friends. My money was on option B, but, honestly, there might even be an option C in play that I didn’t have a clue about. You never could tell with Jess.

  “Thank you,” Charlotte said. “I’d better keep moving. I promised the girls I’d grab some glitter paint for them for a school project. If I can ever find it.”

  “Aisle five,” I said, because this place was like my church.

  “Hey, thank you. Great to see you, Haley.” Charlotte gave me a bright smile before click-clacking down the aisle, her sundress flowing around her slim body.

  I went back to my shopping list, but the conversation with Charlotte kept pulling my focus. If Jess really was up for a Vogue cover, it could slingshot her career into the big time. All her dreams of becoming a top-tier model might be on the verge of coming true. Which also meant that if the cover didn’t happen, she would be fragile and prone to falling apart. A hand grenade with the pin pulled out.

  Just thinking about it made me nervous and worried for her. For my parents, too. They always bore the brunt when Jess imploded.

  I reached into my bag for my phone so I could call my mother and give her a heads up, only to find my fingers scrabbling over pocket lint and loose coins. I peered into my bag, checking all the pockets, but my phone was nowhere to be found. I frowned, trying to remember when I’d last used it, hoping against hope that I hadn’t lost it somewhere. Then I groaned as it came back to me—my battery had been running low, so I’d borrowed Roddy’s charger and plugged my phone into the outlet in the Bean’s storeroom.

  At least it was safe. That was something, because I really didn’t want to have to go to the trouble of replacing a phone when I was pumping every spare cent into my fledgling business.

  I threw the last colors on my list into my shopping basket and headed for the cashier. Two minutes later, I was in my car, headed back to Colebury. I had a new commission to dive into, but that wasn’t going to stop me from dropping by the Bean to find my forgotten phone. I wasn’t as obsessed with it the way some of my friends were, but the idea of waiting until tomorrow to get it made me feel twitchy.

  It was nearly three when I parked under a shady tree in the far corner of the Bean’s parking lot. I left my bag on the front seat and just grabbed my keys—this was going to be an in-and-out job, after all. The patio was well-populated as I made my way to the front door, meaning they’d had a good afternoon. I walked through the door and, sure enough, the place was still jumping. Stress flattened Zara’s mouth when she glanced up from making coffees and spotted me.

  “Haley. We knew you’d be back—Roddy’s got your phone.” She flashed me a quick smile before focusing on the machine again.

  I glanced at the people standing in line and rounded the counter, bumping her out of the way with my hip.

  “You handle the orders, I’ve got this,” I said, scanning the tickets on the counter.

  “No, Hales, you finished hours ago,” Zara protested.

  “I’m giving you ten minutes to get on top of things. You can pay me back in baked goods,” I said, already reaching for the soymilk.

  I could tell Zara wanted to object, but there was no arguing with the growing line, and she spun away and got to work whittling it down.

  Meanwhile, I cranked out the coffees one after the other, working at my efficient best until both Zara and I could breathe again.

  “Man, what an afternoon. Why are we so busy all of a sudden?” Zara took a moment to tighten the elastic holding her ponytail at the base of her neck.

  “Great food, great coffee, great location. Build it and they will come. Plus, it’s an awesome day out there. Who doesn’t want to sit on the patio at their favorite coffeeshop and guzzle coffee and cake on a day like today?”

  “When you put it like that...” Zara reached out and plucked the milk jug from my hand. “Go and be free, little bird. Fly high.”

  She waved her hands at me as though she was shooing a bird into flight.

  “Not sure that going home to cut out shoe leather is the equivalent of flying, but okay,” I said.

  I ducked into the kitchen to grab my phone and endured Roddy’s ribbing as he pretended to have cracked the code and scrolled through all my private pics.

  “The way I know you absolutely didn’t get into my phone is precisely because you think I have naughty pics stored there. These curves are too 3D for 2D, baby,” I said, snapping a Z in the air.

  Then I turned to go and almost walked into Beck.

  Startled, I laughed nervously. Beck looked star
tled to see me, too, maybe even alarmed, and his biceps bulged briefly as he tightened his grip on the box of coffee he was carrying.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  “No, that was on me,” Beck said. He slid the box onto a nearby counter. “Sorry for the mix-up earlier,” he told Roddy.

  “I told you, tomorrow would have been fine,” Roddy said.

  Beck lifted a big shoulder. “Incomplete orders bug me.”

  I shifted my weight, willing him to step aside so I could exit the kitchen. Beck’s eyebrows shot up comically as he registered he was blocking the doorway.

  “Sorry,” he said, shuffling to one side.

  Maybe it was my imagination, but he seemed off balance. Maybe even a little flustered, which was not a word I would normally associate with Beck.

  “I’ll see you guys later.” I lifted a hand in farewell.

  Then I eased past him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his powerful body and catch a whiff of his clean, sunshine-y deodorant.

  All the dirty fantasies I’d been having for the past week were suddenly filling my head with flashes of well-honed body parts. Heat rose up my chest and I raced past Zara, flinging a goodbye over my shoulder, hoping to make it outside before my face became fully incandescent with embarrassment.

  “See you tomorrow,” Zara called as I ducked out the staff entrance and into the warm afternoon sunlight.

  “Oh my God, you are out of control, girl,” I whispered under my breath, fanning my T-shirt to try to disperse some of the Beck-generated heat from the surface of my skin.

  “Sorry?”

  I spun around to find Beck standing there. He must have followed me out the door, and I hadn’t even noticed. That’s how desperate I’d been to escape.

  “I was just... It doesn’t matter,” I said, shaking my head.

  His gaze dropped to where I was still fanning the neckline of my T-shirt before continuing down my body, taking in my tattered, paint splattered cutoffs and scruffy old sneakers.

  I was never leaving the house looking less than perfect again.

  “How are you?” I said, because one of us had to say something to break the too-long silence that had opened up between us.

  “Kind of fucked up.”

  I blinked in shock at the rawness of his response. “Oh. What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said, and I could tell by the surprised look on his face that he hadn’t planned to admit as much to me.

  “Oh,” I said again, because my brain was too busy freaking out to come up with anything better.

  Beck was staring at me, hands loose by his sides as he waited for more, tension radiating off his big frame. Then his fingers curled ever so slightly and I knew—don’t ask me how—that he was thinking about the way he’d grabbed my ass and hauled me up against him the other night. Heat flooded my body, and I could feel myself turn liquid where I needed him the most.

  He hadn’t asked out loud, but we both knew there was a question hanging in the air.

  I licked my suddenly dry lips. “My place is just up the road,” I said, pointing blindly up the hill.

  I’d never propositioned a man so boldly in my life before, but I wanted to be with Beck so badly, my whole body throbbed with the need to be close to him. To have him inside me, over me, pressing me into the bed.

  His eyes flared with hunger, his gaze flicking briefly over my shoulder in the direction I’d indicated, as though he was trying to gauge exactly how far away my place was and therefore how long he had to keep a grip on his need for me.

  “I’ll follow you,” he said.

  “Okay.”

  There was nothing more to say, so I turned away from him, marveling that my legs were still holding me up when they felt like jelly, and all I could think about was the hot, wet place between them where I was aching for Beck.

  The parking lot seemed a mile wide as I walked to my car, the crunch-crunch of gravel beneath my feet unnaturally loud as I grappled with the craziness of what had just happened between us.

  Beck was about to follow me home. He couldn’t stop thinking about me.

  We were going to fuck.

  18

  Haley

  What had just happened—what I’d just done—was so huge I couldn’t get my head around it, so I concentrated on the mechanics of driving instead: open door, get behind wheel, start engine, check mirrors, put car in reverse...

  When I pulled out of my parking spot and drove toward the exit, Beck’s van followed suit, pulling in behind me. When I stopped to make sure it was safe to turn out of the lot I kept my eyes on the road, too scared to check the rearview mirror in case Beck was having second or third thoughts.

  Because I wanted this so badly. More than I’d ever wanted anything or anyone. This was my most private fantasy come to life—Beck, wanting me. Beck, in my bed.

  Please don’t be a dream. Please don’t be a dream. Please don’t be a dream.

  I repeated the desperate mantra over and over in my head as I led our two-car convoy up the hill into town. When I signaled a right turn, Beck signaled a right turn, and together we threaded our way around the town green until we reached my street. By the time we stopped in front of my house my heart was beating so hard and fast I could feel it in my throat.

  I got out of the car, automatically grabbing the bag with my art supplies, as if this was just any old day and I was just returning from any old errand. When Beck joined me, I cleared my throat nervously.

  “This is me,” I said, jerking my head toward the house.

  He nodded, and I led the way up the path toward my front door. The lock could be stubborn sometimes, but today it turned smoothly beneath my hand and I pushed the door wide, conscious of Beck following me up the hallway, his footsteps heavy behind me.

  Please don’t be a dream. Please don’t be a dream. Please don’t be a dream.

  We passed my half-closed bedroom door, then entered the small living space. I tossed the bag containing my art supplies onto the couch.

  Confession time: earlier, when I said I’d never propositioned a man so boldly before? I’d never propositioned a man full stop, boldly or otherwise. So this was all new territory for me and I wasn’t sure about the etiquette. Should I have shoved him through the doorway into my bedroom the moment we entered the house and torn his clothes off, or was it considered bad form to jump on your prospective lover without offering him refreshments first?

  I had no idea.

  “Would you like a drink? Something to eat?” I asked, opting for politeness over untrammeled lust.

  My mother would be so proud.

  “Sure. If you’re hungry,” Beck said.

  I was not hungry—at least, not for food—but I was totally out of my depth now that I had Beck where I wanted him. Or at least close to where I wanted him, since my bedroom was about ten steps in the opposite direction.

  He followed me into the kitchen, and I collected two glasses from the open shelf above the sink. I poured two glasses of water, proud of the steadiness in my hands, when my whole body felt as though it was vibrating with anticipation.

  Daniel Beck was in my house. DANIEL BECK.

  I handed him a glass and took a big gulp of water from my own, not quite meeting his eye.

  “I think I’ve got some leftover chicken salad...” I said, turning toward the fridge.

  Cold air rushed out at me as I stared in at all the usual culprits—cheese, butter, milk, condiments.

  What are you doing? Daniel Beck has followed you home to have sex with you, and you’re offering him chicken salad?

  The voice in my head was right. This was nuts. I was wasting valuable time. And, importantly, giving Beck the chance to regret accepting my impulsive invitation.

  I needed to find the bold, brazen vixen from ten minutes ago. I needed to let her take the wheel.

  Taking a deep breath, I pushed the fridge door shut and turned to face Beck.

  “Actually, I’m n
ot very hungry,” I said.

  “Me, either,” Beck said.

  He set his water glass down on the counter.

  “Do you want to—” My eyes widened as he took my glass from my hand and set it down, too.

  “Yeah, I do.” He smiled, the corners of his green eyes crinkling attractively, and I came up onto tip-toes because I knew he was going to kiss me.

  He did, his head lowering toward mine, his arms coming around me, and it was everything.

  His lips were soft as they moved over mine, and when his tongue came into my mouth I lost the power to form complex thoughts because this man knew how to kiss. Boy, did he know. His arms tightened, hauling me closer, and I made an approving sound, reveling in the feel of his big body against mine.

  He was so hot. And he felt so good.

  I felt the brush of his hand against my hip as he found the hem of my T-shirt, then the touch of his warm fingers against my ribcage. His hand flattened against my skin, smoothing upwards, and I felt as though every nerve-ending in my body was holding its breath. Then his hand was cupping my breast, testing the weight of me before his thumb swept across the satin of my bra to find my nipple.

  I moaned as electric sensation shot through my body, arching my back to demand more. Beck made a strangled sound of his own, lifting his head to break our kiss.

  “Bedroom?” he asked, his voice low and desperate, two slashes of color high on his cheekbones.

  “Front room.”

  He nodded, then slid his hands onto my ass and issued a curt instruction. “Up.”

  I didn’t need to be asked twice, wrapping my legs around his hips as he boosted me up. The moment my face was on the same level as his, he kissed me again, and for long seconds we got lost in the wonder of it, our tongues caressing as we deepened our connection. I wriggled closer and Beck got back on track, heading for the front of the house with long strides. He nudged my bedroom door open with his toe then the two of us were tumbling onto my bed, his heavy weight pinning me to the mattress.