Sweetheart

by Sarah Mayberry

  My phone rang, the loud ringtone startling in the van’s quiet interior. It was my brother, and I tapped the screen to take the call.

  “Hey. You think you’ll be much longer?” he asked.

  “Another forty minutes. What’s up?”

  “We just got a special request from that restaurant in Tuxbury. They’ve got a wedding this weekend and just ran out of beans.”

  I opened my mouth to ask what stock we had on hand, because as a rule we tried to send out our beans within a four-day window after roasting, part of the secret to our coffee’s flavor profile.

  “I’m doing an extra roast and juggling some things around to make it work,” Sam said, answering the question for me. “But I’m going to need your help.”

  “I’ll get back as fast as I can,” I said, already reaching for the ignition key.

  I watched as Haley took a step away from the table, clearly trying to disengage from the conversation without offending her customers. One of the older women was still talking a mile a minute, however, and Haley hovered patiently, an attentive expression on her face as she tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. The move drew my gaze to the generous curves of her breasts in her snug black T-Shirt.

  I was so distracted I didn’t register I had my foot on the gas and the van roared to life with an angry rev. Haley glanced up from the patio, her gaze clashing with mine briefly before I looked away.

  Great. Now she was going to think I’d been sitting there staring at her.

  And she’d be right.

  “Okay, cool. And we got another quote for the sign for the barn.” My brother’s voice turned tinny as the van’s hands-free system picked up the call.

  “Better than the last one?” I threw the van into reverse and checked the mirrors.

  “In our target range. So all we have to do now is choose a logo and we’re good to go.”

  “Great. The easy part,” I said sarcastically.

  Sam had been trawling stock-art sites for vector images for weeks and had identified dozens of images that would be perfectly acceptable as our logo, yet neither of us had gotten even remotely excited about them. This was after we’d paid a graphic designer a chunk of change to come up with something for us and been equally unenthused by the results.

  If someone held a gun to my head, I wouldn’t be able to articulate why the designs hadn’t worked for me, I simply knew in my gut that they didn’t capture the essence of our brand.

  But we desperately needed a sign for the barn, as well as branding for our coffee bags. Business cards and a website would also go a long way toward making us look like we had our shit together, too.

  In short, we needed to stop dicking around and make a decision.

  “Maybe we should toss a coin?” Sam suggested.

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  Call me crazy, but it didn’t seem the best way to decide on the imagery that would embody our brand as we grew our business.

  There were two cars waiting to exit the parking lot and I joined the line, my gaze gravitating to the rearview mirror where I could see Haley heading back inside the Bean, her arms laden with dirty dishes. Just as she was about to make it through the door she was stopped by another customer who wanted to chat, and once again she ducked her head to listen attentively, the same sweet, sincere look on her face.

  Then I realized I was staring at her again. What the fuck was up with that? I wanted less of her in my life, not more.

  I wrenched my gaze away and saw it was my turn to exit. I checked the road before pulling out.

  “I’ll see you in forty, okay?” I told my brother.

  “Copy that.”

  My brother ended the call and I punched the radio on. Larry abandoned her post at the open window and arranged herself so that she could bridge the gap between the two seats and put her head on my lap.

  I glanced down at her and felt the familiar swell of love and pride she always inspired in me. What a good, good girl. I was so damned lucky to have her, in more ways than one.

  If I hadn’t gone to the park that day... If I hadn’t registered the familiarity of her bark...

  As if she sensed the direction of my thoughts, Larry shifted, and when I glanced down, she was staring up at me, her whiskey-brown eyes full of devotion.

  “We got lucky, little buddy,” I told her. “We got so lucky.”

  Resting a hand on her shoulder, I focused on the road ahead. I couldn’t do anything about the past and all the mistakes and misjudgments I’d made. I could only be smarter about the future.

  Or try to be, anyway.

  10

  Haley

  You know that thing where the rational part of your brain decides on a sensible course of action and commits to it, but then the murky, primal, unsupportive part of your brain refuses to get on board? The Germans probably have a name for it, something hard to pronounce with lots of umlauts. All I had was a feeling, and it hit me on a regular basis over the next couple of weeks whenever Beck set foot in the Busy Bean.

  Every time I saw him propped in the kitchen doorway sharing a laugh with Zara, I felt it. When I discovered Roddy had started using Beck as a taste tester for recipes he was developing, even though they barely knew each other, I got a big, hard dose of it. And the day I left the Bean to find Beck and his dog playing with Audrey and her kid down by the river bank, I was awash with it.

  If I had to parse this feeling into its component parts, it would be made up of nine-tenths envy and one-tenth wistfulness. With a sprinkle of sexual jealousy thrown in, just for kicks and giggles.

  Because I wanted Beck to laugh with me the way he laughed with Zara. I wanted us to have the kind of relationship where I could run ideas past him, the kind of friendship where I’d see him and his dog down by the river and feel free to hang out with them.

  I was fully aware that this stupid, stubborn longing was at complete odds with my decision to respect his obvious desire to have as little to do with me as possible, but no matter how many times I told myself I didn’t care, the lump of concrete in the pit of my stomach said otherwise.

  The problem was that Beck was just one of those people other people wanted to be around. He’d always been that way, and that was the reason my sister had wanted him, and the reason for why I’d developed my ridiculous, hopeless-cause crush on him.

  He had a natural ease and charm that made people smile, even if they were having a shitty day. He gave good banter, and he knew how to tease people in a gentle, utterly harmless way that made them feel they were special because he’d noticed them. And he was curious about people, asking lots of questions and genuinely listening to their answers.

  It probably didn’t hurt that he was extensively easy on the eyes, either.

  All of this worked together to make him a warm, real presence that people wanted to get closer to, like campers gathering around a fire at night.

  I witnessed the power of his charisma over and over, in the way Audrey stood a half-foot closer to him than she did to other people, even though she was madly in love with her husband Griff. And in the way Roderick launched into an amusing anecdote whenever Beck arrived with his delivery, as though he’d been waiting to share the story with him. Even snarky, cynical Zara wasn’t immune, spending extra minutes chatting to him on the phone when she called in our biweekly order, her laughter ringing through the shop.

  Everybody loved Beck, and Beck loved everybody—with the notable exception of me.

  Every time I was in his vicinity, he turned into Professor Coffee, bombarding me with factoids about everybody’s favorite beverage. I could practically feel the tension thrumming through him as he worked against his natural inclination to have nothing to do with me. Even if it killed him, he was going to be civil.

  Way to make a girl feel great about herself.

  I could tell the others were starting to sense that something was up between us, and even though I kept telling myself to just ignore it and get on with my life, being excl
uded from the Beck campfire was seriously starting to get me down. No one wants to be the stinky kid who didn’t get invited to the birthday party. Especially when the party is happening right in front of you, and the person holding it makes your heart go pitter-patter every time they walk into the room.

  The whole weird, uncomfortable situation came to a head at the end of a truly epic couple of days at the Bean. Audrey had come down with a stomach bug, and I’d picked up all her afternoon shifts, which meant I had to work on my commissions in the evening. I’m usually pretty careful with planning out my schedule and setting expectations for delivery times, but I’d already been moving a little slowly on a purse for a woman in Toronto, and I wound up pulling an all-nighter on Thursday in order to mail the finished bag first thing Friday morning.

  As is always the way, my Friday shift at the Bean then conspired to be one of the busiest I’d ever had. Running around all day on no sleep meant my ass was dragging by the time I waved goodbye to the last customer and swung the sign on the door from open to closed.

  “Oh my God,” I said as I engaged the latch and rested my forehead briefly against the glass. “What a day.”

  “Crazy,” Zara agreed as she sailed past with an armful of dirty dishes. “And not quite over yet.”

  I took the hint, beginning to stack the chairs on the tables so we could mop the floors, a closing-time ritual that never failed to remind me of my first day on the job.

  I was just tipping the dirty water down the utility sink when Zara’s apron sailed past me to land in the pile of dirty laundry she’d be taking home tonight.

  “And we’re done, Haley. It’s official.”

  I held up a finger to dispute her call, then I rinsed the mop bucket and turned it upside down in the sink to drain overnight.

  “Now we’re done,” I said, and Zara laughed.

  “My God. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy for a week to end,” Zara said. “I think we need to decompress, Haley.”

  I raised my eyebrows as Zara pulled out her phone.

  “I’m texting Roddy and Audrey and telling them to meet us at the Gin Mill. Drinks on me,” Zara said, tapping away on her phone.

  When Zara got an idea in her head, she was pretty much unstoppable. I was tired, footsore, and dreaming of my bed, but somehow I found myself crossing the parking lot to the Gin Mill and winding my way through the happy-hour crowd to find a booth. Zara and I had barely touched our backsides to our seats before Roddy and Kieran joined us, crowding into the booth.

  “Make room, ladies, make room,” Roddy said, his shoulder brushing mine.

  I slid farther along the seat, breathing in the scent of woodsy deodorant and clean cotton.

  It’s a truth universally acknowledged that gay men almost always smell amazing, and Roddy and Kieran were not exceptions to the rule.

  “What are you drinking, Hales?” Zara asked, eyebrows raised. “Kieran’s about to go order at the bar for us.”

  “Am I?” Kieran asked, looking amused.

  “Did I mention I’m paying?” Zara said.

  Kieran straightened with comic alacrity. “Then by all means, what’s everyone having?”

  Zara laughed. “Thought that might change your mind.”

  I ran my eye down the drinks menu. There were so many good things to choose from—local craft beers and ciders, boutique gins and vodkas. It was all a little overwhelming after a tough couple of days, and I frowned at the page.

  “The house chardonnay is good,” Zara said. “If you’re looking for some guidance.”

  “That sounds great,” I said, grateful for her intervention.

  Kieran made note of everyone’s order then took off for the bar. Roddy grabbed a handful of pretzels from the bowl on the table and settled against the booth cushions.

  “How’d the afternoon go?” he asked. “Did we run out of anything?”

  “Ha. We ran out of everything,” Zara said.

  “It was one of those days,” I agreed. “Everyone wanted everything, all at once.”

  “That’s why you two are looking so beat,” Roddy said.

  Zara threw a pretzel at him. “Thanks a lot. Congratulations on offending everyone at this table.”

  “I’m not offended, and I’m at this table,” Roddy said.

  I laughed and Zara shot me a look.

  “Do not encourage him.”

  Audrey arrived at our table then, looking pale but determined.

  “Okay, I made it,” she said. “I will not be drinking alcohol, but I will be participating in team-building conversation and laughter.”

  “Come sit by me, partner.” Zara lifted an arm to encourage Audrey into her side of the booth.

  I watched as Audrey slid in beside Zara, leaning into the one-armed embrace Zara offered her. That they were firm friends as well as business partners was no secret, but it was nice to see the friend side of their dynamic in action, especially considering the historical elements at play. Like everyone in Colebury, I was aware that Griff Shipley and Zara had had a thing going on that had ended not long before Audrey came on the scene, but these two awesome women hadn’t allowed that history to stand in the way of their friendship.

  Kieran returned with an armful of drinks that he somehow delivered to the table without spilling a drop, a feat we rewarded with cheers and a round of applause.

  “Before we start, I need to make a toast.” Audrey lifted her glass, making eye contact with me. “To Haley, for putting her own life on hold to save mine this week. You’ve been a team player from day one, and we hope you aren’t too behind with your Etsy work because of us.”

  “What Etsy work?” Kieran asked before taking a big swallow of his cider.

  A Shipley cider, no doubt. He wouldn’t dare drink anything else in front of Audrey.

  “Haley makes shoes,” Zara explained. “And wallets and bags and belts. Beautiful, amazing things.”

  Kieran’s eyes sparked with interest as he focused on me. “That’s pretty cool. What’s your store called?”

  He reached for his phone, ready to look up my Etsy address.

  Heat crept into my face. I have never been good at being the center of attention.

  “It’s called Haley Made,” I said, watching as Kieran’s fingers whizzed over the keyboard on his phone screen.

  Seconds later, everyone was oohing and ahhing as they scrolled through the past projects gallery on my website.

  “Haley. These are really something,” Kieran said. “You do all this painting yourself?”

  “I do.”

  “I love your style,” Kieran said, studying the screen. “It’s really unique. Part folk, part naive, part something else I don’t have a name for yet.”

  “Show him your boots,” Zara insisted.

  I objected, but no one would be satisfied until I stood and lifted my foot to the bench seat, not exactly a graceful maneuver in the confined space.

  “How come I’ve never noticed these before. They are epic,” Roddy said, and I could feel my face heating even more.

  “Every time I see them I want to rip them off your feet,” Zara confessed.

  “Thank you. Can I sit down now?”

  They all laughed, and I sank onto the seat and took a big, soothing mouthful of wine.

  “Poor Haley,” Audrey said. “You’re the opposite of a showoff, aren’t you?”

  “Feel free to mention my site to all your friends. Just don’t do it in front of me,” I joked.

  They all laughed again, and we settled into a discussion about the new bottle labels Kieran was designing for the Shipleys. The conversation flowed all over the place after that, and even though I was tired, I was glad I’d decided to give in to Zara’s cajoling to join the gang for drinks. The wine was good, the bar snacks salty and crunchy in exactly the right ratio, and the people I worked with were smart, funny, and witty.

  In summary, I was having a fun time.

  Until I glanced across the bar and realized Beck had just a
rrived.

  11

  Haley

  He was wearing a deep-blue Henley and a pair of dark denim jeans with a worn spot on one knee that I was willing to bet was the result of genuine wear and tear and not strategic aging by the manufacturer.

  He looked very, very good, and I couldn’t stop myself from shamelessly drinking him in as he stood there, scanning the crowd for someone. I wasn’t the only person who noticed him, either. A few heads turned his way, male and female.

  When he’d been going out with my sister, people had openly gawked when they walked into a room together, two perfectly matched, beautiful people gracing the world with their presence.

  “Hey, there’s Beck,” Zara said, lifting her arm to wave him over.

  I shrank back against the booth and busied myself with draining the last of my wine. It didn’t stop me from knowing the exact moment Beck arrived at our table, since every cell in my body seemed to go on the alert whenever he was nearby.

  “Friday night drinks. A proud tradition,” Beck said.

  Roddy leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table, his bulky shoulders screening me from view.

  “You should try the new craft beer they’re trialing,” Roddy said. “It’s a porter with a hint of coffee in it.”

  “Come on now, man, this is my down time,” Beck said. “No office talk. Give me a break.”

  Roddy’s shoulder vibrated with appreciative laughter.

  “Join us,” Audrey invited. “We can squish in. Drinks are on me and Zara.”

  Beck smiled and opened his mouth to answer, but Roddy chose that exact moment to sit back against the booth again, and, suddenly, I was in plain sight. Beck’s gaze flicked to me, and even though his mouth was still curved into a smile, I knew he’d instantly changed his mind.

  “Thanks, but I’m meeting my brother,” he said, confirming my intuition.

  “He can join us, too. Especially if he looks like you,” Roddy said with a shameless grin.

  Kieran elbowed him in the ribs. “Sitting right here, humpy dog.”