Happy Pants Cafe

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  “That’s incredible.”

  “I like to think my parents were looking out for me. But even so, it was a very lonely time in my life. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could continue on. I missed having family and friends, and was about to fold and move back to Mexico to stay with a cousin. But then, one day, everything changed for me.” Luci snapped her fingers. “Just like that.

  “I had been baking a batch of extra-large happy faced cookies for the elementary school fundraiser and had run out of places in the kitchen to let them cool.” She pointed to a little wooden bench pushed against the wall over by the cash register. “That is when my Jeffrey came in to buy a cup of coffee. I was back in the kitchen and told him I would be right out. Then there was a loud noise, and I came running. My cookies were all over the floor, and standing there was the most handsome man I’d ever seen. Tall, stunning blue eyes, and thick black hair. I remember standing right in that spot,” she pointed to the floor next to the counter, “unable to speak. Then he smiled and said, ‘I think I just sat on your cookies.’ He turned around and showed me his pants, and on the back was a face made of yellow frosting. We laughed, and he asked me out right on the spot. We were married within a month, and I was pregnant almost right away with Josefina.”

  That was a sweet, sweet story. “So it was love at first sight?”

  “Yes, it was. The part that most people don’t know about Jeffrey is that he was the son of a very wealthy vintner in town. The family was not thrilled about him marrying a poor Mexican woman who barely spoke English.”

  Harper could only imagine. “So did they disown him?”

  “No. But they didn’t speak to Jeffrey for five years, until he fell ill from cancer.”

  Oh God. How tragic.

  “By then, I had three children and the café was doing well, but facing a life without Jeffrey, I found myself once again questioning if I wanted to go on.”

  Harper felt her eyes begin to tear.

  “No,” Luci said. “Do not cry, dear. It is a sad story, but so much good came out of his death.” She took a thought-filled breath. “Jeffrey told me, on his very last day of life, that he’d had a dream the night before we met. He dreamed of my cookies, and he said that the moment he saw me, he knew it was meant to be. He told me that I had to keep going, if not for him, then for our children. I had to teach them all about what it’s like to love with your entire soul. He told me that was the only gift in life worth living for.” She began to chuckle. “And then that funny bastard, God bless him, made me promise to serve my happy face cookies at his funeral.”

  “Did you?”

  “Hell, yes. His parents were outraged, but I would have done anything for that man. Anything. He gave me the best five years of life a woman could ever ask for from a man, and then he left me three beautiful children. He also left me with a two-million-dollar life-insurance policy.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yes. And it wasn’t long after his departure from this world, I started cleaning out his closet. I found the jeans he wore on the day we met.” Ms. Luci pointed to the old jeans in the glass case on the wall. “He’d carefully wrapped them in butcher paper and put them in a box in the closet. Inside was a letter that he’d written for me. It said, ‘Dear Luci, I was the happiest man on the planet the moment I met you, and every second spent with you, it just got better. No one in the world has ever known more joy than me. So whenever you feel sad, just look at these jeans and remember that life is full of so many surprises. You just have to believe and know that you are loved. Just as I was.’ He signed it, ‘Forever with you, baby.’”

  Harper whisked away a little tear, and when she glanced at Austin, she noticed his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

  “So that’s when it hit me, you see?” said Luci. “That moment brought me a deep sense of joy, knowing that he’d left this world feeling like the most loved man on the planet, because he was. And I thought to myself, we all deserve to feel that way when our time comes. We all deserve to feel like we had our unfair share of happiness. Later, I hung Jeffrey’s pants in the café to always remind me of my mission—that, and I think they’re good luck.”

  The story was hopelessly sweet and sentimental, and immediately gave Harper the urge to grab Austin and kiss him until she was blue in the face. She didn’t want to waste a single moment.

  “So how did the cookies turn into Cupid’s arrow?” Austin asked.

  Luci shrugged. “Honestly, I have no idea. People started coming out of the woodwork, saying they’d met their significant other after eating one.”

  “But don’t you think it’s a little strange that random strangers correlate your cookies to falling in love?” Harper pointed to the wall that was covered with thousands of photos of happy couples. “I mean, look at them. There are so many. How do you explain it?”

  “It’s like I said before, I think people want to believe, and when people believe, things have a funny way of happening.”

  Harper couldn’t argue with that. “I think you’re right, Luci. Or maybe you just have enough faith and love for the rest of us.”

  “Oh, no, dear. Don’t get me wrong. Sometimes faith definitely isn’t enough.” She looked straight at Harper. “In fact, that is the other reason I brought you two here today.”

  Hmm…this sounded interesting.

  Luci continued. “I’m obviously going to close the café early this year due to my shortage of spices—I’m a stickler when it comes to my recipe and the source of my ingredients—but as I hinted earlier, I think it was meant to be. I am convinced that I will need the extra time in order to prepare for my next project. And I will also need your help.”

  “Oh, I’d love to! How exciting. Who is it?”

  Luci pulled a folded-up piece of paper from her apron pocket and handed it to Harper, who opened it. It was a photograph of a very lovely looking woman with dark hair, about Harper’s age.

  “Her name is Macie, but her friends call her Moo. She was nominated by her mother because she is completely,” Luci made quotation marks with her hands, “invisible to men.”

  The woman was gorgeous. Big brown eyes, cute little nose, great smile. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “That, my dear Harper, is what you are going to find out.” Luci reached out with both her hands and grabbed Harper’s. “Because we are going to fix her.” A devious little grin flickered across Luci’s face.

  “I’d be honored to help you, Luci.” She looked at Austin’s grinning face. “We owe you our happiness.” And Harper had finally learned the truth: True love was out there. You just have to believe and be brave enough to go after it.

  This was going to be fun.

  ~~

  After a few more questions and a warm good-bye, Luci showed Harper and Austin to the door and locked it behind them so she could begin cleaning up for the day. Harper, dear, sweet, very strange girl, once again offered to buy replacement ingredients, but Luci would never change her recipe. The cookies had been working their magic for over forty years, each one baked with love, made with homegrown spices from her very own garden.

  Sebastian came out of the kitchen with his unlit cigar hanging from his mouth. “Are they gone?”

  Luci nodded. “Yes. And I think they are going to do a good job telling the story of the café.”

  “Are you sure about this?”

  Sebastian—her right hand for as long as she could remember—and she had discussed this decision many times. But as Luci had always said, “We must have faith that everything will work out as it should. I just have a feeling that there are people out there who need our help.” That was her belief, anyway, and her instincts hadn’t let her down yet.

  Sebastian scratched his bald head. “Well, just as long as no one ever learns what’s really in those cookies.”

  Luci looked at him and smiled devilishly. “That, my dear friend, is a secret we will both carry to our graves.”

  “Such a shame, though, do you not think, Ms.
Luci?”

  “What is a shame?”

  “Letting all this die. Then it’s as if this was all for nothing.” Sebastian, too, had lost his spouse very early on. He’d remarried several times, attempting to fill the void, but the women never had. Ironically, after getting kicked in the head by Miss Happy Pants, he didn’t seem so sad any longer. However, he continued to enjoy running the farm with his children and helping Luci with her special projects each year.

  “I do not want to see all our hard work disappear,” he added.

  Luci didn’t really see it that way. They’d helped thousands of people who were out there in the world, setting an example and giving hope to others: True love was possible. It was exactly what the world needed.

  And will continue needing long after you are gone.

  “Well,” Luci sighed, “perhaps someone with our passion and particular talent will volunteer.”

  Yes, someone who is a true believer.

  THE END (Sort of)

  Hi All!

  I hope you enjoyed this fun, fluffy read while sitting somewhere warm or cozy—a beach, a comfy chair or hammock outside, or curled up in your bed. But more than anything, I hope it put a smile on your face when you needed it most.

  As always, I appreciate your emails, tweets, FB messages (contact info is in the back), and those AWESOME and FUNNY-as-shit reviews. You guys rock. I so mean that.

  Also, if you’d like to see a few pics of the characters or score some free bookmarks, stop by my webpage. MimiJean.net/happy_pants_cafe.html

  All right, back to writing…I know some people are anxiously awaiting some STEAMY EVIL and DARK SUSPENSE….King of Me (anti-fluff, coming your way!).

  Happy Reading,

  MIMI JEAN

  P.S. Keep an eye out in 2015 for the next book in the Happy Pants series:

  SKINNY PANTS

  Registered nurse Macie Franklin (affectionately referred to as “Moo” by her friends) has always been known as “the fat girl.” And, after decades of failed diets, she’s never dared to dream of being anything but large and invisible to the opposite sex.

  No matter. Helping others has always been enough.

  That is, until she meets a handsome new doctor and finally decides it’s time for drastic measures. But will Macie find true happiness in a smaller pant size? Or will she discover that when it comes to love, it’s all about what you’ve got “going on” on the inside?

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  PLAYLIST FOR MUSIC/BOOK PAIRING FANS

  For those of you who are into pairing music with books (Ashley!!!!), this book was written to the following songs, in this order, and strangely appropriate for the progression of the story:

  “50 Ways to Say Goodbye” by Train

  “Atmosphere” by Kaskade

  “Lonesome” by Dr. Dog

  “Tonight You’re Perfect” and “Harlem” by New Politics

  “Heart It Races” by Architecture in Helsinki

  “Island in the Sun” by Weezer

  KING’S (Book 1)

  Available now!

  A NEW, DARK FANTASY FROM NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER, MIMI JEAN PAMFILOFF

  “I am the man who can find anything or anyone. For a price. And my price is you.”

  When Mia Turner’s brother goes missing in Mexico while on an archaeological dig, she believes that life couldn’t get much worse. But when she’s blocked at every turn from finding answers, by both local and the U.S. authorities, she must turn to a man she swears is the devil.

  Others might be fooled by his private jet, fine tailored suits, and disarming smile, but Mia knows something dark, sinister, and unnatural lurks behind those penetrating, pale gray eyes. And the more she learns, the more she realizes she may never be free again.

  KING’S EXCERPT

  CHAPTER ONE

  San Francisco. Present Day. 5:57 P.M.

  I squirmed in my tight gray pencil-skirt from behind the antique desk and forced myself to look away.

  Three minutes to go.

  But I didn’t need a clock to tell me that. I knew it. My stomach knew it. And the sweat trickling down the small of my back beneath my fitted white blouse knew it.

  Focus on something else, Mia.

  I glanced at the drizzle of rain collecting outside on the office window, but I couldn’t see past the film of dirt. Even if I could, I wouldn’t see clouds or the long-overdue rain. I would only see him. Or, really, the mental ghost of his tailored black suit, jet black hair, and pale gray eyes powering through me from the darkened doorway, cautioning me not to speak. That was how he greeted me each evening before he walked directly to his private office and shut the door, leaving behind a subtle trail of delicious cologne. There would be no other exchange between us. His cologne. My nose. Oh yes, I almost forgot. The phone calls.

  At exactly 6:02 p.m., he would call my desk, a mere five feet from his door, and say in that deep, mesmerizing voice that sent prickly chills to my bones, “That will be all, Miss Turner.”

  Those five feet felt like a thousand miles of scorching desert. One I dared not cross. Because while some people might be fooled by the exquisite lines of his handsome face or by his European arrogance that reeked of old money, I was not. I saw right through that rapturous smile. He was a cruel, sadistic son of a bitch. That was the only explanation as to why he kept me waiting like this, day after agonizing day, forcing me to swallow back my bile while the clock ticked away, all sense of hope dying with every breath I took.

  I glanced at the clock once again.

  One minute to go.

  I continued reminding myself that I had to be strong this time—no getting tongue-tied or woozy—and demand what was mine. We had a deal. I wanted his help, he wanted…well, me. As his assistant. Only I just sat there like his personal museum piece. 6:00 a.m. to 6:02 p.m. Six days a week. On the sixth floor.

  The devil likes sixes, I thought, so why wouldn’t this guy?

  What my new employer didn’t like, however, were questions. “Just do, Miss Turner. Just do,” he’d say.

  “But do what?” I would ask.

  Then he’d laugh, causing deep creases to form on both sides of his wickedly beautiful mouth. “As you are told, Miss Turner. As you are told,” he’d say while his hypnotic, cold gaze said something else: I own you now. Don’t you ever fucking forget it.

  Maybe he was right. Maybe he did own me. I didn’t know anymore. I just knew that I’d given up regretting the choice I’d made on that horrible, dark and rainy night when I’d come to him, crawling on hands and knees, praying he’d be the miracle I needed. But from the first moment he saw me, he was like a shark that tasted blood. Only, it was my desperation and weakness that had him salivating. And the things he did to me over this very desk I now sat at…Oh Lord, I can’t bear to think about it. I should have turned around and run when I had the chance. Instead, I told myself that whatever it took, whatever the price, it was worth it. If he were the goddamned devil himself, it didn’t matter. Just as long as he helped me.

  But that was three long weeks ago, and my decision to make a deal with this evil man had bought me nothing but more time to think. Mostly about my fears. Fears I now knew inside and out. Fears that pecked away at the flesh of my soul like hell’s vultures while I sat in a giant empty loft that no one ever visited, with a phone that never rang. Except when he called.

  The clock on the wall struck six. The witching hour.

  My gaze focused on the doorway, and I willed my unsteady nerves not to feel, not to be awestruck by the tall, supremely masculine figure I expected to find.

  Empty.

  I
glanced down at my wristwatch, then back at the doorway. Where was he? I pulled a sharpened pencil from the holder—the only other thing on my desk aside from the phone and lamp—and began flicking the unused eraser against my palm.

  6:01. My pulse accelerated.

  He’d never been late. Not once. Had the evil bastard skipped town without holding up his end of the bargain? It’s not like there was anything in this office he couldn’t leave behind: two desks, two chairs, and two brass lamps. No computers. No mail. No clients. It was unsettling.

  “Son of a bitch,” I whispered. We had a deal.

  I stared at the goddamned door, willing the sharp angles of his cheeks and his square, broad shoulders to darken it.

  Nothing.

  I glanced one last time at the clock.

  6:02.

  The phone on my lonely desk rang, jolting me in my chair.

  Crap.

  My hand shook as I reached for it. “He-hello?”

  “It is time, Miss Turner.”

  “King?”

  “No. It’s your fucking fairy godmother, Miss Turner. And your wish has been granted.”

  I was speechless. Not because of what he said, but because his voice had such a crippling effect on me. In a million years, I’d never be able to articulate how he so rigidly divided my mind from my body. Hate and desire. My two halves sickened by each other.

  “Miss Turner?”

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

  “As usual, Miss Turner, I find myself questioning the value of our arrangement. One would expect his assistant to possess the ability to speak, at the very fucking least.”

  I wanted to tell him that he was the devil. The goddamned devil. Instead, I eked out two tiny words. Two words that I instantly despised myself for saying. They were weak. They were submissive. They were the last things on my mind, yet I said them anyway. “Thank you.”