Berries and Cream Chai (Cupid's Coffeeshop Book 6)

by Hunt, Courtney

  Berries and Cream Chai

  Sixth in the

  Cupid’s Coffeeshop

  Series

  By

  Courtney Hunt

  BERRIES AND CREAM CHAI

  Copyright © Courtney Hunt 2016

  All Rights Reserved

  This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, places, events, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.

  First Digital Edition: June 2016

  www.Courtney-Hunt.com

  For my sister, Meredith,

  The best little sister in the whole world.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Author's Note

  Chapter One

  At just past two-thirty on the morning of the first of June, Joe Lockhart found the middle of nowhere. He cruised to a stop on his motorcycle, pulled off his helmet and glanced around in satisfaction. Darkness, unbroken by any civilized light, surrounded him, the night quiet of any human habitation. The neon yellow line in the middle of the road ribboned toward the horizon, disappearing into the darkness at the edge of his headlight.

  Sunlight would reveal the tree covered foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, scattered with farms and houses. But now, in the absolute dark of the dead of night, Joe could pretend he was alone. Letting his shoulders drop, he drew a deep satisfied breath and leaned back to stare at the night sky. Idly, he picked out the constellations that his grandfather taught him when he was a child.

  Desperate to escape his quaint small town prison of Ashford Falls, Joe wanted nothing more than to keep driving until he ran out of road. But his dear departed grandmother wouldn’t let him do that. Thanks to her, he couldn’t escape Ashford Falls for another six months.

  It felt like a lifetime.

  When his grandmother passed away last fall, she’d left everything to her three grandchildren. Joe, Patrick, and Zooey stood to inherit a cool million dollars each—IF they could run his grandmother’s coffeeshop for a year and turn a profit. Cupid’s Coffeeshop, closed for nearly a decade prior to his grandmother’s death, nestled into the foothills about forty miles west of DC. And miles from anywhere Joe wanted to be.

  Joe didn’t even want his grandmother’s money.

  Well, not that bad anyway.

  If it was up only to him, he would let his grandmother’s estate go to charity. He’d lived on his wits and his charm for years before his grandma died. He could do it again. He preferred the aimless life of a tumbleweed anyway, no roots, no ties. Just him, his bike, and the horizon.

  Joe tapped a restless rhythm on his helmet, itching to put it on and just keep going.

  But leaving meant he would lose not just the money but also his family.

  Patrick and Zooey were the siblings he’d never had. He and Patrick arrived within a week of each other and grew up closer than twins with Patrick’s little sister, Zooey, following nearly six years later. He loved them both, even if living and working together nearly drove him crazy sometimes. He couldn’t take his cousins’ chance at life-changing money away from them.

  So that meant he couldn’t escape Ashford Falls for another six long months.

  But sometimes, on nights like tonight, he drove as far as he could, dreaming of the horizon that he could never quite catch. And the big boat he’d buy with his share. After they’d earned the coffeeshop—and the money that went with it—Joe planned to board his boat and sail off into even more horizons, just keep going to the edge of the world, all alone.

  For now, a long motorcycle ride and the illusion of privacy would have to do. After the stars winked out and a ribbon of pewter silk lightened the eastern sky, Joe put his helmet on and headed back to jail.

  “Good thing you’re not the morning shift.” Patrick greeted Joe when he strolled through the coffeeshop’s front door, five minutes prior to opening. A born night owl, Joe preferred the closing shift. As Patrick was a lark, this usually worked out well, no matter how snarky his cousin was about Joe’s night owl ways. “Have you even been to bed yet?”

  “Been to bed.” Joe fibbed with a wink. “Not to sleep.”

  Patrick tsk-ed as he arranged cellophane-wrapped iced cookies in a display case. Joy, the baker of the cookies, stood next to the counter, passing cookies to Patrick out of a large plastic bin. Joe had obviously interrupted their pathetic morning flirtation over the daily cookie delivery. Despite Patrick’s desperate pining, her engagement seemed air-tight, even if there were no plans for an actual wedding. Joe didn’t get it. If Joy was unavailable, then why didn’t Patrick just find some other pretty girl? That’s what he would do.

  “Rough night?” Joy asked, interrupting Joe’s musing.

  When Joe leaned against the counter and rubbed his eyes, Joy handed him an iced cookie shaped like a strawberry. He nodded his thanks and bit into the lemony shortbread, scattering crumbs over his t-shirt. His cousin fussed behind the counter, straightening things that didn’t need to be straightened, and trying too hard not to stare at Joy.

  “I’m still a bit wasted.” Joe lied as Patrick scowled and harrumphed. If he just added reading glasses and a tattered cardigan, he’d be a dead ringer for Ashford Falls’ ancient town librarian. Ignoring Patrick’s disapproval, Joe smirked at Joy. “You know how it is.”

  “Ummm…sure.” Joy shrugged, spinning her engagement ring around her finger. At her nervous motion, Patrick’s mouth tightened and he glanced away. With difficulty, Joe refrained from rolling his eyes. “Better get going.”

  “Thanks for the cookie, Joy. I love the berry design.”

  “I made them to match your drink of the month.”

  “You mean the berries and cream chai that Joe can’t find enough fresh berries for?” Patrick snapped.

  “I said I’d find some more berries today.” Joe said, keeping his voice carefully light, not wanting to squabble with Patrick before breakfast. Joy waved as she headed back out the door, with one last over her shoulder smile for Patrick.

  “After you sleep off your night of carousing?” Patrick slammed a steel milk pitcher into the sink, the clang echoing around the deserted shop.

  “Guess so.” Joe shrugged and followed his cousin’s gaze to Joy, chatting with her friend Kennedy in the square. “She’s engaged, Patrick.”

  “I know that.” Patrick scrubbed the spotless counter, glaring at the shiny top as though it had done him some deeply personal wrong.

  “Man, you’ve got it bad. Want me to find you a girl?” Joe crossed his arms, scattering cookie crumbs over Patrick’s clean counter. At least it gave Patrick something to do.

  “Absolutely not. Under any circumstances.”

  “It’s not like you’re in love with her…” Joe trailed off and looked at Patrick’s miserable face. Joe’s eyes widened. He hadn’t realized it was this bad. “Oh man.”

  “What would you know about it, Joe? You’ve never been in love.”

  “Nope. And I never will.”

  “Not afraid of the magic of Cupid’s Coffeeshop hitting you with an arrow in the ass?”

  Joe laughed. Their grandmother used to claim that the coffeeshop possessed matchmaking magic. So far this year alone, at least five couples had found love there. Joe
privately agreed with Patrick that the true magic of Cupid’s Coffeeshop was strong coffee and comfy chairs but he’d never actually tell his cousin that. Patrick didn’t believe in magic. Joe didn’t believe in love. “For me, the magic of Cupid’s Coffeeshop is getting me my million dollars so I can sail off on my enormous boat…”

  “Think that’ll make you happy, Joe? Money can’t buy happiness.”

  “But money can buy me a big boat and that’s pretty close so…” Joe snagged another cookie.

  Patrick watched Joy walk out of sight, yearning on his face. Joe would never look at a girl that way. When he caught sight of Joe watching him, Patrick turned quickly away, muttering, “I hope I’m around to see it when it happens to you.”

  Joe headed for the staircase, intent on a shower before going berry hunting. “Think you’ll be waiting a long time, Patty-cakes!”

  Chapter Two

  Late that afternoon, on the way back into town, Joe pulled over, dreading informing Patrick that he’d failed to identify a local source of berries for his latest drink creation. When Joe created his Berries and Cream Chai, he’d been blissfully unaware of the local berry shortage. Calling and driving to local farms hadn’t produced a source of berries. Cupid’s Coffeeshop was too small an account to compete with the local restaurants for supplies. And buying them from the grocery store was too expensive, as Patrick constantly reminded him. He might be able to use frozen berries for the actual drink so he just needed enough for the garnish.

  As Joe considered ways to tweak his recipe, he noticed a faded wooden sign laying on its side, crushed grass surrounding it. Fallen paint flakes littered the grass around it like a halo. A red arrow—faded now to pink—pointed the way to Berry Hill Farm.

  Memories flashed through his mind like snapshots. They’d gotten Christmas trees at Berry Hill when he was small. Every year, Joe and his grandfather trekked out to find the perfect Christmas tree. Just he and Gramps. It was their special time. Their trees scented the entire coffeeshop with the delicious scent of pine. Until Uncle Henry—Patrick and Zooey’s father—purchased a fake tree the year Joe and Patrick turned seven. And Cupid’s Coffeeshop hadn’t needed any more live trees.

  Joe considered. They may not need a tree at the moment but they did need berries. Would he find some at Berry Hill? After making a mental note to find a live Christmas tree for the shop in December, Joe swung his bike onto Berry Hill Road. He followed a winding stretch of asphalt up a steep hill, shaded by ancient oak trees so tall they canopied over the road. Sunlight dappled him as he followed the twisting path. A freshly painted gleaming white fence came into view, running alongside. The dense trees broke to reveal a white farmhouse, with orchards climbing the hills beyond and a large field, neat rows of green plants, to one side.

  The little jewel of a farm snuggled into a hollow in the foothills of the Blue Ridge. In the shade of the white house, a greenhouse gleamed. Slightly down the hill from it, a small series of bright yellow produce stands stood, with charmingly hand-painted rustic signs advertising strawberries, apples, pumpkins, and the like. All of the stands stood closed and locked up though there was a large sign, looking newer than the rest, with pick-your-own prices and procedures.

  Joe swung into the deserted gravel parking lot and parked next to a small picnic area, with tables scattered around the well-trimmed grass. A blow-up castle in bright primary colors sat to one side, the walls jerking as a shadowy figure bounced inside. When he cut the motor and pulled off his helmet, classic 50s music poured from some hidden speaker, loud over the purr of the bouncy castle motor. Enjoying the warmth of the sunshine on his arms and the breeze that flirted with his face, he walked over to the castle and peeked inside. A woman, dressed in slim jeans and a dark t-shirt, jumped as she sang along with Buddy Haley and the Comets. Her back was to him and he got the impression of a round derriere as she wiggled and jumped to the music.

  “This looks fun. Mind if I join you?”

  The woman shrieked and whirled around, losing her footing and landing on her lush bottom. She pulled her dark curls out of her face and peered suspiciously at Joe from her leaf green eyes. Her face could grace a cameo. Sheer perfection. Freckles dusted across her nose and pink cheeks like angel kisses. She was as wholesome as an apple and just as tempting. She scrambled to her feet, as gracefully as possible for a barefoot goddess in a kids’ bouncy toy.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Joe put both palms up and backed out of the castle. She crawled to the edge and climbed out. Her toenails bore glittery blue polish that sparkled in the sun before she crammed her feet into her running shoes. Joe smiled at her and extended his right hand to shake. “I’m Joe Lockhart.”

  “Molly McCarthy.” She extended a slim hand. When their palms connected, a frisson of awareness sparked up Joe’s arm. She really was lovely. He deepened his smile, deliberately showing his dimples. Molly tugged her hand free and didn’t give him an answering smile. “What brings you to Berry Hill?”

  “Didn’t this used to be a Christmas tree farm?”

  “Yes, as well as a pumpkin patch, orchard, and small vineyard. Or at least that’s what the real estate agent told me when I bought it.” Molly crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head at him. “Seems a bit early for a holiday tree though.”

  “I’m searching for locally grown berries. Berry Hill sounded like a promising place.”

  “You’d think that but…” Molly shook her head. “The only berries we have are blackberries. They just grow wild.”

  “Blackberries would be perfect.” Joe said. “I’ll take everything you can provide.”

  “Making a lot of cobbler?”

  “No. My cousins and I own the coffeeshop in Ashford Falls. Maybe you’ve heard of it. Cupid’s Coffeeshop?”

  “I usually get groceries in Hagerstown. Closer.” Molly shrugged, “Don’t get that way much. And why would a coffeeshop need berries?”

  “Well, I create these signature drinks of the month. Our June drink is Berries and Cream Chai. Iced or hot. It’s selling well but we advertised it as made with local berries. Unfortunately, we can’t seem to keep up with demand.”

  “Lucky you.” Molly put her hands in the back pockets of her worn blue jeans, pulling the Berry Hill farms logo tight over her ample chest. In a supreme act of will, Joe kept his gaze locked on her face. “I have the opposite issue.”

  “How so?”

  “Walk with me to the blackberry thicket and I’ll explain.” Molly said. Joe fell into step beside her. “Like I said, this used to be a modestly successful vineyard. I bought it last year to try to revive it.”

  “Wow. That sounds like a lot of work.”

  “You have no idea.” Molly nodded. “In the meantime, I’ve been trying to keep it afloat as a pick-your-own place. But…”

  “No luck?”

  “Well, I’ve got a small vegetable garden started. The first of the harvest is starting to come in and I’ve had some luck with taking it around to farmers’ markets.” They stopped beside the large field, with neat rows of plants, just beginning to grow. He recognized the spicy scent of tomatoes and the long sinuous lines of runner beans snaking up their poles. Beyond that, he couldn’t identify any of the plants. He’d never been much for gardening. “Over there, I’ll have a pumpkin patch and the orchard should produce some fruit this year too.”

  She led him on a narrow footpath between the orchard and the orderly garden. The orchard was full of twisted and gnarled old trees. He peered closer and spotted green fruit in the branches, just beginning to redden. “Is it just apples?”

  “Apples and some peaches, I think. The prior owners didn’t keep the best records so sometimes it’s a surprise.”

  “Keeps it interesting.” Joe said. “I bet they’re pretty when in bloom.”

  “I wanted to sleep out here in the spring.” Joe imagined her nestled among the blossoms, like a fairy queen come to life. He grinned at the fanciful image. They crested the hill to reveal
an overgrown vineyard, the posts holding the vines listing like drunks at a bar ten minutes before closing. The vines heavy with fruit, sprawled before them, tumbling down the opposite side of the mountain. The thick, cloying scent of rotting fruit filled the air.

  Lining the sides of the vineyard, thick hedges of bushes grew, their leaves dancing in the breeze. Molly strode over to one and plucked a plump blackberry. She held it out to him, glistening in the palm of her hand. Slowly, he took the berry and popped the sun-warmed fruit into his mouth, enjoying the tangy burst of juice on his tongue. Delicious.

  “Those bushes should have plenty of fruit for your drinks. Problem is, I’ve got no one to help harvest them.”

  “What if I help you?”

  “Why would you want to help harvest? Don’t you have a coffeeshop to run?”

  “That I can’t run without berries. Not this month anyway. Essential ingredient to my Berries and Cream Chai.”

  “Sounds delicious. Mr. Lockhart—

  “Joe, please.” He smiled at her. “I’m happy to pay you, whatever you like.”

  “If you want the berries, they’re all yours. But you’ll have to pick them yourself.”

  “Deal.” Joe agreed and turned toward the bushes. “Got any baskets?”

  Chapter Three

  Molly tugged her phone out of her pocket as she hurried back through the orchard to retrieve some baskets. A quick search confirmed that Joe Lockhart owned and operated Cupid’s Coffeeshop, along with Patrick and Zooey Lockhart. Another few clicks gave her a blog devoted to tracking the movements of Joe and his coffee truck, Cup of Joe. He’d developed quite an online following as The Coffee Hunk. She scrolled through several Twitter feeds squeeing over how handsome he was before grabbing two metal buckets and heading back up the hill.