String Beans (The Girls of Beachmont #2)

by T. K. Rapp

  “I hope you find whatever it is you need, Will,” I told him and walked out the door before he could stop me. “Because it’s clear that it’s not me.”

  Chapter 3

  Five Months Later—March, L.A.

  I didn’t file for divorce. I didn’t even look into it because I knew it would be expensive. Instead, I worked and saved money until I was able to get out of town. The few times I did manage to go out with a friend, I used the word married like it was shield to protect me from jerks. I no longer wore my wedding band, but I did buy a cheap imitation to slip on when I needed a barrier.

  Someday I’d have to let go and stop hiding behind the title of wife, because I was no longer one. But until I filed papers and shed all traces of Will, I was married—something that both calmed and angered me, depending on my mood.

  “How’s it going out there?” Jolie asked in her overly excited tone.

  After catching Will cheating, I wanted to run away and never look back. But there was the small matter of money that kept me in place. I knew at some point I’d leave and start over, but when or where the new beginning would happen was up in the air.

  Then one night, I started thinking about what I used to want…before Will. I’d always dreamed of writing music, of hearing others sing my words. I knew it was a long shot, but if I wanted that dream to become a reality, I needed to move to Los Angeles and pay my dues like every other struggling artist.

  Packing up what little I had was easy. The “starting over” part, not so much.

  “It’s okay,” I answered. “I mean, it’s not home, but it’ll do for now considering that I don’t know where home is anymore.”

  “Stop being so dramatic,” Jolie said. “Have you found a job yet?”

  “Can you cut me a little slack? I just got here a week ago,” I said defensively before continuing. “I went to a temp agency and took a bunch of tests and shit. Guess what I’m qualified to do with a music degree and business minor that I never used?”

  “Be CEO of a Fortune 500 company?” she answered with a laugh.

  “Well, there’s always that, but I’ll have to be an administrative assistant first.”

  “So any hits yet?”

  “Nothing. But I’ll let you know when I make my first million,” I deadpanned.

  “How long can you go without a job?”

  “I have enough in savings to last another couple of weeks before I end up on the streets,” I joked.

  In reality, for the five months after Cheatergate I continued working at the music store, and tended bar across town, saving all my tips. I had enough to survive a month, though my parents offered to float me for a while. I appreciated the gesture, but I was determined to do it on my own. I knew something was around the corner—or at least that’s what I kept telling myself.

  “Any plans today?” she asked, effectively changing the subject.

  “I’ve barely left this place and haven’t met anyone, so I think the answer is no,” I answered, adding a sigh for emphasis. “But…I think I’ve got everything situated, so I’ll probably just veg out and read or something.”

  She was quiet for a moment, and when Jolie was quiet, that meant she was thinking. Before I could say anything else, she spoke up. “Vi, have you written anything lately?”

  I smiled because my best friend always encouraged my songwriting, but I’d lost my mojo. Everything that had happened with Will made it difficult.

  “Honestly, finding your husband with someone else and moving out tends to stifle a gal’s creativity.”

  “You can’t let him have that,” she scolded in her sweetest voice.

  “I have other concerns at the moment, but I’ll get it back. I promise.”

  It was a promise I intended on keeping.

  “I want to come visit you, but I need to get some time off,” she said, upbeat. “What are you doing next month?”

  I pretended that I was looking at my calendar that we both knew to be empty. My social life was nonexistent.

  “Wow, Jolie, I’m crazy busy. I mean, with the sleeping, reading, binge-watching The Walking Dead, but I’ll see if I can pencil you in,” I laughed.

  “Okay, you do that, smartass. In the meantime, let me check with my boss about getting some time off. I doubt it will be a problem.”

  “I can’t wait,” I almost squealed.

  “But here’s the thing.” She paused and I waited. “I need you to find someplace good for us to go out, because I refuse to stay holed up in your new apartment and do all those things you just mentioned. So, since you’re not doing anything today, I’m tasking you with finding a new hangout.”

  “Jolie, I’m tired. I just want to read my book and do nothing.” My tone left no room for argument, but I knew she wouldn’t let me have the last word.

  “Perfect, I’m looking at a map and there’s a coffeehouse down the street from you. String Beans. So go there and do nothing, read your book—whatever floats your boat.”

  Damn.

  I tried to think of a good enough reason not to go, but the reasons mostly consisted of I don’t feel like it.

  “Yeah, we’ll see,” I finally answered.

  “Good. Call me later and tell me about it. Okay?”

  “You know better than to be optimistic,” I reminded her.

  “What can I say? Love you, Vi.”

  “Love you, too. Talk soon.”

  I flopped onto the old brown couch that I’d found at a consignment store the day before. One would describe it as worn, but I’d also made it a point not to stare too hard. It hadn’t been easy finding someone to help me get it to the third floor, but Bethany, the gray-haired landlord who ran the store on the first floor, took pity on me. She talked her nephew and his friend into carrying it upstairs for me. I waited until they left before dousing it with germ killers and air fresheners.

  As I was resting on the couch, I took in my new home and wished I weren’t there.

  The paint was supposed to be an eggshell, though it almost looked gray. The blinds were bent and some broken, unable to do the job for which they were intended. The hardwood floors were dingy and old, something I assumed most people would like. I had a crazy urge to steam them or something because the place had probably seen better days.

  I’d put some trinkets on the windowsills and hung a picture of Jo, Dani, and Millie in my room, but the place still didn’t feel like a home.

  The apartment was shabbier than the one I’d shared with Will, but at least it was mine. After I left Will, I spent time sleeping in the guest bedroom at Alex’s place for a couple of months before bouncing to another friend’s place. I was determined to get out of town, so I refused to rent a place. There was only the matter of loose ends I needed to tie up before leaving.

  I closed my eyes and smiled, telling myself that good things were around the corner. But when I opened them, I knew I’d have to remind myself of those words—daily.

  Jolie’s demand continued to enter my thoughts and I debated checking out the coffee shop. I had seen it the day I arrived in L.A. It was close to my new apartment, and Bethany said that people seemed to really enjoy it. When I’d passed by the day before, I noticed that they had a weekly open mic night, which caught my interest. I was nowhere near ready to perform for people, but having the option to do so was a good start.

  “C’mon, Vi,” I coaxed myself, “you can do this.”

  I rolled my eyes, and stood up as I grabbed my book when I conceded that I had nothing better to do. Besides, if I wanted to prove myself right, I needed to take care of me, and getting out of that apartment was a good start.

  ***

  Wandering the streets of my new neighborhood alone was not high on my list of adventures that I was ready to tackle. Had Jolie not insisted, I would have been sitting comfortably on the couch upstairs, doing my best to ignore the odor of dog fur left by the previous tenant.

  Taking the stairs out of my building, I did my best to be optimistic about the new li
fe I was leading. But as the door shut behind me, I froze in place. The sidewalks were covered with pedestrian traffic and bikes as they whizzed past. I dodged a couple that was so engrossed in their conversation that they almost knocked me over.

  As I walked down the streets, I was awestruck. There was no rhyme or reason as to why some older, ornate buildings were next to dilapidated, hideous structures that had to have been spawned in the seventies. If I had unlimited funds, I’d want to rid the world of buildings like those so the true beauties would shine.

  I felt lost in my own world as I continued to walk, until the distinct smell of coffee stopped me in my tracks. I looked around and instantly spotted a small wooden sign that dangled from a bar above the door.

  String Beans.

  The brick façade was worn, but the three large windows that rested within the bricks’ embrace were inviting. Through the glass, I noticed several people reading books or studying, while others carried on a conversation.

  A small bell rang, announcing my arrival, but no one looked too interested in me, not looking up at all. The aroma of coffee filled my senses and I closed my eyes, allowing it to become a part of me. Slowly I opened them so I could peruse the menu that hung low behind the counter. There were almost too many options. Hot coffee. Iced coffee. Sweet tea. Flavored tea. Infused tea. The list went on.

  “What can I get you?” a low voice asked, capturing my attention.

  I glanced toward the man standing off to the side and the adorable smile that happened to be attached to an equally adorable man. His dark hair was hidden beneath a company baseball cap, but that just allowed his striking hazel eyes to be seen. A small dimple on his right cheek gave him an almost boyish look, but the muscles in his arms countered that.

  He wasn’t staring at me, or flirting, he was doing his job—or maybe he was flirting? I looked at his nametag and returned his smile.

  “Well, Wyatt, what’s good here?” The words tumbled from my lips and sounded way more flirtatious than I intended.

  He cocked his head to the side, his smile still in place. “Me.”

  Yep. That happened.

  There was a strange stirring in my stomach at his words and I found myself fighting saying something equally playful and sexy. I didn’t know what it was about this particular guy and the single word he spoke that had me wanting him to say something else to make the flutters happen again, but I did.

  Being around the bar with Will, I was used to the attention I got from men but I always ignored it because I was married. The difference this time? My marriage was over and there was nothing to keep me from playing along. Well, nothing but my own insecurity and complete distrust of men.

  “Next time I’m in the mood for sexy with a side of arrogance, you’ll be the first to know.” I smiled sweetly.

  He stood upright and a laugh escaped his lips.

  “Sexy, huh? I’ll take it. So, what can I get for you?” he asked, still laughing a little.

  Shit. I did say sexy!

  I was tempted to turn and flee the store, but I knew Jolie was right. I needed to get out there, live a little, and if that included some harmless flirting from an attractive man, so be it.

  “I’ll have a nonfat vanilla latte with whipped cream,” I said past the lump in my throat as I forced a smile.

  “You want whipped cream,” he repeated, his voice questioning the request. “Nonfat latte and whipped cream?”

  “Yes,” I snorted. He wasn’t the first person to point out my inconsistent order. Will used to make fun of me all the time.

  “Would you like anything to eat?” he asked. I looked at him and his playful smirk, trying to remember that I needed to change my attitude.

  “And that,” I pointed to the lonely lemon torte that remained. “Please.”

  “That will be seven fifty. Can I get your name?”

  My head was low as I rifled through my purse for the money. “Viola.”

  “Okay, Viola, I’ll bring your order out when it’s ready,” he said as I handed him my money.

  I dropped the change into the tip cup and started to leave but turned to ask, “Then why did you ask my name?”

  He shrugged and walked off to prepare the order. “Just wanted to know.”

  And we have butterflies again. Damn hormones!

  “You could have just asked,” I said, feeling something that felt a lot like giddiness bubbling inside of me. “I would have told you.”

  “I thought that’s what I did,” he said, raising a brow.

  I didn’t know what else to say, but I knew I felt like an idiot trying to flirt, so I decided to cut my losses and find someplace to sit.

  String Beans wasn’t large like some of those corporate chains, but it was big enough that they had their own merchandise. There was an array of clients that matched the eclectic feel that relaxed me. A green and orange paisley couch in the center of the store didn’t match the aqua blue recliner next to it. And neither of them matched the yellow area rug that covered the worn wood floors that appeared to be as old as the building itself.

  I spotted a tiny nook with an oversized purple chair and a small table, so I walked over and dropped my things on the ottoman while I situated myself. I could hear the conversations of the people around me, but I wasn’t interested enough to eavesdrop because there were too many other things to catch my attention. Paintings and sculptures hung from every wall with labels and price tags. Some were better than those next to them, but then again, it was all subjective.

  In my distraction, my copy of On the Road fell out of my bag, landing on the floor. The binding was worn and the pages were loose, but I’d added more tape to salvage it for another read. It wasn’t like I couldn’t buy another copy, but that one had been with me for so long it was like a part of me. It was one of my favorite stories and I read it at least once a year.

  I sat down and turned to the folded edge to begin reading when Wyatt appeared with my coffee and torte in hand.

  “Thank you,” I said kindly.

  He set it on the table next to the chair and I expected him to walk off, but he nudged my feet aside and sat down on the edge of the ottoman.

  “Yes?” I asked, sitting up straighter in the chair.

  “I didn’t say anything.” He shrugged.

  I didn’t know whether to think the guy was adorable or strange, but he was walking a fine line. He looked around at his customers and smiled as though he were doing a mental survey or something, and I found myself staring at him. His chiseled jaw, the stubble on his attractive face, the way his lips curved into a grin as if he knew I was checking him out. I sighed and settled back into the chair, determined to ignore the guy, but he was right there.

  How can I ignore him?

  Taking a quick sip of my drink, I set it down and I read the first paragraph on the page in silence. Apparently the words didn’t register because I had to reread it since I had no idea what I’d read. My eyes scanned the page, but comprehension of the words failed me. I glanced up at him again briefly and then back to the book.

  “Does your boss know you flirt with the customers?” I finally asked, keeping my eyes on the words that meant nothing to me at the moment.

  “Flirting? I’m on a break and your feet happen to be resting in the place where I relax,” he said.

  “Right, so if I were a huge tatted guy, you’d be sitting here with me?” I asked, finally looking at him and smiling.

  He cocked his head to the side and thought for a moment, looking adorable and yet irritating me at the same time.

  “But you’re not a guy, are you? So it’s a moot point.”

  “It’s not,” I said exasperatedly. “Why don’t you say whatever it is you have to say?”

  “Look…” He furrowed his forehead and leaned toward me slightly. “Viola, was it? Can I call you Vi?”

  “No, you can’t,” I snorted. “Only my friends call me that,” I lied.

  “Okay, cool. So listen, Vi, I’m on my break, and y
ou’re making this very difficult for me to enjoy my me time.”

  That time I laughed outright and set my book down.

  “You have got to be kidding me. Can you just go away?” I finally huffed a humorless laugh, though the whole thing was actually quite amusing. “Or do I need to talk your boss?”

  He exhaled loudly before getting to his feet, leaving me confused. I grabbed my phone from my purse and called Jolie without another thought.

  “Please tell me you left your apartment,” she groaned when she answered the phone.

  “Success,” I admitted. “I’m at the coffee shop now.”

  “And?”

  “And you’re an asshole,” I laughed.

  “That’s sweet of you,” she snorted. “What did I do to deserve such a wonderful compliment?”

  “You’re the one who told me to come here, and I’ve already met the weirdest person.”

  “Who is he?” she asked excitedly. I could almost hear her salivating on the other end.

  “Barista,” I answered. It was quiet for a moment and then I started again. “He came over here and just sat with me. He was quiet and weird and … oh shit.”

  “Oh shit? What oh shit? Are you okay?” she asked rapidly.

  I didn’t respond to Jolie because Wyatt was back in front of me, only he carried a business card in his hand. I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked from his face to his hand and back.

  “I understand that you have a complaint about someone on my staff,” he said, leaning forward to hand me the card. His playful smirk was challenging and cute at the same time as I reached for the paper. He grasped it tightly between his fingers as I tugged before he finally released it.

  “Wyatt Jensen. Owner,” I muttered aloud. “Of course you’re the owner.”

  When I looked up, his smile was still in place and he raised a brow. “At your service.”