The Coffee Girl

by Shanna Hatfield

  Someday, she’d follow her dreams, but today was not that day.

  Her sister, Avery, constantly nagged her to stop waiting for someday and do it now, but Brenna was too cautious, too responsible, to throw caution aside and plunge blindly into the future.

  She had a nice little nest egg, a good start on her retirement savings, and a few close friends she enjoyed. None of that erased her longings, though, or the loneliness that sometimes threatened to overwhelm her.

  When she closed her eyes, she could see a welcoming cottage-style home, a man with broad shoulders and dark hair, and a gangly mutt. The smell of coffee and fresh baked pastries hung in the air, along with a hint of cedar and some other scent that drifted just out of her mind’s reach.

  Haunted by the same dream for years, Brenna had yet to see the house, the man, or the dog anywhere but behind her closed eyes.

  For now, she’d go on dreaming and waiting.

  Brenna sighed, returning to her paperwork. She was exhausted, her back was killing her from sitting at the computer all day, and she was half-starved. Pushing her discomfort aside, she buried herself in the work.

  Two hours later, she neatly bound the report with a strong sense of accomplishment. Brenna picked up her coat and purse, turned off her office equipment and lights, shut the door, and walked down the hall to Wesley’s office. The door was open, so she walked in and dropped the report on his desk.

  As she turned to leave, she noticed him sprawled on the couch with an empty bottle of whiskey on the floor beside him. She shook her head and walked out. By the snores emanating from him, he had no idea she’d been in the room.

  Cautious about crossing the parking lot alone, Brenna asked one of the night security guards to walk her to her car. It wasn’t that she was overly paranoid, but she’d rather be safe than sorry. Two homeless men begging for change made her glad for the escort. The security guard waited until she buckled her seatbelt before returning inside.

  Brenna’s stomach growled as she headed south on the freeway. She planned to swing by one of her favorite sandwich shops closer to home, so she kept on driving.

  Mentally exhausted, she was tired of playing the office games, tired of putting up with Wesley, and tired of having no life outside of her job.

  Something had to change. Soon. Maybe she should consider Avery’s advice.

  Brenna mulled over her options when she heard a loud pop and her car jerked to the right. Of course, her tire would blow right after she drove past an exit. Carefully maneuvering the car onto the shoulder of the road, Brenna turned on her hazard lights and jumped out of the car into a steady downpour of bone-chilling rain. Rushing around to the passenger side, she could see her tire was not only flat, but also missing a piece or two of rubber.

  Fantastic.

  The flat tire unraveled the last thread that held Brenna’s frustrations in check. She ran back to the driver’s side of the car, slid behind the wheel, and burst into tears.

  Chapter Two

  Brock McCrae didn’t make a habit of buying strange women coffee. In fact, it was the first time he’d ever done such a thing but the cute little blonde standing behind him in line piqued his interest.

  For the last two months, he’d seen her most weekdays at the coffee shop. She always ordered a Chai latte, always smelled like fresh flowers and sunshine, always glanced at him shyly.

  Brock assumed she must have an office job in the city judging by her power suits and heels and the harried air about her. She wore her curly golden locks twisted into a clip or a bun at the back of her head. Although she was not beautiful by fashion model standards, she was definitely someone he’d given more than a passing glance.

  Her blue eyes were huge, luminous, and moist like she absorbed everything around her. A smattering of pale freckles dusted her nose and cheeks. Lips, a soft shade of pink, seemed to rest in a natural pout, which made Brock want to kiss them in the very worst way.

  Not fat or thin, not tall or too short, she should seem average, but something about her drew Brock’s attention.

  From his furtive observations while waiting in the coffee line, he knew she always seemed in a rush and appeared to be more of the quiet type.

  This morning, when he realized she was standing in line behind him, he wanted to do something nice for her so he bought her coffee. The grateful smile she sent his direction as she recovered from the surprise of him handing her a drink was a great trade for the price of the drink.

  Brock thought of her, and the smile that lit her face, throughout the day as he worked on finishing his current construction project.

  Fresh out of high school, Brock landed a job for a construction company. His parents planned for him to become a doctor, lawyer, or something involving a high-powered career. It came as a shock to them both that he was much more interested in high-powered tools.

  Building something out of nothing drove him out of bed every morning and kept him engaged and excited through the day. He thrived on the feel of the tools in his hands and the smell of sawdust. He enjoyed watching dreams on a piece of paper become a reality wrapped up in wood, steel, and paint.

  Summers spent working with his uncle in the small town of Silverton gave him the opportunity to learn the construction trade as well as living life at a slower, simpler pace. His uncle Andy taught him all he could and that’s how Brock managed to land a job for a well-known construction firm in Portland as a gangly boy of seventeen. Brock worked his way up from peon to site manager in the years he served the construction firm, making a name for himself as someone fair and honest who did good, solid work.

  When his uncle announced he wanted to retire and sell his business before Christmas, Brock jumped at the opportunity to manage his own company. He took over the reins of McCrae’s Construction two months ago.

  After spending the past thirteen years in Portland, Brock liked the idea of moving from the big city to the small town of Silverton. His two roommates would find someone else to share their apartment when he got around to making the move.

  Just last week, he spied a great fixer-upper house he thought he could work on in the evenings. Brock had an appointment tomorrow to look at it and see how much money and sweat it would take to get the place whipped into shape. From the street, cosmetic repairs appeared to be the extent of the work required. He hoped after an interior inspection, his hunch would prove correct.

  Brock made a nice side income in the past by buying houses that seemed to be beyond redemption, fixing them up, and selling them for a hefty profit.

  He wasn’t afraid of hard work and he loved seeing the opportunity in a house, rather than looking at its current state of neglect.

  Brock felt a sense of accomplishment and pride as his crew finished their current project just before quitting time. He sent them home, staying behind to complete the site cleanup. Once all the tools were loaded in the construction trailer, he pulled it back to his office. He spent the evening catching up on paperwork. Time got away from him and it was late when he decided he better hit the road for home.

  Content and tired, he cruised north on the freeway, lost in his thoughts of the girl from the coffee shop. Traffic was light this time of night, failing to distract him from his musings even though the rain beat down with enough force to make him glad he wasn’t outside.

  A car heading south suddenly veered to the right before coasting onto the shoulder. Brock watched to see if the person needed help. Hazard lights flicked on before someone got out and hurried around the car. The person quickly ran back to the driver’s side and climbed in, but didn’t pull back onto the road.

  Even though he wanted to pretend he hadn’t noticed there was a problem, he knew it would bother him all night if he didn’t stop. Brock took the exit, crossed over the freeway and came down the on-ramp heading south. Illuminated by the last of the overhead lights highlighting the merging lane of traffic, Brock could see the back tire on the passenger side was toast.

  He parked behind the car,
shut off his truck, and picked up a flashlight from his back seat. As he stepped out into the rain, Brock pulled his collar up around his ears and tried to ignore the chilly temperature. Cautiously approaching the driver’s side window, he tapped on the glass and startled the woman inside.

  Finally, she rolled down the window just enough to hear him speak.

  “Hey, I noticed you’ve got a flat. If you have a spare, I’d be happy to change it for you.” Brock attempted to sound upbeat and non-threatening as cold rain trickled down his neck and soaked into his shirt.

  “Oh, that’s okay. I’ll call someone to come help me,” she said, mopping away the remnants of tear tracks on her cheeks. When she pulled her hand away, Brock sucked in a gulp of air.

  “It’s you!” He grinned at the woman who had filled his thoughts with a frequency he found disturbing. “The coffee girl.”

  Brenna’s head snapped up and she focused her gaze on the man standing outside her car. It was the cute construction guy from the coffee shop. In her wildest imaginings, she couldn’t picture how her day could get any worse.

  Before calling her dad to come rescue her, she’d sat behind the wheel, crying out her frustrations. A tap on the glass near her head interrupted her pity party. Fervently hoping it wasn’t a serial killer, she lowered the window just enough to hear what the man said without looking his direction.

  Now that she realized who he was, the construction guy had her full attention.

  “Hi.” Brenna wished she hadn’t spent the last five minutes crying, the last ten hours running her hands into her hair in frustration, or the last several years avoiding an exercise routine.

  She fought down the urge to fix her mussed hair while rolling the window down partway. The construction guy didn’t give off the appearance of a serial killer, but a girl just couldn’t be too careful.

  “Hey,” Brock said, continuing to grin. He didn’t know why, but seeing the blonde from the coffee shop had suddenly stripped away his fatigue. A whiff of her fresh scent drifted to him through the partially opened window and he breathed deeply. “Remember me, from the coffee shop?”

  “I do.” Brenna offered a sincere smile. “It was so nice of you to buy me coffee this morning. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Brock hoped she’d let him change the tire sooner rather than later so he could get out of the rain and off the edge of the freeway. It wasn’t the safest place to stand and carry on a conversation. “How about I change that tire for you? If you have a spare, it won’t take me long.”

  “That’s too much to ask of a stranger, especially out in the cold and rain.” Brenna shook her head.

  “I’m already cold and wet.” Brock’s engaging smile flashed white teeth and brought out the laugh lines at his eyes. “A little more won’t make it any worse. Do you have a spare?”

  “Of course.” Brenna wondered if he thought she was a complete idiot. “It’s in the trunk.”

  “Why don’t you pop the trunk? I’ll change the tire, and you won’t even have to get out of the car. No need for both of us to get soaked.” Brock used his most persuasive voice while tossing around a charming smile.

  “Okay.” Reluctantly, Brenna agreed, not convinced it was the smartest thing she’d ever done. He could whack her with a tire iron, stuff her in the trunk, and haul off her lifeless body to be discovered by hikers up in the hills some day in the distant future.

  Irritated with herself for her morbid thoughts, Brenna decided she’d spent too much time watching crime shows on television. Avery was right. She really needed to get out more.

  After popping the trunk from inside the car, Brenna heard rattling sounds and felt the weight shift as the construction guy lifted out the tire. She waited a minute or two then decided it was terribly impolite to hang out in the car while he did all the work in the cold rain.

  Frantically digging through her purse, she pulled out her travel-sized can of pepper spray and opened her car door, stepping out into the rain and a big puddle.

  With one foot completely soaked in freezing rainwater, she shivered as she walked around the car to see her hero almost finished taking off the blown tire. He wore a funny little flashlight on his ball cap that helped him see what he was doing.

  “Looks like your tire is beyond saving,” Brock observed as he removed what was left of the old tire. He quickly slid the spare in place and tightened the nuts, lowered the jack then returned it to its rightful place. He picked up her ruined tire and threw it in her trunk before brushing his hands on his jeans. The crooked smile he gave her made her forget her wet feet, soggy clothes, and disheveled hair.

  Brenna watched him work, admiring his strength and the easy way he moved, like someone confident in his own skin. Arriving at the conclusion that if he were a serial killer he would probably have made his move before now, she let her guard down.

  “Are you trying to decide if I’m going to stuff you in the trunk and kidnap you?” he teased, obviously reading her thoughts as he walked her back around her car.

  Brenna looked at him in surprise. “Maybe.”

  He held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I promise I’m not wanted for any crimes and I’ve never once considered kidnapping anyone.”

  “That’s good to know.” Brenna released the breath she’d held. “In that case, can I buy you a cup of coffee, as a thank you for fixing my tire?”

  “Sure.” Despite his fatigue, Brock wanted to spend more time with this interesting woman. “There’s a family restaurant at the next exit. Want to go there?”

  “That would be great.” Brenna opened her car door. “Thank you.”

  It took just a few minutes to reach their destination. Brenna wasn’t expecting him to take her up on her offer, but was glad that he did. He followed her into the parking lot and they both hurried toward the door of the restaurant, out of the rain. Impressed when he held the door open for her, they stepped inside, greeted by a cozy atmosphere and the smell of roasting chicken in the air.

  “Hello, dearies,” a friendly older woman called as she bustled past the door. “Be right with you. Sit wherever you like.”

  Brock motioned for Brenna to go ahead, so she chose a booth not far from the door. She began to remove her coat but before she could get an arm out of the sleeve, he helped her take it off. After draping it over the back of the booth, he removed his coat and ball cap.

  Politely, he excused himself and walked off in the direction of the restroom. When he returned, Brenna sipped from a cup of hot chocolate while a steaming cup of coffee waited for him.

  He slid into the booth and wrapped his hands around the toasty mug.

  “Thanks for ordering me the coffee.” Slowly, he took a sip of the aromatic drink. It was dark and black, just like he liked it. “I hope you don’t mind if I order dinner. I haven’t had any yet and I’m starved.”

  “Not at all. I haven’t had a chance to eat either.” Brenna smiled, perusing the menu in her hand. “I suppose if we are going to sit at a table together and eat, we should perhaps know each other’s names.”

  “You think so?” A teasing glint sparkled in Brock’s hazel eyes. Brenna watched his eyes crinkle at the corners and his sensuous lips tip up in a smile. “That takes away so much of the mystery.”

  “What mystery?” Desperate to conceal her overwhelming interest in her rescuer, Brenna held the mug of chocolate to her lips.

  Enchanted by her big blue eyes and her efforts to hide her smile behind her mug, he felt drawn to something about her he couldn’t even define.

  As she sat across from him, he gave her a thorough once-over and concluded she must have had quite a day from the looks of her clothes and hair.

  The coat he’d helped her remove bore water stains as well as a broad splatter of mud along the hem. Her suit was wrinkled and the sleeves were bunched like she’d continually shoved them up all day. Hair the color of autumn sunbeams, which had been neatly contained in a clip this morning, hung in bedraggled ringlets aro
und her face. A pencil stabbed into the mass stood at attention near the back of her head.

  He’d bet money she had no idea about the pencil.

  After taking another drink from his coffee cup, he offered her an engaging grin. “The mystery of figuring out who is this intriguing stranger? Is she a high-powered attorney? A doctor’s wife? A wheeler-dealer? A bank robber in disguise?”

  “No,” Brenna laughed, setting down the mug of chocolate. Any response she may have articulated waited as the server arrived and took their orders.

  “So let’s see if I can guess what you do.” Brock leaned back in the booth and stretched out his legs to the side, draping one arm along the back of the bench seat. “I bet you work in an office.”

  “Yes.” That was an easy guess, considering her attire

  “You’ve been there for a while.”

  “Yes.” That was a good guess.

  Speculatively, Brock eyed her. “You’ve worked your way up to a position with some added responsibility, some type of manager.”

  “How did you know?” Brenna sat forward, surprised at how quickly the stranger figured out her position in the company even if he didn’t know what she did.

  “You wear power suits every day.” Brock motioned to her wrinkled clothing. “They don’t cost as much as a down payment on a car, but they aren’t the cheap suits a newbie would wear. They are tailored and empowering. Middle of the road clothing budget, mid-manager.”

  Brenna raised an eyebrow his direction. “How do you know so much about clothes?”

  “My mom is a fashion designer. I learned more than I ever wanted to about clothes, fabrics and all that stuff.” Brock settled his forearms on the table and looked intently at the coffee girl. “The suits only gave away part of the answer. You have the weight of the world riding on your shoulders. That tells me you aren’t one of the minions who can leave the cares of the office behind when they punch out at five. You also don’t have the leisure of delegating all the work to someone else.”