Hard Habit to Break (A Chicago Love Story #1)

by K. T. Webb

  Hard Habit to Break

  A Chicago Love Story

  Other Titles:

  The New Era Saga (Young Adult Superhero)

  The Evolved (book one)

  Growing Hope (book two)

  Choosing Eternity (book three)

  Cover Design by:

  Amy Queau of Q Design Cover and Brand Premades

  Copyright – 2016 by Kathleen Webb

  Editors: Debbie Richardson and Brenda Guthmiller

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, folklore, mythology, people, or places are used fictitiously. All other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any similarities to actual events, locations, or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any way without the express written consent of the author.

  Thank You:

  To the authors and bloggers at the North Iowa Book Bash. I was inspired to write this novella after meeting so many romance and erotica writers at the 2016 signing! I’ve found another genre I thoroughly enjoy writing in thanks to all of you.

  To my beta readers. I was so nervous about how this book would turn out. It means the world to me to have you read it and offer suggestions and catch mistakes!

  Chapter 1

  I’m standing behind him in line again. I can smell his cologne mixing with the deep warm aroma of freshly ground coffee beans. The raven-haired barista asks for his order, as she smiles coyly. Oh barf. She knows what he wants; he orders the same thing every day.

  “Tall Americano with two pumps of caramel,” he responds as though he is completely oblivious to how frickin’ hot it is when he says “car-a-mel”.

  The barista turns bright red when he hands her his cash and tells her to keep the change. My eyes roll involuntarily as she makes a sound between a giggle and a mumbled “thank you”. He turns and nearly runs into me because I’m standing much closer than is socially acceptable. I put my head down and apologize before stepping up to the counter.

  “Welcome to the Daily Grind. What can I brew just for you this morning?”

  I stare blankly at her for a moment. My brain can’t process the high-pitched whine of her voice and her obnoxiously chipper tone while I resist the urge to punch her in the throat. I blink twice as I regain my composure.

  “Looks like you need some coffee stat, but did you need a moment to think about your order?” She asks, ignorant to the real reason for my hesitation.

  “Uh, no. I’ll take a tall Hazelnut Latte, iced, with a pump of French Vanilla, and a dollop of non-fat whipped cream,” I reply as I watch her press the buttons on the register in front her.

  I pay her an exorbitant amount of money for a cup of liquid beans with flavoring and move away to wait with him. I don’t get to stand next to him long before the other barista winks, smiles and hands him his coffee. He excuses himself and maneuvers around me, heading for his usual table in the corner. I shiver involuntarily when his arm brushes mine. I really shouldn’t be this attracted to him; he’s probably too old for me. I find myself staring at him covertly by pretending to look out the window. He keeps his hair cropped close to his head on the sides and back, but has enough hair on top to let the careless waves catch the sunlight. The sprinkling of gray betrays the age his flawless face is hiding.

  He wears a faded t-shirt with small tears along the collar and a pair of basketball shorts. From the earbuds hanging around his neck every day, I know he stops here at some point on his morning run. He’s just sweaty enough to make it obvious he’s working hard but not sweaty enough to be disgusting. Today, his stubble covers his face and the flecks of gray are more obvious than ever. I first saw him here in the spring. I’ve been going to the Daily Grind nearly every day since I started school three years ago. There are very few regulars, so I took note when an incredibly sexy man starts frequenting my favorite spot.

  I realize I’m staring again and try to look at anything but him. I can’t help but sneak a look now and then. I’d noticed long ago that his ring finger was vacant save for the faint imprinted remnants of a long-worn wedding band. It makes me wonder if he’s a creep trolling for chicks or a divorcee. I hope for the latter because I can’t imagine that someone as quiet and shy as he seems to be would be out trying to cheat on his wife.

  “Miss?” I’m snapped back to reality by that incredibly annoying barista.

  I take my coffee and sit down in the corner opposite his table. He is reading a book but I can’t tell what it is. This is his morning routine; he gets coffee, reads, and then leaves to be sexy somewhere else. I open my own book and pick up where I left off. I’m on summer break from college but I’m getting antsy to start class again. In less than a week I’ll be returning to the University of Chicago, majoring in English Language and Literature. I’m a self-proclaimed nerd so the idea of going back to school is exciting for me.

  I’m re-reading Jane Eyre for the millionth time. There’s just something about classical literature that I can’t resist. I’m at the part where Jane is beginning to suspect that Rochester has the same feelings for her as she has for him. Their romance seems so forbidden but so perfect.

  “That’s a great book.”

  I look up to find him standing in front of me. Holy shit. I try not to let my racing heart give me away as I reply, “It’s one of my favorites. I pull it out every now and then.”

  “I have a few like that. Although admittedly, Jane Eyre isn’t one of them.”

  I laugh, “So you’re telling me you’re not the angst-y romance type?”

  He blushes a deep crimson, “I’m not all that acquainted with romance actually. It’s been a long time since I felt the need to be.”

  “I’m sure your wife would have something to say about that.”

  “She would, if she were still around.”

  Now it’s my turn to blush, “Sorry, that was insensitive. It’s just, you’re not the first guy with a wedding band imprint who’s tried to start a conversation with me. I made the assumption that you were still married.”

  “No harm done. I’m Isaac by the way.”

  “Liv.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Liv.”

  “You, too.”

  He clears his throat, clearly caught in a situation he hadn’t intended to be. “I’ve noticed you come here a lot.”

  “So do you, that’s probably why you noticed me. You’re not going to try to hit on me before I’ve even finished my morning coffee are you?”

  His sexy laugh gives me butterflies, “No, I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m just new in town and thought I’d strike up a conversation with a fellow booklover.”

  We chat casually a bit more about books we like but are interrupted by my phone buzzing. My best friend, and roommate is reminding me to meet her to sign the lease of our new apartment. We’re finally moving out of the dorms before our senior year.

  “I really am sorry to cut this short but I’m supposed to meet my roommate.”

  “No problem. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

  I leave the Daily Grind with a small tinge of regret and head around the corner towards a row of brownstones. Our new home is a spacious two-story. It is in a well-established neighborhood just a few blocks from campus. We were first attracted to it because it is not on the same side as most of the fraternity and sorority houses, but we were much more excited to discover it is situated right across the street from the pub where CeCe bartends.

  I make it to the stone steps in time to watch CeCe cross the street. CeCe became my best friend in freshman year when
we were thrown together as roommates. We couldn’t be more different and maybe that’s why our friendship works so well. Where CeCe is street smart and tough, I am book smart and snarky. I think what makes me love her so much is her ability to reduce anyone to a terrified mess with one withering stare. She’s nothing like the friends I had in high school and she always says I’m from a completely different world than she is. My parents are both successful in their careers, which allowed me to grow up in a life of privilege. CeCe’s parents never married, her father was never around. Her mom remarried, but when she died unexpectedly her stepdad split. She ended up living on the street before moving into a youth group home. My family has basically adopted CeCe and she joins us at every holiday.

  The landlord is waiting at the top of the stairs for us, “You must be Olivia and CeCe. I’m Henry Adams.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Adams,” I say politely.

  “Call me Henry.”

  It’s obvious to me that the older gentleman was once a bit of a scoundrel as he grins and kisses my hand. We walk into the unlocked entry as Henry digs in his pocket for the keys. I suppress a smile; he reminds me of my grandfather. He unlocks the front door and leads us inside.

  The living space on the main floor is gorgeous. The home was recently renovated, but the contractor kept some of the classic charm of the original brownstone while opening the space up for a more modern feel. A spacious living room boasts vaulted ceilings and built-in bookshelves surrounding a large brick fireplace. The dining room space flows freely into the massive kitchen. I love to bake and CeCe loves to cook so we are both in love with the double oven and large cooktop. There is also a large walk-in pantry and a powder room.

  We follow Henry to the basement where he shows us our private laundry room and storage area before we head back upstairs. He leads us to the second floor and we discover two large bedrooms complete with walk-in closets and attached private bathrooms.

  “So what do you think?”

  “We’ll take it,” we say in unison as we follow him back down the stairs.

  “Perfect, I have the lease ready to go!”

  Henry fumbles with his battered leather briefcase on the granite kitchen counter and pulls out the lease. We go over the particulars before we sign. I fish out my checkbook and hand over the deposit and first months’ rent.

  “Welcome home. You can start moving in whenever you please.”

  We graciously thank him for the tour and he excuses himself. As soon as he’s out of earshot, we squeal with delight. To go from living in a small dorm room with a community bathroom to a spacious brownstone is the highlight of our college careers.

  “I better get back over to work. I cannot wait to get all settled in!” CeCe exclaims as she rushes out the door.

  I call the moving company and furniture store to arrange for the delivery of all our stuff. We had chosen some basics that we didn’t already have from dorm living. Basically, we picked out furniture for every room in the house. My parents had ordered everything we wanted and let me know there would be some additional deliveries once we found a place.

  All I have left to do is wait for everything to arrive so I sit on the window seat in the living room. There are people outside walking their dogs and nodding hello to one another. I look at my phone and check the time, 11 o’clock. I glance outside as someone slows in front of our window. Isaac. He catches me looking at him and waves before continuing up the stairs of the unit next door.

  Holy shit. Isaac is my new neighbor? What a crazy small world.

  “Enjoying the view, Miss Hanover?”

  I whip my head around to see Henry standing on the threshold, “Huh? Oh, yeah, it looks like a nice neighborhood.”

  “It is,” he takes a hobbled step into the house.

  “Have you owned the home long?”

  “It was my father’s before mine and his father’s before him. We’ve all been University of Chicago men so we keep passing it down.”

  “That’s neat. Can I ask why you don’t live here yourself?”

  “This old house holds too many memories for me. My wife and I raised our family here, but when she died I just couldn’t stay,” he looks around wistfully.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. How long has it been?”

  “Oh, twenty years give or take. I live in a small apartment down the road. I don’t mind offering this place to young people like yourselves, I just can’t seem to part with it for good.”

  I look around and find myself appreciating the space even more knowing the history it holds. I realize that Henry must have come back for something, so I ask him if he needed something.

  “Huh? Oh, yes, I forgot to leave you the keys!” He chuckles at his own memory lapse.

  I smile at his laughter as I accept the keys. He’s a kind old man, and we couldn’t have asked for a better landlord.

  Chapter 2

  “So, coffee shop guy final talked to you?” CeCe inquires.

  I nod, “Yeah, it was. . .cute.”

  “I wonder if you’ll fuck him,” she teases as she continues to hang her clothes in her closet.

  “Do you always have to be so vulgar?” I ask as I toss a pillow at her face.

  “Do you always have to be such a prude? He’s obviously taken a liking to you.”

  I roll my eyes, “He probably noticed me staring at him. He was probably just trying to be nice.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” CeCe says as she gyrates her hips.

  Ugh. I know CeCe is going to a frat party, but I’d rather stay home and read. As nerdy as it sounds, I’d rather spend the evening alone reading than spend a night with a bunch of drunks at a frat party. CeCe complains as she gets ready because I haven’t gone to any parties with her in almost a year and I read all the time.

  “It’s summer break. You have plenty of time to be lame later.”

  “Oh please. You know I don’t like going to those things. The girls are always throwing themselves at the drunk or high guys. It’s just not my scene.”

  CeCe pulls her t-shirt off and heads for her newly unpacked closet. CeCe wears a lot of black and keeps her wardrobe organized by season and frequency of use. She comes out of the closet holding up two shirts that look identical to me, so I pretend to scrutinize each garment before choosing.

  “Hmmm, the black one.”

  “Har-dee-har-har,” she looks at them both and puts one back in its place.

  “Why do you even go to those things? You know you’re just going to get drunk and make some stupid mistakes.”

  “Maybe if you were with me, I’d behave myself.”

  “You mean, if I went with you, you’d have a babysitter.”

  “Tomato, to-mah-to.”

  I groan loudly. I was raised very differently from CeCe, she grew up in a rough area and her Latina roots naturally made her tougher than me. I grew up in suburbia with two loving parents and a picture perfect home. With her unusual home situation, she didn’t have the best guidance for making life choices. We balance each other out well, but there are times when I feel like we’re speaking different languages.

  “Fine. I’ll go. But only for an hour, then I’m going to come back here to read.”

  She squeals with delight and lunges at me for a hug. Now I have to get ready, too. If I were just going to the coffee shop, I’d throw on a t-shirt and jeans, put my hair in a messy bun on top of my head and not give a shit what anyone thought. Since I’m going to a party I guess I need to be a bit more feminine. I go to my room and check the contents of my disorganized closet. I have a very eclectic wardrobe so it’s easy to find what I’m looking for. I decide on a hot pink top that I don’t get to wear often. It’s low cut and doesn’t leave much to the imagination. I pull it on over the tank top I’m wearing and turn to grab my hair straightener. CeCe is standing in my doorway with her arms crossed over her chest as she regards my choice in top.

  “What?”

  “Chica, you need to wear that shirt more often. I mean, da
y-um!”

  “Oh please. Excuse me for not being a card carrying member of the whore brigade.”

  “Bein’ sexy doesn’t mean you’re a whore. And girl, you’re all kinds of sexy under those comfy sweatshirts you like to wear.”

  I roll my eyes and start straightening my hair. I know I am definitely not considered unattractive. I’m not your salad and tiny portions kind of girl, but I take care of my body and it shows. Despite my smaller waist line, I have supple breasts and have been a D cup since I started high school. I’m not averse to dressing like a girl, I’m just more comfortable in sweatshirts, t-shirts and jeans. I’ve also found that I have more meaningful conversations with men when I don’t show as much skin. Call me crazy, but I much prefer a strong intellect over a muscle bound meathead. I finally finish straightening the long hair that falls to my mid-back. I’ve always been a brunette, but my naturally milk chocolate hair reveals hints of gold.