Tangled Hearts (Passion in Paradise)

by Sarah O'Rourke

  Sure, Melody was conscious of the fact that the odds weren’t exactly stacked in her favor. Nobody (including the annoying voice of that rat bastard in her head) needed to remind her how many start-up ventures failed in the first year – specifically businesses that focused on luxury items like books, yarn, knitting needles and crochet hooks. She’d seen it happen, firsthand. How much had she despised that aspect of bookkeeping for owners of their own businesses – seeing them invest everything they had into their dreams and standing helplessly on the sidelines while those dreams exploded into waking nightmares?

  The answer to that was a LOT!

  Of course, these were the kind of thoughts that she literally couldn’t afford to have. Her store, Hooks and Books, was going to be an unparalleled success. It had to be. It might be her last chance to prove to herself that she wasn’t a complete waste of space. She refused to let that dick she’d been going to marry be right. She wasn’t running away from her problems; on the contrary, she was racing toward a bright future. And that future did not include any lying, cheating assholes determined to finish shattering her already fractured heart.

  “Damn you, Brad!” Melody cursed with a frustrated growl as she thumped her fist against the steering wheel of her car, allowing herself to feel the searing anger that boiled just below the surface of her flesh. All these fucking doubts she had – every single one of them – were Bradley Weller’s fault. Over the years that she’d spent first being that man’s girlfriend, then being his fiancée, Brad had somehow managed to become the one person that could make her question herself and her choices. He had possessed the unique ability to get inside her head and use her own private fears against her. Honestly, he’d become an expert at making her feel inadequate and small. He’d taken a perverse enjoyment in belittling her. Sadly, she’d not realized how much he’d gotten inside her head until it had almost been too late. She had thanked God every day that she’d never actually married the asshole.

  When they’d first met, she’d been besotted by him. Brad’s personality had been so big… so magnetic, that he’d held her and most everyone he came into contact with captivated. A venture capitalist, he was an expert at weaving a spell around his victims, making his intended targets feel like the most important person in his world until he no longer needed them. She – like so many others - had been enthralled by his handsome looks, his articulate demeanor and smooth charm. With his thick black hair, piercing green eyes, and runner’s body, she’d been lost from the moment he turned his gaze her way. When he focused that laser-like attention on her, she’d been sucked in by his ability to appear interested in everything about her.

  But those things that she’d been so hypnotized by in the beginning had just been tools he used to draw his marks toward him so that he could use them for his own selfish purposes. Some, he’d used for professional advancement. Others, he’d used for his own carnal enjoyments. And her… well, Melody had been special. Her, he’d used just because he could. During the years she’d been with him, Brad had slowly made her into a very pretty ornament that adorned his arm when he needed to appear as a happy family man. She was no more than Brad’s own interactive doll for five long years. Of course, she hadn’t realized any of it was happening to her. She hadn’t realized that she was just another pawn in his perverted chess game until she’d seen him callously fucking her former best friend. Like a magic show, that unforgiveable act had lifted the veil shrouding the true Bradley Weller from her eyes, and she’d finally seen the man that had been hiding behind the mask.

  And the things she’d learned about that conniving, faithless fuck she’d been going to marry… well, let’s say they were things she could never un-know. Like a true glutton for punishment, Melody hadn’t been satisfied with simply observing the private show she’d gotten of Brad’s cheating. No, she’d gone and done some investigating of her own. For some unexplainable reason, she’d gotten it into her head that it was imperative she know just how many skirts Bradley had played under. Sadly, her ex had been a very busy boy. It seemed that while Melody had been busily debiting and crediting her clients’ accounts, Brad the Cad had been making his own form of deposits… into every faithless whore in town! Her pride had taken a hell of a hit as she’d come across woman after woman that had serviced her ex-fiancé’s disloyal dick. Perfect strangers and good friends alike had indulged her bastard of an ex’s need for sex. Questions like ‘Why hadn’t she been enough for him?’ and ‘What did those women do with their magical vaginas that she hadn’t been able to do for him?’ had overwhelmed her, but she’d known that asking them out loud would only bring her more pain.

  After finding Brad with her matron of honor, she’d almost immediately known she’d never be able to forgive the betrayal of her trust, and she’d ended their engagement. The more dirt she dug up on him while she went through their life together with a fine toothed comb, the more she understood that she’d fallen in love with a pathological liar and serial cheater. When she’d finally comprehended just how much of a shitty human being Brad really was, Melody hadn’t wasted any time. She’d broken her engagement, flushed the three carat diamond ring, packed up the memories of her life in the cushy condo she’d shared with the cheating prick and hauled ass out of their gated community. She thanked her lucky stars that she’d actually had somewhere to go, knowing a lot of women weren’t that fortunate.

  It had been almost a full month since she’d moved back into her late grandmother’s house back in her hometown of Paradise, Tennessee. She and her brother had been left joint owners of the house and land when the old woman died, and her sibling had readily agreed that granny’s house was the safest place for her. Glancing at the date on her watch, Melody couldn’t help wincing. If her ass of a an ex had just kept his dick in his pants instead of using it all over Knoxville, today she would have been on her honeymoon, sipping margaritas on the white sandy beaches of Jamaica. According to a mutual friend she’d managed to keep in the separation, the rumor was that Brad had taken Brandi or Tiffani or some other trampy slut whose name ended in an –i- on the honeymoon that she’d meticulously planned. Yes, he’d just managed to reconfirm to her how big of a tactless creep he really was.

  But she’d allowed that beast to occupy enough of her mind this morning. It was time to shake off any lingering doubts about her new direction in life and concentrate on the here and the now. She was doing this. Her store, Hooks and Books, was going to happen, and not only that, but it was going to be the biggest success Paradise County had ever seen.

  Besides, it was too late to second guess herself now. She’d already put down a sizeable deposit on her bookstore’s new location and paid her landlord the first three months’ rent. She’d also already ordered a good deal of the start-up inventory she’d need to launch her store. Her vendors were simply waiting on her to provide a delivery location for the merchandise. Now that she had that, she could get started on hiring a contractor for the minor renovations the location needed and stocking shelves for opening day. And that meant that any second thoughts she had needed to take a very long vacation since all those expenses were taking a hefty chunk out of her working capital and there was no backup plan. It was imperative this store be a success.

  “I’m in it to win it,” she stated out loud before wincing, her voice loud in the small car. Sighing, she rolled her eyes toward the ceiling of the car. “Great, now I’m reducing my life to cheesy clichés. Way to go, Melody,” she jeered. It was definitely past time to caffeinate her bloodstream, she thought with a look toward the packed coffeehouse. Worriedly looking at the time, she relaxed slightly when she realized that that her appointment with event planner, Harmony McKinnon, was still over two hours away. It had been a huge stroke of good luck that she’d seen her old friend last week in the restaurant Harmony’s family owned. She’d gotten to talking to the other woman and learned that her childhood pal was now planning events around Paradise in addition to working at the I Don’t Care Café. In fact, based on
the word of mouth around town, Harmony’s services were a hot commodity. Melody wasn’t ashamed to admit that she’d quickly locked in the other woman’s services for her opening day celebration at Hooks and Books. Harmony was working with both the Better Business Bureau and Paradise’s Chamber of Commerce to make her store’s launch one of the biggest and best the town had ever seen. Today they were meeting to discuss the invitation list and menu for the luncheon she planned on offering her customers that first day of business.

  But, first, she needed coffee, she reminded herself as she shoved open the door of her car. Grimacing again as she got a look at the line behind the counter, she bit back a foul curse. She loathed waiting in long lines. From her vantage point, she could see a grand total of two baristas working behind the counter and neither one seemed to be in any great hurry to serve their customers. Right then, Melody made a promise to herself to always have qualified help servicing her customers at the store.

  Shoving her hands into the pockets of her fitted black trousers, she quickly decided to brave the masses and join the queue of caffeine addicts waiting to get in the store for their daily dose of java. These hipster coffee houses weren’t exactly her scene, but when she’d driven by Harmony’s restaurant earlier, that place had been packed, too. And since all she really wanted was to cure her coffee craving, this joint would do just fine.

  By the time she made it inside the building, she’d spent a good ten minutes in the cold December air. Shivering, she quickly got in the shorter of the two lines leading to the counter behind a tall, lanky teenage boy dressed from head to toe in black. Eyeing him warily, she had to admit his whole Goth vibe alarmed her slightly. Really, the kid even appeared to be wearing black lipstick. Who did that, she wondered, tilting her head slightly as she continued to assess the kid. Realizing a moment later that she was staring, she shifted her attention to the others waiting in line and realized that the kid in front of her fit in just fine with the crowd. She was the one who stood out like a sore thumb in her skinny trousers and ruffled white silk shirt. Inhaling deeply, she forced herself to begin counting her blessings.

  “At least it smells good in here,” she mumbled, latching on to the first good thought she had as she breathed in the scent of freshly ground coffee beans. As the line slowly moved forward, she continued to people watch, looking around the small space at her fellow coffee addicts. Biting her lip, she was aware of one thing immediately. She was quite a bit older than the average customer in this joint. The median age appeared to be about 23. At thirty, she felt positively ancient standing next to most of these kids. Everywhere she looked, there were young men and women that seemed to be in their early twenties – or what she liked to call the ‘young and dumb’ phase of life. Although, who was she to judge? She was knocking on middle age’s door and she still hadn’t managed to figure out her own life.

  Continuing to peruse the crowd, she absently noted that while there were a few young professionals dressed in suits and skirts waiting to get their go-go juice that would jumpstart their day, most of these individuals looked like homeless shelter rejects, each sharing what appeared to be a uniform of black, baggy, wrinkled clothing that seemed to hang off their too thin bodies. Shaking her head, she wondered when exactly ‘hobo’ chic had become all the rage.

  “Next,” Melody heard a bored voice call from behind the counter.

  Relieved to find that while she’d been staring at the other occupants of the coffee shop, she had moved to the front of the line without realizing it, Melody smiled at the pretty blonde that was waiting for her to order. “Hi,” she greeted the younger lady, silently noting that the other woman barely looked at her.

  “How can I help you?” the barista asked with a brusque voice that clearly indicated she had better things to do with her time than be pleasant to her customers.

  “I’ll just take a regular coffee,” Melody quickly ordered, already reaching inside her purse for her billfold. Honestly, she was as ready to depart this coffee dungeon as the server was to see her go.

  “Ma’am, we don’t have that. Can you be more specific?” the coffee snob behind the counter asked Melody impatiently, her blue eyes rolling as she locked gazes with the barista waiting on the woman to Melody’s left.

  Melody felt her own face growing hot as she heard the patrons behind her muttering about her holding up the line. “What do you mean you don’t have coffee? I can smell it. All I want is a regular sized coffee flavored coffee. You’re the keeper of that coffee. Please get me a cup of it. This isn’t a difficult order,” she argued stiffly as she frowned at the young woman that stared disdainfully at her from across the counter.

  The barista heaved out an irritated breath before speaking. “We do have coffee, ma’am,” the server snapped. “We just don’t have regular coffee. See,” she said, jabbing her finger toward the menu hanging over her head, “Nowhere up there does it mention a regular coffee. Like the sign on the door says, we’re a specialty coffee shop. Now, would you like a latte? An espresso? A cappuccino? A Frappuccino?” the barista questioned rapidly, her eyes shooting daggers at Melody as she drummed a sharp beat against the counter with her bright pink painted nails. “And what size do you want? We have short, tall, grande, venti, and trenta.”

  “Now, you’re just trying to be a smartass, aren’t you?” Melody asked under her breath as she struggled to hold her frayed temper in check.

  “And ma’am, if you could decide in the next year or so, that’d be good. In case you missed it, there’s a lengthy line behind you,” the woman lectured snottily as she tossed her long ash blonde hair over one shoulder.

  Blinking, Melody felt her blood pressure begin to skyrocket into the stratosphere as she met the gaze of what she would now forever refer to as the Coffee Cunt in her head when she retold this story. “Are you kidding me?” she breathed, unable to believe the nerve of the witch standing in front of her. Had being passably pretty suddenly become a license for rudeness when she wasn’t looking? Was this Hanna Montana wannabe actually trying to coffee shame her in front of all these customers? And why was she actually still standing here taking this abuse, Melody asked herself silently as the buzzing in her ears intensified. Holy crap! She wondered if this was what a stroke felt like! Wasn’t she still too young for that?

  “Listen up, Beachfront Barbie,” Melody heard someone say above the buzz in her ears. “Both the lady and I will take a tall Americano, and you can strike your shitty attitude from both our orders unless you’d like me to have a short, but informative conversation with your manager,” a deep, raspy voice threatened from behind her as a long red flannel encased arm reached past her shoulder with a twenty dollar bill dangling from its blunt fingertips. Flapping the money at the now embarrassed barista, a growly male voice demanded, “Take it, girl.”

  Swallowing a giggle at the flustered look on the woman’s face as she ripped the twenty out of her unexpected savior’s hand, Melody bit her lip as she watched the girl make change with a few jerky movements. Melody waited until the server had dropped the change into the still outstretched hand before turning to thank the Good Samaritan behind her. Unfortunately the mountain of a man standing behind her never gave her the opportunity to speak.

  “Lady, you need to grow a fuckin’ backbone,” the towering giant snarled as he glared down his nose at her. “Honest to Christ, do you let everybody walk all over you or is this bitchy piece of work back there special?” he asked, jerking his stubbled chin toward the fuming barista who was currently engaged in preparing their coffee.

  “Excuse me?” Melody squeaked, unable to believe she gone from being sniped at by the shop’s witchy employee to being reprimanded by a redneck version of the Incredible Hulk. Even harder to believe was the fact that she found her panties dampening the longer she stared into a pair of faded blue eyes that would have made Cool Hand Luke jealous as hell. Well, fuck that, she mentally castigated herself, unwilling to let herself be drawn in by a set of pretty eyes. She needed another
man trying to judge her like she needed a hole in her head – especially an asshole with a savior complex. “I don’t think I heard you right. Are you actually standing there giving me shit?” she asked on a low hiss, her eyes shooting daggers at him. Mentally, she imagined one of those knives burying itself in the center of his forehead. She might need to look into some anger management classes at some point, she acknowledged silently to herself. She was pretty sure her mind had taken to using a severely unhealthy coping mechanism when she started fantasizing about murdering perfectly handsome strangers. Even if those handsome strangers DID have it coming.

  “Nope,” the giant denied with a quick shake of his closely shaved head. “Just tellin’ shit like it is. Since you don’t look hearing impaired, I think you heard me just fine, Princess,” that gruff voice continued to needle her as he bent his head slightly to stare down at her. “A little thing like you shouldn’t let people walk on them. Ever. Because if they see you’ll let ‘em do it once, they’ll never fuckin’ stop,” he explained, imparting his redneck wisdom like it was gospel.

  “Thanks for the life lesson, Paul Bunyan, but if I need any further fortune cookie wisdom, I’ll just order Chinese for lunch,” she muttered to him as the barista pushed their steaming coffees across the counter at them, offering them both a pissy look before jerking her chin at the next customer. Picking her cup up, Melody moved to the side as she turned to face her present nemesis fully. Dressed in a red flannel shirt open at the collar to reveal a smattering of slightly greying chest hair and rolled up to his elbows, Melody tried to ignore how well defined the muscles in his forearms were. Hell, there wasn’t anywhere he wasn’t muscled if she was honest about it. Swallowing hard as her gaze continued to slide down his body to find him wearing a pair of faded Levi jeans that hugged his legs like a second skin, she knew she was in trouble when her nipples tightened behind her lace bra. Damn, but this man was positively edible. And let’s face it… she’d been on a rather restrictive diet for the last several years.