Coffee Shop Girl

by Katie Cross

  She’d shown me that it was possible.

  Although I’d improved Mallory’s business landscape through her sales force, a small business was an entirely different animal. The validation of my business instincts was almost as powerful as the change in her. I needed to know that this could work, and she was proving me out.

  Defensive, uncertain Bethany was a confident owner in her own right. She didn’t even realize the intensity of her own instincts yet.

  “Amazing.” The paper whispered as I flipped through the binder. “You did it, Bethany.”

  Her eyes shone. “I know! I can be taught.” She reached into her purse and slid an envelope across the table to me. Color pinked her cheeks in a lovely way. “Here. This is for you.”

  I quirked an eyebrow. “A card?”

  “It’s . . . it’s really not much. Open it later,” she added hastily.

  “Sure.”

  I tossed the card farther onto the table, out of reach, and her shoulders relaxed.

  “Now, I don’t know what’s next,” she said.

  “Profitability, for one. You’ve identified a whole list of issues and started fixing them. Now we get more people into your store, test your process, and increase how much money you make.”

  Her face paled slightly. “Oh, is that all?”

  I grinned and sprawled an arm across the back of the chair next to me. “That’s all.”

  “Stability, too, for the girls.”

  “And for you.”

  Her nose wrinkled. “Right.”

  I laughed at the momentary expression of horror on her face. “What? You don’t want stability?”

  “It’s not that. It’s just . . . it feels like a lot.”

  “Success is a lot. But you’ll handle it well, because you have a path now, and it’s working. Just don’t sabotage it. Keep going. Do what works. Success feels so good.”

  Hoping to get her closer, I pulled up a spreadsheet.

  “Here, have a seat. Let’s look at a few things here.”

  She settled next to me. A shudder skated over my skin when her arm touched mine. She reached down, our fingers intertwined beneath the table, out of Lizbeth’s sight. I pulled in a deep breath to rally my thoughts.

  While we reviewed the reports that she would generate every month, along with some ideas for getting people into her store, I tried to focus. She asked questions, and I typed them into a document as feedback to send to my assistant, but I couldn’t remember any of them a second later.

  “Tomorrow.” I leaned back and scrubbed a hand over my eyes. “We’ll talk about foot traffic strategies. This was a good start today, particularly since you finished the manual.”

  My fatigue had little to do with my early morning and everything to do with the fact that I couldn’t sleep with her on my mind. Which had led to the run that ended in a brain-numbing kiss.

  “Right.” She fought off her own yawn. “Tomorrow.”

  Lizbeth had retreated upstairs to get a new book and hadn’t resurfaced. “I overheard that Lizbeth is going to hang out with Jada tonight,” I said.

  Bethany blinked, her eyes bloodshot. “Jada has an extensive library. They’re planning on making dinner and then reading together in the same room.”

  “Wild.”

  She laughed.

  “What about Ellie?”

  “Sleeping at Devin’s house. I can’t get them to split up.”

  “Good for her. She needs someone her age on her side.”

  A sense of relief seemed to emanate from Bethany whenever Ellie and Devin’s unexpected friendship came up.

  “I was going to ask you to dinner tonight,” I said in a poor attempt to sound nonchalant. “But you look tired as hell.”

  Her eyebrows lifted in a wan smile. “I wouldn’t be much of a date.”

  “I seriously doubt that.”

  Bethany paused, studying me. When her gaze dropped to my lips, it took a considerable amount of control not to kiss her.

  “Maybe you should ask,” she murmured. “I might say yes.”

  “And fall asleep over your soup? I think it’s best if you just go to bed.”

  “Well, what did you have in mind?”

  “Dinner at The Upstairs Cellar in Jackson City.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Fancy.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes. Very. Didn’t you look at the menu?”

  “No.”

  She laughed. “Well, it’s at least a hundred dollars a plate.”

  “That’s fine.”

  Bethany blinked. “Fine?”

  I laughed. “Are you surprised?”

  “A little.”

  My gaze tapered. “How poor do you think I am?”

  “Not sure. You never talk about yourself, and there’s nothing at your grandpa’s house except tools.”

  “My minimalism has nothing to do with taking you on a fantastic date that you deserve.”

  She nudged me with her shoulder. “Are you one of those billionaires that has no house and hoards lots of money while you travel the world?”

  I tilted my head back and laughed. “Definitely not that. I just thought you might like something . . . special and fun and not Carlotta’s.”

  Her lips pressed together as she fought off a yawn.

  “We can reschedule.”

  “But I want to hang out with you,” she said.

  “We still have a few weeks.”

  Her brow furrowed, and silence fell between us. For the guy who couldn’t wait to get away, weeks sounded far too short all of a sudden.

  “Ask me, Maverick.”

  “Fine. Want to eat some takeout and pass out on my couch while we watch movies?” I dropped my voice, and she shivered. “I promise no funny business.”

  Those perfect lips quirked. “Too bad. That could have been the funnest part. I accept your offer. I’ll head over after I drop off Lizbeth.”

  23

  Bethany

  Buttery light spilled onto the forest floor, warming the cooling air as I pulled up at Maverick’s house. Crickets sang in the background as I ascended the stairs, wearing a cozy pair of yoga pants and an oversized shirt underneath my jacket.

  Maverick opened the door and laughed. “I’m glad you followed orders.”

  He wore a pair of jogging pants and a plain white shirt that fit his broad shoulders a little too well. I wanted to run my hands along his arms but settled for dreaming of it instead. A box of pizza sat on the counter behind him.

  “Come on in.” He tilted his head. “Can’t wait for you.”

  “For me to what?”

  “For you.”

  Seconds later, my body pressed against his. His rock-hard thighs lined mine. His hands were in my hair, his arms around my back. He dipped me into a kiss, forcing me to surrender my weight to him. I hovered in his arms, paralyzed by the tilt of his lips against mine, until he straightened. The broken kiss lingered on my lips like a whisper.

  His boyish grin melted me. “For that.”

  He wound our fingers together and pulled me farther into the house. I stumbled after him and tried to pull myself back together, unable to peel the smile off my face.

  Totally worth it.

  The skeleton interior had amped up significantly. New granite counters sparkled beneath a protective film. Wooden stools lined the bar, covered in plastic. A faint hint of wood stain lingered in the air, and the walls seemed far brighter. An updated light fixture made of elk antlers dangled overhead. No furniture yet.

  On the table sat my card, propped open. Nerves twisted in my stomach. I hadn’t said anything blatantly obvious in the card about how I felt, but I hadn’t been reserved, either.

  “It’s really amazing.” I slipped a hand over one of the counters, sawdust gritty on my palm. “I’m impressed. This will be such a lovely home. How will you part with it?”

  He shrugged.

  “Oh. Right. This isn’t your style.”

  He grinned and flipped the pizz
a box open, shoving it toward me. “Grab a slice. We’ll eat in here, then I have some movies picked out. And no, it’s not my style. But it’s someone’s style. And that’s who will buy it.”

  Grateful to get some food in my belly after forgetting to eat lunch, I grabbed a slice of what appeared to be all-meat-man pizza and sank my teeth into it. Delicious, crisp crust exploded in my mouth. Maverick went for his own slice.

  “Then what is your house style?” I asked, eyeing an open cupboard that still needed repair. He’d replaced the black cupboard doors with all-wood ones, giving it a more rustic, gentle feel. Near the dining area to the left, another elk-antler chandelier sat on the floor, awaiting placement. This one sprawled to at least ten points. It would be a talking piece all its own.

  Swallowing, he said, “I prefer . . . subtle freedom.”

  “Subtle freedom?” That piqued my attention. I chewed, nearly melting into the delicious cheese. His response sounded a lot like noncommitment. “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not big on the spotlight. I don’t like attention, and I’d rather fly under the radar. I think my house should reflect that.”

  “Minimalism at work?”

  “Definitely. I rented that truck and arrived with only a bag.”

  Such a revelation seemed so at odds with how he always presented himself. Charismatic. Confident. Even caring. I recalled the way he’d vowed to save my company without knowing much about it. Even now, he leaned against the counter with an arrogant little smirk I wanted to kiss away.

  “And freedom?” I twirled a piece of cheese around the tip of my finger, dizzy with him standing this close. The entire house smelled like pine, drenching me in memories of our kiss.

  “Staying in one place has always been hard for me.” He frowned. Grooves formed in his brow. “That’s why the military appealed. I prefer movement. Freedom. You know . . . change.”

  He shifted his weight but held my gaze. A challenge lived there, and I didn’t know what it meant. But it surely meant something, and so had that kiss. Together, it was an ugly arithmetic. My thoughts moved so fast they strangled themselves. He studied me carefully, and I felt both of us take a metaphorical breath.

  Falling for that ridiculous voice and those strong shoulders was a little too easy. Maybe this hadn’t been my best idea.

  I forced a smile and said, “Sounds like a bachelor’s life.”

  24

  Maverick

  Stupid, I thought the moment Bethany dropped her gaze. That was really stupid to say.

  It wasn’t often that a situation caught me by surprise, and certainly not a surprise of my own idiotic making. Tonight, Bethany with her bright-blue eyes and dark hair, looking tired but eager, stirred me up. Maybe it was her handwritten card.

  * * *

  Thanks for swooping in to change our lives. I’ll always remember you. And this. You’re one of a kind, Mav.

  * * *

  My defenses had been built for corporate executives and sales leaders. There was a reason I could run a sales meeting with undeniable charm and force, because I knew that world. I’d earned it. Fought for it. And while I’d done that, moments like these had fallen to the side. I could negotiate a multimillion-dollar company deal, but I didn’t know how to tell Bethany that I wasn’t sure I wanted to leave her.

  I wasn’t ready for an open-hearted mountain girl trying to save the world for her half-sisters. She’d all but extended her vulnerable, beating heart.

  “Sorry,” I heard myself say. “I’m a bit blunt.”

  Her eyes widened as they met mine. She blinked, then relaxed.

  “A little.”

  “I just meant that . . .” Setting aside the pizza, I leaned onto my hands, meeting her increasingly concerned gaze. “My parents were married in name only for much of my life. They had long been out of love, and obligation held them together. Because of that, they sort of . . . lost respect for each other. Their lives ran parallel and never intersected.”

  “Oh,” she murmured, as if that explained it all.

  She didn’t even know the half of it.

  “When I was twelve, my father was surfing during a family vacation in California. He fell hard. The board came up and nailed his back. Thanks to my older brother being right there, Dad didn’t drown. But he broke his back.”

  “Was he paralyzed?”

  As if the injury could transfer, I put a hand on my back, reliving the horror of it all over again.

  “He lost all function from the waist down. Luckily, all five of us boys were old enough that we didn’t need him to chase us around the house in diapers, so my mom went back to work. Dad became bitter, and angry, and determined that none of his sons would ever be incompetent, the way he felt.”

  Which is why he was gone now. But no need to go that deep.

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Me too.”

  The fading sunset had nothing on the natural glow coming from Bethany’s eyes as she stared at me like a quiet, intrigued statue. Her clothes looked snug and comfortable, like she’d curl up around me on the couch all day. Something I wanted more than anything right then.

  Should have requested she wear a dirty potato sack.

  Her hair swept her shoulders in silky black waves. I wanted to wrap my fingers around them and tug her lips back to mine. Maybe then she wouldn’t affect me. But she would, which is why I’d left a counter between us.

  “So, you’re afraid of long-term commitment that could end like your parents’ relationship?” she asked.

  No. I’m afraid of disappointing you, I thought. Because I was always a disappointment to Dad.

  My gaze dropped to the counter.

  “Something like that.”

  Commitment seemed so blasé compared to what really lingered in my head. The truth wouldn’t encourage her to put up with me. If she had any sense, she’d leave now before pizza turned into a movie, that turned into cuddling, that turned into a depth of emotion I couldn’t even tap into right now.

  She quirked her lips in thought. The silence lasted for several moments before she gave me a wry smile.

  “You could always stay.” A wistful tone had overtaken her voice. “Stay in tiny little Pineville with me and my three big attachments, where you’ll always be good enough, no matter what.”

  Something thick clogged my throat. I cleared it. “Now it’s my turn to ask a deep question,” I said, straightening.

  Her brow lifted. “Oh?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that your father was an amputee? Few people know this world even half as well as you do if you’ve lived with someone who lost a leg.”

  A strand of hair fell into her eyes. “My dad hated it when his prosthetic became a topic of conversation. Aside from a few little things, it didn’t really stop him from doing what he wanted. He used to wear shorts all the time just to prove it.” Her lips twitched into a sad grin. “He was larger-than-life that way.”

  “He sounds like a guy I would have liked to have a beer with.”

  She slid easily into details about her dad, which brought out the light in her even more. My exact plan.

  The tension from lack of sleep faded quickly as she spoke, weaving a story with her animated hands. Her adoration was apparent in her voice. Darkness settled on the cabin, and stars glimmered through the windows. The night symphony started up, but I only had eyes for her.

  Away from the shop, she seemed to bloom in the moonlight. She, Bethany, with whom I had two professional arrangements—she was both my client and the owner of my working space. She had three big attachments herself. Talk about a world rife with disappointment.

  I set those thoughts aside.

  She’d said it herself—no expectations. We could allow this to be what it was.

  No matter the pain later, time with a woman like Bethany could never be a mistake. Even if it set a bar I wasn’t sure any other human could meet, it didn’t matter. Long-term relationships weren’t a world I’d ever navigat
e, anyway. She could set whatever bar she set.

  Her and her lipstick.

  “So,” she said, brow drawn high, “what’s this elusive business you occasionally have phone calls about? I know there’s something besides the business you’re testing with the Frolicking Moose. You’re always mentioning Mallory.”

  I leaned back, laughing. A nugget of something glittering had come into her eyes. Was it jealousy? I hoped so.

  “I worked for my sister-in-law, Mallory, who is the CEO of a tech company out of California. They just turned the corner into a billion-dollar business right before I came out here to Grandpa’s cabin, thanks to a new sales force initiative I put into place.”

  Her eyes widened. “Geez.”

  “She’s done well. And she’s only thirty-six. She married my brother a while ago. They started the company together.”

  “You went from military to sales?”

  He nodded. “A lot of headhunters pull military leadership into business jobs once we get out, particularly if you’ve lost a limb. It wasn’t a hard process to work my way to where I ended up. I introduced Mallory to my brother Baxter when I met her on my first job after the amputation.”

  “Your personality certainly helps.”

  I quirked a brow with a sly smile. “Is that a compliment or tongue-in-cheek humor?”

  She grinned. “Figure it out yourself. Do you like working with Mallory?”

  “It was a job.”

  “So . . . no?”

  Carefully, I leaned forward again. My job was complicated. There was a lot I loved about it. The security. The money in my account. Time with my sister-in-law and brother. The sense of supporting someone else as they achieved their dreams. But the daily grind, the office space, the sheer number of people always moving around me. I hated that. Measuring success was hard when a company was always scaling bigger.

  Big numbers became just that—numbers. Success needed different indicators that were lost in a corporate climate. Life satisfaction. The number of employees assisted through marital issues. Other things.