Coffee Shop Girl

by Katie Cross

That wasn’t a word. Or maybe it was. I didn’t care, but I did try again.

  “It’s a lot of letting go.”

  He nodded slowly, seeming to roll that idea around his mind. “Or a lot of embracing the future. However you want to look at it.”

  My brow furrowed. I hated it when he acted like my mentor or pulled out some nugget of wisdom I didn’t really want. I didn’t want to be functional. I wanted to feel. Especially when I just wanted to rip the glasses off him and throw myself back into his chest. The temptation to send Lizbeth skittering upstairs with her ideas was nearly overwhelming. I held back because I didn’t quite know where I stood with Maverick.

  Strictly speaking, we were friends who would part as soon as he felt the need. We just happened to share a strong sense of attraction and kisses that would melt the panties off any woman.

  “It’s okay to feel, you know,” I muttered a bit too sharply. Defensiveness, Dad always said, means something is very wrong, Bee.

  Maverick grunted.

  “I just . . . I feel sad. And not ready. To let go of all of this is to . . . kind of . . . you know . . . erase my dad from the coffee shop. And if he’s not here, then he’s nowhere, because this was literally all he had left.”

  “Not all.” He kicked the side of my foot gently.

  I frowned up at him. “You mean me?”

  He nodded.

  To that, I had no reply. Maybe he was right, but I wasn’t ready to see that yet. A small part of Dad would always live on in me, but I couldn’t feel that. I couldn’t embrace it. That wasn’t the tangible proof that he was still with me. Letting go of the only physical assurance I had of my father was too much. I’d already sacrificed his bike to a stranger.

  Now I had to let the fish go.

  “That feels hard,” I said, swallowing my emotion. “Sad. It’s too much. Besides, it’s almost credit card day. How will I pay for all this?”

  He paused. “You’re right. It is sad, and it is hard.”

  “I’m not ready.”

  “Then don’t do it.”

  “But the girls?”

  He shrugged. “You don’t have to do anything you aren’t ready for.”

  Annoyance rolled off of me. “That’s the thing, Mav. I don’t get the luxury of freedom or walking away or minimalism. Not anymore.”

  My heels tapped on the ground as I did, indeed, walk away. A fire sparked under my skin, and I knew I’d regret throwing that back in his face.

  Clearly, he didn’t get it.

  Maybe he never would. And he didn’t have to get it, because that’s the life he chose. No attachments. No expectations, no disappointment.

  But it wasn’t mine. Not anymore.

  26

  Maverick

  My exchange with Bethany kept me up until past midnight.

  I’d totally messed up—I could own that. Sometimes I crossed the line between business and friendship when I was a bit too honest, or maybe just too blunt. Bethany had an emotional response to a situation that I hadn’t pegged as difficult.

  Most people loved redecorating. Fresh start, and all that. Didn’t realize I’d pushed too hard, too fast until I saw the terror on her face. But I wasn’t sure how to fix it, and I didn’t like that. Somehow, I felt like I’d disappointed her. Which totally sucked. And it all came back to her proposal that we let our attraction show with no expectation of a future.

  Because she was already forming expectations.

  My phone beeped. I almost ignored it, but decided to make sure it wasn’t my mother. Instead, Bethany’s name showed on the screen.

  I couldn’t open the text fast enough.

  I’m sorry I was angry at you and stomped off like a toddler.

  Letting out a long exhale, I lay back. That wasn’t what I’d expected. I started typing.

  Fault is mine. Should have been a little more compassionate. You’re giving up a lot for these girls.

  Two full minutes passed before her reply came. I didn’t notice how hard I was holding on to the phone until I forced my fingers to relax a little.

  You weren’t entirely wrong in what you said. I get really annoyed with how right you are ALL THE TIME.

  Chuckling, I said, I know. My family hates that about me too. Except Mallory. She loves it because I made her company grow faster.

  I think . . . maybe I’m holding on to my dad too hard.

  My brow furrowed. What on earth to say to that? Of course she was holding on to him. He hadn’t even been gone a year. But too hard?

  Maybe.

  Or maybe this was all a part of the process. I had no idea because I just avoided thinking about my father. She might have a leg up on me there. At least she let herself feel. I ran from it like a plague.

  She’d lost so many people that I couldn’t even relate. My palms started to sweat a little. She clearly needed something right now, and I had no idea what. Falling short here would only disappoint her.

  No one had made me swim in deeper waters than this girl.

  I think you’re surviving and doing a damn good job of it, I finally said.

  Thanks. :)

  I could picture her lying back. I wanted to brush hair away from her face and cup her chin. The memory of falling asleep with her on the couch haunted me. My arms felt oddly cold and empty. Not wanting to let her go just yet, I said, See you in the morning, Bethany.

  Sweet dreams, Mav.

  Sleep finally slipped over me. My dreams were restless, filled with the expression on my father’s face when he lay in his casket, and the coldness I’d felt radiate through me.

  27

  Bethany

  The rest of the week passed in a blur of stolen moments with Maverick as we made changes to the coffee shop. Maverick stole a kiss every time Lizbeth left to go to the bathroom or grab a new book. He took me to lunch one day and tried to figure out my favorite dessert, even though I didn’t have one.

  For a blessed week, I felt like I was floating. Life seemed suspended for a brief summer lull. I poked my head out of the haze of grief and soaked up all the love, attention, and touch a girl could ask for.

  But Credit Card Day loomed large.

  I tried not to think about it while preparing the store, while running through my numbers, or while Lizbeth and I hung flyers for a new book club at the coffee shop next month. Even though I checked twice a day to reassure myself that I had enough money, I still felt terrified.

  Maybe the money would just . . . disappear.

  Lizbeth, Ellie, Devin, and I bounced around antiques stores for several days, trying to find funky-cabin-cozy, as Lizbeth called it.

  “It’s your new vibe,” she informed me. She set aside a shrunken moose head that looked like a cross between a swamp souvenir and a voodoo doll. “Trust me, Bethany. I was made for this kind of work.”

  Although my heart prickled while it happened, I allowed Lizbeth to pull the ugly fish down off the wall. We had a solemn burial in the backyard that, oddly enough, made me feel a little better. Lizbeth brightened like a star, falling easily into her creative element. Piece by piece, the shop slowly pulled together.

  My heart beat a sad, hollow staccato as everything changed.

  Later that week, I stared at the calendar while the stench of paint fumes filled the air. We’d closed the store early so Lizbeth could start painting. She looked adorable in a pair of Dad’s old overalls and a too-big shirt, her hair pulled into a high bun. Blue tape lined the floor and ceiling as she prepared to paint the walls a warm plum, accented by taupe.

  Thanks to some donations from the local hardware store, whom my father had frequented, I’d only had to pay for paint—which left us with a hundred dollars. In Lizbeth’s words, we were investing in aesthetically pleasing decorations. So far, that meant a silhouetted moose shade and an antique oil lamp.

  The silence, punctuated only by the sound of Lizbeth laughing at her audiobook and Maverick speaking to his assistant on the East Coast, fell like a weight around me.

 
Time to do it.

  No avoiding the credit card now.

  The statement waited in my inbox, unopened because I’d been leaving it there for the absolute last moment. It would be due tomorrow. I’d have to pay online today to be safe, because I’d skipped last month.

  Despite Maverick’s attention to the finances, I still didn’t want to see it. Didn’t want to comprehend the enormity of the task that lay in front of me. It was so much more than just this credit card. There was still the mortgage. The line of credit at the bank. Saying goodbye to Dad.

  This credit card just represented it all.

  “This is irrational,” I muttered.

  But it felt as if my fate were somehow listed in the numbers.

  I wiped my hands on my apron and drew in a deep breath. Sounds of summer rang from outside. Tourists gathering paddleboards from the rental shop next door. Trucks hauling boats to the lake.

  A lovely soundtrack for such a horrible task.

  With a deep inhale, I grabbed my computer, opened my email, and stared at the message on top.

  Credit Card Statement Available.

  I opened the statement and skimmed to the bottom of the page. Total due: $39,987.

  Monthly charge: $3,700.

  My breath stalled in my chest. Maverick made me go through my numbers every day. But transfers and credit card processing fees and months of drowning made it hard to trust anything. I opened another tab, navigated to Dad’s business bank, and logged in. A spinning wheel filled the screen before the accounts revealed themselves.

  My breath caught.

  In the account that I would pay the credit card from was $3,725.

  Not only was there enough to cover the credit card payment for the month, but twenty-five dollars left over. That meant I’d made twenty-five dollars in profit.

  This stupid coffee shop had actually made money. This crazy business actually worked.

  Tears thickened my throat, making it difficult to breathe. My vision swam. This worked. I looked up to tell Lizbeth, but the words didn’t come out.

  We’d not only pulled a small profit, we’d covered expenses and charges. That meant Maverick’s plan had already started to turn us around. The proof lay in front of me. If we continued on this path, I would have the evidence I needed to keep the girls. Eventually.

  “It’s working,” I whispered.

  Lizbeth glanced up, one eyebrow raised. She pulled an earbud out. “What?”

  Clapping, I twirled in a circle. Ellie peered at me from the pantry, where she tied lures with Devin. They’d rigged a little office out of a lamp and a bag of coffee beans.

  Whooping, I typed in the numbers, hit send, and made the credit card payment. Then I slammed the laptop shut and started to dance.

  “We made twenty-five dollars!” I cried. “We made money!”

  Lizbeth’s eyes widened. Even at sixteen, she got it. She knew that this meant we had a fighting chance against Jim. With a cry, she turned on the old radio and cranked the music. A fast-paced song filled the room, and we started to dance. Ellie and Devin joined in, whirling and bumping around the chairs, bright with laughter.

  A lightness filled my chest as I grabbed Lizbeth and Ellie in my arms and spun. Maverick stepped outside the office with a questioning expression. I grabbed his hand and pulled him into the dance.

  “We made a profit!” I cried over the music. “I made the minimum payment and twenty-five dollars!”

  His expression brightened. “Yeah?”

  “We’re doing it! We’re turning this business around!”

  He twirled me with the music. Our dance party blared out the windows as we celebrated our massive success in the summer sunshine.

  A week later, I bit my bottom lip. A half-grin lived on my face as I stared at my text message exchange with Mav.

  * * *

  Hey Mav. You’re taking tonight off from renovations, right?

  * * *

  Yep. Waiting for some stain to dry. Appliances are being delivered tomorrow.

  * * *

  Want some company? I’ll bring dinner.

  * * *

  Bring yourself first.

  * * *

  My thoughts spiraled like birds when I arrived at his place. The expiration date was coming up on our whirlwind . . . romance? Adventure? On the drive over, I’d promised myself to enjoy every minute. Because, eventually, this would end.

  Eventually.

  In the future.

  At some possibly soon point that I didn’t want to acknowledge. Because putting in new appliances wasn’t the first step of a house refurb, that was for sure.

  With a sigh, I stepped out of the car and grabbed a to-go box of pasta in one hand and a breadstick bag in the other. Maverick opened the door before I could knock. Dust coated his features, highlighting a knee-weakening smile.

  “Welcome.”

  I held up my offerings. “I bring sustenance. In the form of Italian food.”

  He tossed the food on the counter and grabbed my wrist. “Bring me this first,” he murmured, then spun me around, caught me against his chest, and captured my lips in a hungry kiss.

  Heat pooled in my belly as his hands brushed my face, cupping them with gritty warmth. He backed me into the wall. All the air rushed out of my lungs. I grabbed his shoulders, heady with the scent of him. Maybe goodbye wasn’t coming too soon. No one kissed like that who didn’t mean it.

  Who was about to say goodbye.

  No one kissed like that ever.

  Like a fool, I entertained the thought that he might stay. Flip houses with me. Like Chip and Joanna Gaines, only in the mountains. When he deepened the kiss, I wrapped my arms around him. My thoughts dissolved. The rough feel of his hair on my palms sent fire through my fingers.

  He pulled away with a self-satisfied grin. I stood there a second, heart racing.

  “Whoa,” I whispered.

  “Maybe you need to have Lizbeth go to Jada’s more often.” He laughed but didn’t let go. The deep roll of his voice made me shudder. I would never get enough.

  “If this is what I get from it, we’ll just have her move in.”

  He tightened an arm around me and pulled me in for a second searing kiss, setting fire to my skin. He set me free and held me back all at the same time. The odd distance between us during the day melted away.

  Several breathless minutes later, the kiss slowed. I blinked, staring into his eyes in something like shock. But I didn’t have any words. His expression softened as he rubbed a thumb over my bottom lip.

  “Why do you look so serious all of a sudden?” he whispered.

  “Because you make me feel serious things.”

  “Same.” With a lopsided smile, he threaded his fingers through mine, then tugged me away from the wall. “C’mere. I have something to show you.”

  28

  Maverick

  I’d longed for Bethany’s hand in mine. The oddly grounding effect of her smell. Just knowing she was there, even if we didn’t say a word. I’d never just wanted to be around a woman before. Not like this.

  Her kiss-stung lips looked almost too tempting to ignore as I led her through the house, toward the back rooms that faced the forest. Had she worn yoga pants on purpose? I wouldn’t put it past her. She drove me crazy.

  The house had been a vanity project. A delay. Something to do while I ensured the coffee shop could stand on its own two feet. Something to keep me here until I figured all of this out. But now? Now we knew the plan worked.

  This was where I started to wrap things up, I imagined.

  She’d made a full credit card payment. The leniency from the bank for the next six months would buy her time to get debts paid down. She would earn enough to support the girls if they lived at the coffee shop. Their new marketing efforts, aided by some discreet consulting help from one of my friends at corporate, would bring more people in. Her shiny new systems guaranteed a greater return on investment.

  It wasn’t perfect, but it was
just enough.

  Right now, Bethany needed it.

  Shoving thoughts of the future aside, I slowed. She stood so close to me I could feel her heat. Wanted to run my hands through her hair again. I kept them locked at my side, her fingers tangled in mine.

  “Here.” I pulled her into the doorway of a room on the left. “Let me know what you think.”

  She stepped inside, then gasped. My anticipation smoothed into relief when she gaped at me, wide-eyed.

  “What’s this?”

  “A bookshelf.”

  “Well, obviously it’s a bookshelf. Did you make it? It’s . . . gorgeous.”

  She slipped inside, walking around the five-shelf stand that I’d put together. If she wanted rustic, this was certainly it. Knotted wood stained dark in a charming style. I leaned against the doorframe, content to watch her.

  “Lizbeth would die,” she murmured.

  Her fingertips trailed the wood as she walked in a circle around it. I almost felt those same fingers in my hair again. I shoved my hands in my pockets to keep myself from slamming her against this wall too.

  “Good, because it’s for her.”

  Bethany paused, head tilted. “For Lizbeth?”

  “Well, for your shop, but I figured Lizbeth would need somewhere to put all her books when they officially moved here.” I shrugged, completely unable to read the expression on her face. She drew in a deep breath, regarding the bookshelf as if she’d never seen one before.

  “Moves here,” she murmured. “Yes.”

  There definitely wasn’t room in that tiny attic. The coffee shop had space. I’d purposefully made it the exact right size to put against the far wall, near Lizbeth’s chair. But she might not have noticed that yet.

  She began to say something, then stopped. We can’t take it, I imagined her thinking. We have nowhere to put it.

  The fact that she hadn’t said it yet meant she wasn’t ready to hear my other offer.