Coffee Shop Girl

by Katie Cross

  “It’s not finished.” I let out a breath. “It still needs some more love on the scrollwork and a couple good coats of stain. But it will be soon.”

  Her shoulders relaxed slightly. “How long will that take?”

  “A week.”

  She didn’t look at me. “And the house?”

  “It’s mostly done. The appliances are coming in tomorrow. A few cleanup things that I’ve paid some contractors to come do. It’s more management for me at this point. I’ve taken a back seat on the work so I could be at the Frolicking Moose and prove this other business idea out. It’s moved . . . quickly here.”

  “Lizbeth will love it,” she said softly.

  My contract with Bethany had moved faster than I’d expected. We’d shifted the Frolicking Moose into a better position quickly. Establishing the timeline had helped, and it was great to know it could be done in less than a month. But it meant my departure was lingering in the near future.

  And I was a coward because I couldn’t say it to her. I’m leaving soon. With a welcoming kiss like that, I’d thrown down mixed signals all over the place. I’m leaving on one side and kiss me breathless on the other.

  But she’d agreed to this.

  Something seemed to shift in her in that moment, as if she’d made a decision. No sign of trouble loomed in her bright face. She smiled, meeting my gaze without a qualm.

  “It was very kind of you, Mav. Thank you. Seriously.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  “Ready to eat?”

  “That entire box of spaghetti, yes.”

  With a soft laugh, she followed me out, winding back through the house to the kitchen, which smelled like marinara now. She paused, staring curiously across the room, and pointed.

  “That’s an internet modem.”

  “Yes. Right next to it is a window, and it sits on a table, and—”

  “No, that’s a working modem.”

  I whistled. “Nothing escapes you, does it, sharpshooter?” I said, reaching for a plate in the kitchen.

  Her gaze tapered, nonplussed by my poor attempts to turn this into something humorous, when, in fact, it might be creepy.

  “Does it work?” she asked, hands on her hips.

  I tossed a cheap plastic plate onto the counter next to her. “You can thank it for the late-night text marathons.”

  “How long have you had it?” she cried.

  “Almost two weeks.”

  “But you’ve been coming to the shop for all that time.”

  “I still wanted my Pineville office.” I pretended to take offense. “Where else could I possibly find such spacious accommodations?”

  “Your closet is more like it,” she said with wry humor. The glint in her eye told me she wasn’t angry. “You’ve been paying me to use my tiny little office that even a mouse would feel claustrophobic in when you could have more conveniently worked from this gorgeous house?”

  “That isn’t what I was paying for,” I said quietly.

  She looked away, gaze distant. My stomach knotted. I had to force down hot acid in the back of my throat. She’s in a good place, I reminded myself, and I’m no hero. I’m here to help her find success, and then I’m out. No expectations. She’s known that.

  Her parents had left her with a real mess, and I couldn’t save her from it. But I could help her see what real success looked like, and she was well on her way now. Best to bow out before expectations bred deeper disappointments.

  Because in my world, they always did. And those disappointments led to much scarier things than a broken heart. Bethany deserved better.

  Desperate to head back to the safety of our banter, I gave her a quick wink.

  “C’mon. I’m starving, and I have a chocolate pie that needs to get in my belly once we’re done with this. Let’s take this onto the porch.”

  29

  Bethany

  I wanted to kill him.

  He kisses me like that, then shows me that bookshelf? The house? Tells me that he’s going to leave in a week?

  Total. Jerk.

  My rage was short lived, and futile. I’d brought this on myself, and blaming him wouldn’t do any good. I’d willingly checked into Heartbreak Hotel, and now I had to live with it. Sooner than I’d expected, unfortunately. My heart felt like he’d taken a cheese grater to it.

  This is the beginning of the end.

  All I really wanted was more of Maverick. All of Maverick. My wasted expectations were futile. Maverick would give whatever he would give, then run.

  The cycle was established. Running away to the Army. Running from Mallory. Now, he would run from me. Or was it even fair to say that? We had . . . what? Not a relationship. Shared affection, perhaps, but no commitment.

  “So,” I said through the uncomfortable, vise-like feeling around my neck. Based on his wary expression, my forced casualness didn’t fool him, either. “What’s next for you?”

  He nodded and sipped at a beer he’d grabbed from the fridge. Sunlight filtered through the trees near the back porch, overlooking the mountain ridge that fell into more mountains. This house had to be worth at least half a million dollars.

  “I’m looking at some places in South Dakota,” he said slowly, hedging. “I think just another week will do it.”

  “And you have internet. The operations manual is done, and I’ve organized my books so the girls and I can eat every day. Even if I haven’t figured out the whole health insurance issue. But I have that insurance broker’s number, so . . .”

  He met my gaze, nodding. For a long moment I held it, arrested by the uncertainty I saw there. Everything felt too big all of a sudden. Goodbye lingered like a hummingbird.

  “Bethany—”

  “Don’t.” I held up a hand, panic in my voice. “Please, don’t. This is . . . I agreed to this. I just have to accept it now. I get that. Just . . . give me some time to wrap my head around it.” My voice softened. “This is harder than I thought it would be, and I knew it would suck.”

  He paused, studying me. “All right. Well, I wanted to show you one more thing tonight.” He grabbed an envelope on the table and slid it to me. I withdrew a folded sheath of papers and opened them. It took me two full scans to understand the paperwork.

  “A rental agreement?”

  He sucked in a slow breath. “I’ve decided to keep the property a little bit longer. Rent it out instead of sell it. I think, given the market, I could make more money off my investment in five years. It’s a buyer’s market now.”

  The market wasn’t great for sellers, but it wasn’t bad. I doubted five years would gain him much, but one never knew. My eyes skimmed the paperwork until they tangled on some numbers at the bottom.

  Rental agreement: $125 a month.

  But that was ridiculously low. In fact, that was—

  Oh.

  The implication hit me all at once. He was keeping the house so I could rent it.

  For $125 a month.

  Something hot ballooned in my chest. I slid the papers back to him, my lips pressed together.

  Mixed signals alert. What was I supposed to do with this?

  “I don’t know anyone who’s looking,” I said stiffly.

  “Bethany, I . . .” His nostrils flared. “I’m not great at these conversations.”

  “I know. It’s why we never had any.”

  His shoulders lifted as he took a deep breath. “I thought it might help until you get back on your feet. You can rent this place for a low cost and—”

  “I’m not off my feet,” I snapped.

  He lifted an eyebrow.

  “I’m not! The store had a twenty-five dollar profit last month. That’s twenty-five dollars that has never happened before. We bought a beautiful rug with it, if you’re asking. If your numbers don’t lie, I’m on track for a hundred-dollar profit next month. That will help pay for new clothes for school next year. It will only keep growing. That’s after I get paid, which means we’re fine.”

&n
bsp; “For now. But raising kids means a lot of unexpected things pop up. You’re living in a single room with two teenage girls.”

  “Oh? Is that right? Thank you for mansplaining that to me.”

  His gaze tapered to dangerous slits.

  “Why do you care?” I asked, voice shaky. “You’re leaving. And soon. Much . . . much sooner than I thought.”

  His voice deepened to a roll of thunder. “That doesn’t mean I’m heartless.”

  I turned, unable to face him.

  “We both agreed this thing between us would be just what it is. I’ve accepted that you feel like you have to move on. That there’s nothing to keep you here. This? This rental agreement just . . . muddies the waters.”

  “Bethany, I want you to be safe.”

  “Then stay.” I whipped around. “Stay. Live in this house and travel to your next job, but come back to me. Let’s make this real. You and me. Committed. Dating. Figuring out if our lives can merge in a way that makes both of us better people. Long distance sucks, but it couldn’t be worse than this. We can make it happen. Success seems to just . . . flow to you.”

  The air crackled with tension. Troubled ridges formed on his forehead. This wasn’t fair of me to ask. I knew that, deep down. He had never indicated he wanted a relationship, and it was dirty of me to try.

  Still, the power between us couldn’t be denied.

  If I didn’t try, I’d never forgive my cowardice. And at least, this way, I could live with myself.

  “It’s not that simple,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because . . .”

  A cold feeling washed over me. “You’re going to accept the position and work for Mallory?”

  “No.” He ran a hand through his tousled hair. “I mean . . . maybe. I haven’t decided officially.”

  My heart felt swollen. Heavy. This was all my fault. I should never have let it happen. Let my aching heart fall hard again. It was like I wanted to remain broken.

  “Bethany, if I stay, then you and I are going to fall deeper into . . . whatever this is.”

  I paused, expecting him to finish, but he’d stopped.

  “Wouldn’t that be the point?”

  “That comes with expectations.”

  “Like?”

  He stood. “Like commitment and affection and time and . . . expectations.”

  “You didn’t mind that affection twenty minutes ago when you slammed me against the wall.”

  “Not just that kind of affection. But intimacy. Depth. I can’t control those variables. With successful ventures come expectations. The more successful you are, the more people want out of you. Eventually, you can’t live up to what they want, and everything suffers. Marriages fall apart. Love burns out. I’ve seen it time and time again with business, with Mallory, with Baxter. With my parents. I don’t want that for you.”

  “This isn’t a business, Maverick!” I cried. “This is your life. It’s my heart.”

  He faltered. “See? Expectations.”

  The pain in his gaze stopped me flat. I had no idea what to say next. Maybe he was right. Maybe he wasn’t. But the only thing I knew was that he was leaving. Just like Mama. Just like Pappa. Just like Dad. In a strange, backward way, I understood it. I had created this situation, not him.

  Stupidly, I realized that I’d been hoping I would be enough for him. That he’d change his mind because our great match was enough to make him stay. But that wasn’t how this worked. People brought their own issues into relationships. I’d been idealizing him out of desperation.

  Out of loneliness, I had created this monster.

  Maverick was afraid of failure, bottom line. That fear was bigger than me. I swallowed hard, barely keeping my composure. Perhaps he was right. This wouldn’t be a good thing. Me, so desperate for love. Him, so desperate for success and freedom. We were oil and water.

  Fire and ice.

  That ancient bad mixture that felt so good.

  “I understand,” I whispered.

  The anguish in his eyes tripled. He reached for me but stopped halfway. “Bethany, I . . .”

  I stepped back.

  “Good luck, Mav. I think it’s best if we part here. It’s only going to be worse for me, so I’ll ask for your compassion in this. But . . . I just . . . I want you to know that you never disappointed me. The only thing I wanted from you was for you to show up, and you did that. So . . . thank you.”

  His face fell, and his coiled body didn’t move.

  I stepped back, my legs colliding with the chair. Hot tears welled up in my eyes. I blinked them away, my emotions wildly unbound. “I need to go.”

  When I moved to leave, his hand on my wrist stopped me. I looked back in wordless question.

  “I wanted you to have the first pass at the rental agreement,” he continued, as if everything that lay between us suddenly wasn’t there. But his eyes didn’t quite meet mine, and the knot in my chest tightened. “I wanted to . . . I wanted to help.”

  Hanging on to the last vestige of my pride, I said, “The offer is kind. I appreciate the place of care that it originated from, but I’m able to take care of myself and the girls without you. Just like you wanted.”

  His expression clouded. I felt the crack all the way down the center of my heart. I slipped through the house, walking away as fast as I could. He followed, not saying a word until I reached the door.

  “Wait.”

  My hand gripped the doorknob. I felt a traitorous fluttering in my chest at the sound of his voice. Maybe he’d say it. Stop me. Confess whatever fear paralyzed him.

  “Can I say goodbye to the girls?”

  Pain I hadn’t felt since Dad died filled my chest again. I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell him to just go and stay away. Seeing him again would be torture. It would be hard enough being in the coffee shop without him.

  But Lizbeth and Ellie had experienced enough loss without closure.

  “Tomorrow afternoon is fine.”

  The feeling of his eyes boring into my back followed me to the car. I shut the door, turned the key in the ignition, and pulled away with full composure. He hadn’t budged. Always stagnant. Alone in his isolated bubble.

  The bubble that outrated me.

  All of us.

  Everyone.

  The tires skidded on the rocks as I peeled away with a sob.

  30

  Maverick

  She drove away.

  A cloud of dust whirled behind her car, which quickly disappeared among the trees. The whispered remnants of her words and the inescapable sense that I had just made a mistake haunted me.

  She didn’t get it yet.

  She didn’t understand that expectations led to disappointment and, ultimately, heartbreak. In the end, she’d be better off without me failing her. The way I had constantly failed Dad, which led to his ultimate demise.

  The right thing had never felt so awful.

  31

  Bethany

  My head pounded the next morning.

  Despite lying awake until 2:00 a.m., tears silently soaking my pillow, more grief lingered behind my eyes. My rage at our conversation had ebbed into a low, pulsing heartache. How had I fallen so hard? He’d invaded my life and painted himself all over it, and now he’d leave. Everything in Pineville had echoes of Maverick. The grocery store. The bar. The Italian restaurant.

  Even the coffee shop still smelled like him.

  By three, I gave in and headed downstairs to make the frappuccino bases for the day. The quiet repose was a welcome escape, so I flipped the sign on, tied my apron, and turned to my to-do list. If some random trucker wanted to stop by and get some caffeine, I’d take their money. While I worked through the daily preparations, my traitorous mind spun over his kiss. The heat in my belly.

  To shove the thoughts away, I looked at my bank accounts.

  The morning rush came and went. I moved through it like a machine. Ellie and Devin showed up at seven. They were playing out in the r
eeds five minutes later. Lizbeth popped awake around eleven, while I shoved caffeine into the hands of as many people as I could, silently tallying the dollars.

  Operating expenses covered for the day.

  Sixty dollars in sales tax.

  My broken heart will never heal.

  Thirty to the credit card.

  I’ll sell this place to forget him.

  Forty to the line of credit at the bank.

  I called a local bakery in Jackson City and discussed selling their goods. While we worked out a delivery schedule and a cost table, Maverick fluttered through my mind. Erasing Dad’s favorite scone from the chalkboard sent physical pain shooting through my core. I bit my lip to keep from crying again. I thought I heard Maverick shuffle in the office, and turned that way. My heart plummeted to see it dark and empty.

  When a clang sounded at the door, I jumped. Lizbeth glanced at me from the top of her book.

  “Just the mail, Bethie,” she said, turning another page. “You’re twitchy today.”

  She’d been studying me all day. I’d felt her eyes on me. I hadn’t mentioned Maverick yet. Couldn’t bear to force the words out. But I felt a moment of panic when his truck pulled up in the parking lot. My cracked heart split down the middle. I ripped the apron off and threw it at Lizbeth.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I can’t.”

  She looked up at me in surprise as I rushed into the hall, hurrying up the spiral stairs. The door below opened as I sat at the top of the steps, folding my knees into my chest. Maverick’s low voice rumbled as he spoke with Lizbeth. I bit down on my jeans to muffle a short cry.

  Tears trailed down my cheeks, soaking my knees. I tried not to hear his words.

  Several minutes later, Lizbeth appeared at the bottom of the stairs. The door chime rang, indicating his final departure. She looked up, then climbed toward me. When she reached the top, she sat down and folded me into her arms.

  I fell into her embrace with a muffled sob.