by Amelia Wilde
“More than ready.”
Martin beams. “Let’s go.”
I’m expecting dust. I’m expecting a few loose ends. Things to finish before I unleash my new business onto Lakewood.
That’s not at all what I find when we walk inside.
Martin goes ahead of me, pointing out everything. “So you’ve got your counter back here. Plenty of storage space. The under-counter fridges came last week, so we popped those in. Let me know when you get the big machine, and we’ll help with that too.”
This place isn’t under construction. It’s done.
The dark wood floors gleam. The tile in the kitchen area is brand new. Everything smells like fresh paint and promise.
He leads me around the space. A side hallway leads to two restrooms, each with two stalls inside. “This used to be a shared corridor, but the other renters moved out, and it looks like your grandfather reclaimed it, so we bumped out here, and here—”
It’s fucking amazing.
It’s easily three times the size of Medium Roast, maybe four, and unlike that building, the paint on the walls isn’t starting to peel. There’s space and light. People are going to love this.
I ignore a hard twist of guilt in the center of my chest. Maybe I had considered backing out of all this in the middle of last night, tossing and turning in my bed. Maybe I thought that if it wasn’t nearly finished, I could pivot, make a different decision, keep Ellery from being so betrayed.
But this is ready to go. It’s up to me to take it the rest of the way.
Martin brings us back to the center of the building and sticks his hands in his pockets. “What do you think?”
I crane my neck to look in every possible direction. “What else do you have to finish?”
“Nothing,” he says with a grin.
“I—” I blink, trying to take it all in. “I got the impression there were still things to do.”
He bobs his head proudly. “There were a couple of things, but we hurried over the weekend. I thought it’d be a nice surprise.”
“It’s a great fucking surprise.”
“Plus,” Martin says, his expression turning serious, “you’ve got to open. It’s pretty urgent, boss?”
“What? Why?” My mind spins through all the different permits I had to get from the city, guidelines, deadlines. Did I miss something? Shit, did I miss something big?
He juts his chin in the direction of Medium Roast. The whole building will be visible through our front windows once the construction plywood is down. The paint job on the front is gleaming. Medium Roast has a facade that’s almost too faded. “You’re losing money,” he offers. “That Fish-Off shit brought hundreds of people here, and they all want coffee. There’s not much else to do in Lakewood.” He laughs, the sound echoing off the walls. “It’s the perfect storm. But you don’t want to miss out on it. Could be like this every weekend.”
Adrenaline hums in my veins. Of fucking course I want that. Of course I want to see this place full of people, full of life. Once this store is opened, it’ll be the start of everything. My grandmother’s dream will be real. Rosie’s future will be pleasant as hell. And I won’t have a spare moment to think about Serena, not ever again.
You’re already forgetting her, whispers a voice in the back of my mind. And it’s not because of this coffee shop.
That may be true, but the girl taking up all my brain space now probably hates me.
We step back out into the alley, and I steal a glance over at Medium Roast. I started a thing with Ellery. I should finish it before things get really awkward. “If you need anything else, send me a text,” says Martin. “I’ve got another job.”
I square my shoulders and prepare to cross the street. “Me too.”
15
Ellery
Dash doesn’t know I can see him over there next to his shop. He’s in clear view, right in the alley, but he’s been looking too long to realize I’m looking back.
In short glances, between customers.
My heart pounds at the sight of him. Blue t-shirt showing off his muscles. Shorts in the summer heat. His chestnut hair catches rays of the sun as he steps out onto the sidewalk.
Oh, God, he’s coming over here. He’s coming over here. What am I going to do?
Sell him coffee, that’s what. No more, no less. He won’t have a reason to linger. Not today. I’m managing it, somehow. Maybe it’s that the crowd is a little better behaved than yesterday, but I’m keeping up. After that phone call, what else can I do?
“One black coffee,” I say absently, my eyes still on his gorgeous form.
“He’s hot,” the woman buying the coffee says. “Is he your boyfriend?”
That snaps me back into reality. We’re both frozen, she with dollar bills in her hand, me waiting to receive them. “Uh, no. No, he’s not.” This customer is one of the cool ones. Her red hair is piled on top of her head in a bun, and she’s wearing the kind of sundress that I could never pull off—flowing and tie-dyed—without looking like a muumuu. She looks familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. She strikes me as the kind of person who would have been on the cross country team in high school. I can almost picture the way she runs.
A little girl with fine hair rising around her face in little curls tugs at her hand. “Are we going to go to the beach?”
We both look down at her. She’s a startlingly beautiful child. “Of course, sweet pea. I just need some coffee first.”
It comes to me. “Valentine?”
“Yeah!” she says, her face lighting up in a smile. “Do we know each other?”
“Art class. I was a freshman and you were a senior. Ellie Collins.”
“Ellie, oh, my god, I am so rude. How have you been?”
I open my mouth and lie. “Good. Great. I’m back in town for a little while.”
“We’re here on vacation,” Valentine says wistfully. “It’s the city life now.” She smiles again, her face transformed by joy. “I don’t mind it, though. Lots of restaurants.”
I liked the restaurants, too. “Don’t I know it. Have a kickass vacation,” I say, feeling abjectly lame in her presence. She’s gracious and kind and not living here anymore. I failed at that too, but I keep my head held high. This is fine.
I finish ringing her up and she glides toward the carafes on the counter. A man comes in from the side door, a dark-haired baby in one arm, and kisses her on the back of her neck. It’s so intimate and sweet that I look away. “You ready?” he asks her.
“I’m ready!” cries the little girl. “Daddy, let’s go!”
He gives the woman a look. “Let’s get this girl to the beach.”
“Let’s get me to the beach.”
I’m totally not jealous. Not even a little bit.
There’s a lull. Another group—it looks like a family—is waiting outside the side door, but there aren’t any customers for the moment.
Oh, Jesus, I forgot I was watching for Dash. It’s too late now to whip my head around and press my face up against the window, so instead, I turn away, playing it as cool as humanly possible. I grab the cleaning spray and wipe down the space in front of the espresso machine and the register, keeping my eyes on my own work.
The door swooshes open, and I look up. Is my smile real enough? Why am I suddenly pretending that I didn’t know he was coming?
He lets the door shut behind him and raises a hand in greeting. “Just me.”
God, he is fine. I want to brush up against this traitor until all our clothes are on the floor. Yet I also hate him for what he’s about to do.
“Welcome to Medium Roast, Lakewood’s premier and only coffee shop,” I tell him. “What can I get for you?”
He sticks his hands in his pockets and tries not to smile. “I wanted to make sure you’re all right?”
I point at my chest. “Me? I’m fine. Why would I not be fine?”
“You left dinner in a rush.”
“I heard some disturbing ne
ws, but I’m over it now.”
He doesn’t take his eyes off mine. “I’m sorry about that.” The old man reading a paper at one of the tables gets up and shuffles toward the side door, tucking it laboriously under his arm as he goes. “I should have—”
“Not decided to build a second coffee shop right across from this coffee shop?”
Dash steps closer to the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “I think I made the right call on that.” He glances around Medium Roast, and a fierce defensiveness bubbles up in my gut. “This place is past its prime.”
“If you don’t like it, you can leave any time.” My face burns. My aunt is doing her best with the repairs and general upkeep, but I’m not in charge of the purse strings. I can’t order the place renovated because it needs a new coat of paint.
“I came in here to tell you that I shouldn’t have been flirting with you yesterday.”
My breath hitches in my throat. Can this get any worse? Am I going to get dumped by a guy before we’ve even done anything? How much more salt does he want to pour in the wound? “You’ve said it. Now you can get out.”
“No,” he says. Is he blushing now? What the hell is this? “I came in here intending to say that, the thing is—”
“—that you should choose another town for your coffee shop?”
“—I don’t want to stop talking to you. I like you. Plus, I think if we worked together—”
“I’m going to stop you there. We’re not working together.”
I take the spray and aggressively wipe down the display case. I forgot to ask about the baked goods. They come on a truck from one of those big box food service stores, and everybody thinks they’re homemade. The truck hasn’t shown up in three weeks, but when I called, they didn’t have the account on file, so it’s one of those things.
“We did it pretty well yesterday.”
That’s it—that’s the killing blow. I can’t ignore the fact that I owe him one. I owe him a big one. He’s now on the list of People Who Have Bailed Me Out, right along with Aunt Lisa and Uncle Fred.
He’s still looking at me when I work up the nerve to look back. “What do you want, Dash? I get it. I owe you. But what do you want me to do?” I swallow my pride. “How can I help you?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t want anything in return,” he says, and his voice is pleasure, sheer pleasure. “All I want—” His eyes blaze into mine. “If you ever have a spare second, stop by. I don’t want to be enemies.” His phone rings in his pocket and he pulls it out, frowning. “I have to take this. But please. Stop by. I want to talk.” Then he lifts the phone to his ear and goes back out onto the sidewalk. In seconds, he’s out of sight.
“I don’t,” I whisper.
It’s not true.
16
Dash
That did not go as planned.
I’m the kind of man who finishes things. Projects. Jobs.
Lovers.
I don’t leave women hanging, is what I’m trying to say.
I meant for it to be a clean break with Ellery. Thirty seconds into the conversation and I’m tongue-tied, begging her to stop by my coffee shop. To stop by my coffee shop. What the hell was I thinking? That she’d take me up on the invite, see how great it is, and fall into my arms?
I wouldn’t mind it.
What a wasted opportunity. She wanted to do something for me, so I played the perfect gentleman and put the ball in her court. Of fucking course I did. And it was mortifying.
More than that, it was tempting as hell. Ellery looks amazing even in a t-shirt and jean shorts, which is her typical coffee shop uniform. I wanted nothing more in that moment than to lock the door and bend her over that counter, windows be damned. It would be the event of the century in a place like Lakewood.
The rest of Sunday goes by in a slow crawl. Rosie naps on and off, exhausted from trying to toddle over at Norma’s, and she’s sweet when she’s awake. So sweet, so in the mood to cuddle, that that’s all I do. We watch the waves roll in and out on the sand together. In the last heat of the afternoon, I put her in her bathing suit—it’s pink, with ruffles around her butt—and hold her hands while she wades in the shallows. The water against her little chub rolls makes her laugh and laugh.
It almost makes me forget about Ellery.
But then the night comes, and I lay awake in my bed. No matter which way I toss and turn I still feel pulled toward her. I don’t know where she lives, but my arms ache with the wish that she was here, sleeping next to me.
Or not sleeping.
A little past two in the morning I get out of bed and dig a notepad out of my old briefcase. It’s time to make some plans.
The phone rings right next to my head, scaring the shit out of me. I bat at it out of pure instinct, and it flies off the bed, hitting the floor a moment later with a harsh crack. I curse and swing my legs off the side of the bed. Where did that damn thing go? It’s still ringing, so it must not be busted, but I don’t want to deal with all the bullshit required when you get a new phone.
The screen, thank Christ, is not cracked.
I swipe to answer the call and press it to my cheek. “What the hell do you want at this ungodly hour?” My voice sounds gravelly and rough. I didn’t sleep until almost four.
My brother Chris laughs on the other end of the line. “It’s seven in the morning, my man. You’re telling me that baby of yours isn’t up yet?”
“Not today, asshole.”
“You sound like shit. Were you out partying last night?”
I rub a hand over my face. My eyelids are glued together with sleep, and it takes a few tries to get them all the way open. “What do you want?”
“Were there girls there?” Chris is two years younger than I am, and this is a long-running joke. There was a very short period in our lives where he wasn’t invited to the same parties I was. He’d always ask me about the girls at the party. Then he joined the football team, and his innocent questions were all over.
“I’m hanging up.”
“Don’t, don’t,” he says with another laugh. “I’m calling to check in.”
“You couldn’t have called later in the day?”
“I thought you might be at work already. Dad said—”
“This isn’t his thing, Chris. He’s never been interested in this. Why do you think Grandpa willed it to me and not his own son?”
“Shit,” says Chris, astonished. “I never thought of it that way.”
“You never think.” I stretch one arm above my head, then the other. Now that I’m talking out loud, Rosie will hear me and wake up. Guaranteed. I want to strangle my brother for calling this early. He knows I always answer. “Uh, things are going fine. Renovations are done, and I’m going to have a grand opening this week.”
“Grand opening?” he shouts. “Do you have people? Oh, my God, Dash, I thought you were shooting for fall.”
“Things are done now,” I tell him. I leave out the part where this new project will consume me, leaving no room for being furious with Serena or being obsessed with Ellery. “I got some good advice to open as soon as possible. The summer rush, and all that.”
“That makes sense,” Chris says. He doesn’t bother asking who gave me the advice. I don’t think my general contractor would impress him. He, after all, stayed in his investment banking job, unlike his dumbass of an older brother. On the plus side, I’m tying up loose ends for the entire family, which should earn me some major credit. At some point. I don’t know. I’m fucking tired. “How’s Rosie?”
The mention of her name twists my gut. “She’s good. She’s really, really good. Loving the new daycare situation.”
The pause hangs heavy between us. “Have you heard anything?”
He doesn’t say her name and thank God for that. “Not a word. Not a call.” I exhale sharply and let him have it—the thing that forms a hard, cold knot in the pit of my stomach all the time. “I don’t know if she’ll ever come back, Chris.”
/>
“You okay with that?”
“I’m okay with it for me. If I never see her again, that’s fine. But one day I’m going to have to explain it.” I don’t say Rosie’s name out loud. If I do that in this context, I might cry, and I’m not doing that on a phone call with Chris.
“Yeah,” he says.
We sit in silence for a moment.
I clear my throat. “How are you doing with the new condo? Do you need any help finishing things up?”
“I might,” he says. “We’re still waiting to close. It’ll probably be toward November.”
“I can make a trip.”
“I’d like that.”
“Come see the shop if you ever have a day off.”
“Unlikely,” he says, laughing. “Hey—did you make any new friends yet?”
One, and then I promptly alienated her by telling her the truth about what I’m doing here. ”I’ve been busy.”
“Keep an eye out,” Chris tells me. “It’s not hopeless. You never know.”
17
Ellery
Technically, Medium Roast is open seven days a week.
Practically, I would die if I never closed the shop.
I’m restless in bed, my mind pulled back to Dash again and again like he’s the world’s sexiest magnet and I’m the opposite end of another magnet. I enter that hazy state of half-sleep a dozen times, only to be jerked back out again when embarrassment floods my cheeks. I owe him. I don’t take from people without making things even between us. Even working at Medium Roast like this doesn’t make up for what Aunt Lisa and Uncle Fred did for me.
It’s almost two in the morning by the time I call it.
“Nope,” I say out loud, into the sad emptiness of my bedroom, and then I lurch out of bed in the dark. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it right.