Any Other Love
Page 25
She gave the room a last-minute once over. The banner that said Happy Birthday had started to detach from the wall over the cash register. She sighed, and nudged Matt. He jogged over to fix it. Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the door.
Amarie traipsed inside, a venti Starbucks in her hand. Char made a mental note to bust her chops for it later. Opening the door, Amarie eased inside.
“Surprise!” everyone shouted.
Char broke free from the group and wrapped her girl in a hug. “Happy birthday!”
Amarie kissed her, grinning. “You know, I wondered why all those cars were in the lot when we weren’t supposed to be open yet.” She looked around the room, head swiveling and body turning as she took it all in. “Guys, this is amazing.”
After the new kitchen had been finished, Char and Rowan had updated the front area, replacing the rickety tables and chairs with fresh new ones. They’d even moved away from the bakery’s outdated pink and white color scheme to more neutral, earthy tones—with a pop of pastel mint green to keep the playfulness alive.
For the finishing touch, they’d had the Elli’s logo and sign redone. Though they decided to keep the apostrophe, their graphic designer used a typeface that incorporated the Elli’s name into a cup of coffee and a slice of cake, turning the café’s name into steam rising from the mug.
Elli’s looked like a bona fide, badass café—like something Char might find in SoHo. Its aesthetic could even rival Starbucks, Char mused. Then again, she was probably biased.
Amarie looped her arm through Char’s. “When’s the first art show?” she asked.
“May,” Matt replied. “I’m coordinating with a few artists in the area. Technically I’ll be in charge of the art side of Elli’s, but I’m gonna bring in this artist I met a couple weeks ago, Kenneth, as our curator.”
“This is so, so cool,” Amarie said, kissing Char’s cheek. “I told you that the three of you would work well together.” Her eyes crinkled and her mouth spread in a wide smile.
“You did.” Char tugged her toward the office. “I have something for you.”
“Sex in your workplace? You dirty girl,” Amarie said as Char closed the door behind them.
“My boss would be pissed if I did that.” Opening a drawer with a key, Char removed a small velvet box.
“You are your boss.”
“I know.” Char turned, holding the box out for Amarie.
Brown eyes widening, Amarie’s lips parted.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Char said, giggling. “Someday I will get down on one knee. Today’s about you, though—not us.”
“You are ridiculously perfect.” Amarie took the box and, eyes locked on Char’s, flipped it open. From inside, she lifted a sterling silver ring. “It’s heavy,” she said, surprised. The ring was thick and engraved with filigree around a flower, the metal itself twisting around the wearer’s finger in a half spiral.
“Do you recognize it?” Char held her breath as Amarie turned it over in her hands.
“Kind of. I feel like I should, you know? That sounds kind of weird.”
“It doesn’t.” Char gently took the ring from Amarie and turned it between her fingers so that the flower part of the ring pointed down.
“I don’t get it,” Amarie said. Then she gasped. “Wait. Is this one of those spoon rings?” She took the ring back, turning it under the light. “It is!” She flung her arms around Char.
“It is.” Something unfurled inside Char’s chest.
“Thank you so much.”
“There’s one more thing,” Char said. “Look on the inside.”
Shaking her head, Amarie turned the ring underneath the light. In small, neat letters, the word WARRIOR had been engraved. “You got me a spoonie warrior ring.” Tears ran down Amarie’s cheeks, but she was smiling.
“For my spoonie warrior princess,” Char said.
She slid the ring onto her girl’s finger. Then, hand in hand, they walked back into the party, and the rest of their lives.
THE END
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Acknowledgments
Eternal thanks to my best friend and wife Sandra Kostenko for the many girls’ days at your place. Not having a washer/dryer hookup at my place sucks, but not having you in my life would be even worse!
Thank you to Barone’s Belles—my reader group on Facebook—for naming the waitresses at The 545. You guys saved me hours of falling down the baby name rabbit hole, haha. Thank you, also, for your constant support and encouragement.
Huge thanks to Jacelyn Locke and your wonderful grandma for helping me with Dominican phrases. (Also, I stole your last name for Amarie, so thanks for that too.)
Avis came up with the perfect name for Amarie’s cat, Pops. I really want to adopt an elderly cat now (but my own elderly cat can be a feisty, jealous thing when it comes to her human mama).
Molli Moran and J.C. Hannigan saved my sanity too many times to count. Molli pushed me hard to make this book even better. Without your gentle but thorough and insightful notes, this book wouldn’t have made it past the 2nd draft. Thank you for being my critique partner and friend! J.C., thank you for being my work wife and for all of the FaceTime writerly gripe sessions.
As always, love, kisses, and thanks to my partner Mike Campbell for rolling with my constant muttering about plots, late dinners, and weekend rule-breaking writing sessions. Also thanks for being so cool about me domineering your Xbox with Netflix binges.
Finally, this book would literally not exist without Dr. Tejas Sheth. You may be just a man, but you listened and within six months gave me back the ability to write. You are the best rheumatologist in America, hands down. This country is lucky to have you, and I hope you will rejoin us soon.
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About the Author
Elizabeth Barone is an American novelist who writes contemporary romance and suspense starring sassy belles who chose a different path in life. Her debut novel Sade on the Wall was a quarterfinalist in the 2012 Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest. She is the author of the South of Forever series and several other books.
When not writing, Elizabeth is very busy getting her latest fix of Yankee Candle, spicy Doritos chips, or whatever TV show she’s currently binging.
Elizabeth lives in northwestern Connecticut with her husband, a feisty little cat, and too many books.
Also by Elizabeth Barone
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Crazy Comes in Threes
Bad things always happen to Quinn in threes.
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Just One More Minute
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The Nanny with the Skull Tattoos
Single dad Max isn’t looking for love—or so he thinks.
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Sade on the Wall
Save her friendship, or save her best friend . . .
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Sandpaper Fidelity
Post-grad doesn’t always go as planned.
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SOUTH OF FOREVER SERIES
#0: Twisted Broken Strings
If she lets him into her band, she’ll have to let him into her heart.
Jett might be sober, but she can’t kick her addiction to Koty.
#2: Savannah’s Song
Savannah’s forever has a secret that could destroy them—and the band.
#3: What Happens On Tour
Poppy probably shouldn't have lied on her resumé, especially since the truth will ruin her career . . . and new relationship.
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Available at elizabethbarone.net or the retailer of your choice.
What to Read Next: Just One More Minute
A down-on-her-luck waitress inherits a bakery with the man who stole her dream job—and her heart.
A companion novel to Any Other Love. Keep reading for a free excerpt!
Rowan peered into the oven, her hand guarded by a thick oven mitt. The scent of chocolate wafted toward her. Though the brownies smelled done, the slightly chocolate-coated toothpick in her free hand told her otherwise. "Just one more minute," she decided. Pushing the pan back inside, she closed the door.
Brownies were hardly a healthy dinner, but she’d had a long night at work. Usually she didn’t mind her job waitressing tables at the diner. Sean’s regular crowd gently teased her but left generous tips. But Sean’s was also right off the highway, and every once in a while they got drunk strangers. Her soiled clothing was currently cycling through its second run in her old washing machine. After being vomited on, anyone would need a good dose of chocolate.
And wine.
Maybe it was a sign that she needed to get out of waitressing. The problem was, she had no idea what she should do instead. She’d finished her A.S. in May. Given her experience, she could apply for a management position at a restaurant. The pay would be decent, but she just wasn’t sure that she wanted to work holidays and weekends for the rest of her life.
Sighing, she turned away from the oven and grabbed her notepad. With a swipe of her pen, she adjusted the time on the recipe that she was working on. In the three years since she’d started her blog, she had yet to post a recipe for brownies. She was about to remedy that.
Her blog was also an option. Because of it, she earned a pretty decent side income. Between affiliate sales and paid product reviews, she was able to pay her rent, and her waitressing income took care of her bills and other expenses. Now that she was out of school, if she quit her job and focused on her blog full-time, she could easily turn that income into a living. The idea of sitting in her kitchen all day didn’t really appeal to her, though. She liked bantering with her customers at Sean’s. Though her readers left great comments and busted her balls just fine, it wasn’t the same as face to face interaction.
She had no idea what she wanted.
The timer on her oven went off. Her minute was up. She pulled the pan of brownies out of the oven and set it on top of the burners of the stove. Immediately she turned the oven off. Despite the sun having set hours ago, the temperature outside hovered in the upper eighties. It was going to be a brutal summer.
Her father would tell her that she was crazy for baking in eighty-degree weather—and that she needed to add something special to those brownies. She rolled her eyes at the thought,
then frowned, pushing away the memories of her childhood. She’d moved to New Jersey almost the second she graduated high school, and she’d never looked back. She was over it and her parents. Mostly.
The brownies had to cool before she could cut them, so she left the oven and ambled into her living room area. As she crossed the small studio, she glanced at a photo on the wall of her aunt Katherine. Her heart twisted. She hadn’t seen her aunt in two years. They talked on the phone occasionally, but things weren’t the same. Too much was unspoken between them.
Closer to the air conditioner, she felt the sweat on her face drying. She sat down on her futon, tucking her legs underneath her. She drummed her fingers on her thigh. She didn’t have cable, and opening up her laptop and surfing YouTube would only make her feel guilty that she wasn’t working on her blog post instead. She bit her lip. Maybe it was time to get cable.
Her phone vibrated against the worn coffee table. Frowning, Rowan leaned forward for it. It was almost midnight. She didn’t recognize the number. Silencing the phone, she figured someone had probably dialed wrong—it happened.
Almost a minute later, a notification flashed across the screen. One new voicemail. Her frown deepened. She’d had enough of drunks for one night. Reaching for the phone, she plucked it off the table. Without listening to the voicemail, she deleted it.
The brownies had cooled for long enough. Hopping off the futon, she returned to the oven. Knife in hand, she brushed a strand of mousy brown hair from her face and began slicing the brownies free. She stifled a yawn. She’d better wrap up her brownie fix soon. She had a morning shift at the diner.
Balancing a plate of square brownies in one hand, she trotted to the refrigerator. She set the plate down and poured herself a glass of milk. She plucked three brownies from the plate and carried her feast back to the futon.
It didn’t take long for her to eat them. With a sigh, she brought her dishes to the sink. Then she opened up the futon. Stripping down to just her tank top and panties, she lay down. She stared into the darkness for a long time before sleep came.
It was Friday night.
∞∞∞
When Rowan woke early the next morning, she had another voicemail from the same number. She stared at the screen of her phone for a long moment. The number had a Connecticut area code. While that didn’t necessarily mean anything—she’d bought her phone when she was still living in her home state—she couldn’t ignore the alarm bells going off in her head. Still, she didn’t have time. It was going to have to wait.
She dressed quickly and, on her way out, grabbed a brownie for breakfast. She arrived at Sean’s just as her boss of the same name was unlocking the door.
"Morning," she greeted him.
He gave her a half grunt, half sigh in response, then a crooked smile. Pushing the door open, he motioned for her to go first. As she passed him, she couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were underlined by dark circles. His long hours at the diner were taking their toll. He’d never been a morning person, but she knew he’d stayed long after they closed the night before, prepping for the next day.
As far as she knew, she was the only server he’d scheduled for the morning. Usually, she appreciated the gesture. Though she knew it was really because he knew his sunrise customers preferred her to the other servers, it was nice to be valued. But early Saturday mornings were always slow. There was no one on their way to work. The sleepy little town caught up on rest and yard work on weekends.
With a sigh, she tied on her apron and prepared for the long day ahead. Even though she and Sean would be the only ones drinking it for the better part of the morning, she made coffee. She set tables with paper placemats and rolled silverware. When she was finished, she brought her boss a cup of coffee and perched on the counter next to him. They sat in silence for several long minutes. While she watched him prepare the register and type up the specials for the day, her thoughts again turned to her impending future. She loved the diner, but it wasn’t exactly a career.
Just before he flipped the sign to open for the day, Sean gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Everything okay, kiddo?"
"Man, I must look bad." Though Rowan often suspected that he considered her like a daughter, he rarely asked about her personal life. She never asked about his, either, though. She knew he’d come to New Jersey a stray, too, but didn’t know the circumstances.
"You look like you’re in deep thought." He gave her a smile, the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes crinkling.
She bit her lip. He was the closest thing she had to a father figure. Maybe he could give her advice. Taking a sip of her coffee, she watched as he sank into a chair at one of the tables. "How did you decide that you wanted to run a diner for the rest of your life?"
His eyebrows rose. "The rest of my life? Are you trying
to punish me?"
"Well, you know what I mean." Her stomach rumbled. Suddenly she regretted having eaten nothing but brownies in the last twenty-four hours.
One of his eyebrows twitched. "I didn’t really know," he hedged, hitting the print button on his laptop. Underneath the counter, the printer coughed and spurted. The sheets that would become table tents for the day’s specials spewed onto the tray.
"You ended up here somehow," she persisted. "What did you decide to do after finishing high school?"
Sean collected the pile of copies and began assembling them. "I didn’t."
"You didn’t finish high school?" she teased.
"No." His brown eyes met hers.
Feeling her cheeks flush, she managed a small "Oh."
"Rowan, those were different days. My grades weren’t the best, and I was always getting into trouble for minor things. They didn’t really know what to do with me, to tell you the truth. So I left one day and never went back." He finished putting together the table tents and began dispersing them to the tables.
She sighed. "I just don’t know what to do," she said.
"Well, you graduated high school and college, so you’re two steps ahead of me." His eyes twinkled.
The door opened and the white-haired Mr. and Mrs. Kostenko shuffled in for their morning coffee fix. Rowan grinned at them in greeting and grabbed two mugs. Her day had begun.
∞∞∞
Halfway through her shift, she paused for a short break. As she passed Sean at the grill, he handed her a plate of food. "Eat."
With a nod, she carried her meal to a table tucked into a dim corner of the diner. Lifting her fork, she also slid her phone out of her apron. It was the weekend and she was officially done with school. She shouldn’t spend it alone.
She meant to text a friend from the community college she’d attended, but froze. There were two more voicemails from the Connecticut number. Dread pitted in her stomach. One or two calls she could write off as a wrong number. Four were a whole other story.