"I have to ask: was this about Griff?" Mom's brow furrowed. "Deep down, is that what this was all about?"
"Uh, no, Mom. It wasn't about Griff. It was about seizing an opportunity and making the most of it." I swallowed. "You know? I wanted to succeed at something for a change. I thought if I could get my screenplay in front of Hodges Brennan, maybe I'd get a shot at the career I've always wanted. I thought I could help the bakery." I looked at Dad. "Do we have to sell?"
He smiled and patted my hair fondly. "No, honey. Assuming this business keeps up, we're in the clear. You're a hero."
I smiled weakly for the first time in hours. I'd saved Hedda's, and that was something.
Food prep for the next day wasn't nearly what it had been when we were catering the set, so when we left at seven, the night felt young. "I don't even know what I'm going to do with myself," I said to Jessie as I shut the door behind us. "I'll probably stay up until midnight for the hell of it."
When I turned the lock, I thought about walking back to my apartment alone, turning on the lights, preparing a meal for one, and then climbing into the bed that Jax and I had just shared. I could have buried myself in self-pity just then. Jessie shifted quietly beside me. "Do you want to come up for dinner?"
"Nah, I'm beat. Maybe another time." I felt more nauseous than hungry, anyway. I made a feeble attempt at a grin. "Have a good night."
Jessie tilted her head to one side. "You may have fooled some people, but you didn't fool me. Everything that was happening between you and Jax was real, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, well." I cleared the lump in my throat. "Maybe for one of us."
She reached out and gently clasped my fingers. "Do you want to talk about it?"
There were lots of reasons not to. My pride, for one. I'd gone and allowed Griff to stomp on my heart, and then I'd gone and allowed Jax to do the same thing. "What is it with me and actors, Jess?" I whispered. "I should be in psychotherapy."
"You definitely should, but I don't think for this." She smiled and smoothed a hand down my shoulder. "Jax Cosgrove is one of the hottest guys around. Who wouldn't hear angels when he entered the room? Have you noticed how Emily can't even look him in the eyes? He's intimidatingly gorgeous."
"No." I shook my head. "He's not intimidating. At all. He's got this bad-boy thing, but it's an act. He's thoughtful and kind of sweet, and —" I trailed off when I saw the knowing look on Jessie's face. "It doesn't matter. It's over, and I'm going to go date someone stable and boring." The image of Cash DeLuca flitted across my mind. I shuddered. "Not too boring. Nice boring."
Jessie rolled her eyes heavenward and said, "Oh, sure. Date someone stable and boring and let me know how that goes. You, my friend, crave the drama. Come on." She pulled at my hand and took a step toward the stairs to her apartment. "I ordered takeout last night and it will feed both of us and your bad feelings. Besides, Prince Travis misses you."
The steps I took behind her didn't feel reluctant. More like grateful. "Okay. But just so you know, I'm only coming up to help you eat your leftovers, not because I'm upset or anything."
"No, of course," she said over her shoulder. "But just so you know, I'm going to pressure you to spend the night on my extremely comfortable couch, and I'm planning to open a bottle of wine to make it harder for you to say no. So what's it going to be, red or white?"
"White," I quickly replied.
Jessie laughed quietly. "I thought so. I have some chilling as we speak."
CHAPTER TWENTY
It's not like I'd gone running to the media about my broken heart, but somehow, people knew.
By mid-morning, the bakery was filled with cellophane-wrapped flowers and cards expressing good wishes. "Another bouquet," Emily announced as she brought a bunch of white sweetheart roses into the kitchen. "I don't know where we're going to put all of them."
I didn't either. I'd been nearly teary-eyed at the thoughtfulness of the first few bunches of flowers, and I put them in Mason jars and decorated the tables with them. I may have had a mild hangover from my night at Jessie's, but it wasn't enough to distract me from the many simple, lovely gestures from strangers expressing their sadness that the local coffee girl's brush with celebrity had ended.
I lifted the bouquet from Emily's arms. "I'll cut the stems. I think we can add these to the Mason jars."
When I was finished, I stepped back to admire the arrangements. The flowers looked so beautiful, and they filled the space with rainbow hues of warm wishes from strangers.
"It's a family bakery," I heard one patron whisper to another as they waited in line at the counter. "An old-fashioned place, where everyone knows you."
"Oh," her companion responded. "I love places like this. It feels like home."
I smiled. Dad and Jessie would be so pleased.
We were talking about extending bakery hours, at least for the summer. With the crowds the way they were, it didn't feel like a choice. As it was, we were staying open well past closing time on most nights. We'd called in reinforcements, past employees who were home from college and willing to help out to get us through the crunch. For the most part, they were waiting tables and running orders. Jessie was baking in the back, Emily was at the register, and I was preparing coffees. Business as usual.
"Skinny mocha!" Emily called out beside me.
"Coming up."
Mom came in after lunch and pitched in wherever needed. She washed dishes and cleared tables, and she didn't even mind it. Actually, she looked happier than I could ever remember seeing her. "How are you holding up, sweetheart?" she asked me as she refilled the pastry display with white chocolate cherry scones.
"I'm fine," I said. "Did you talk to Dad? He seemed a little overwhelmed this morning. He may need help in back."
"You know your father. He insists he can handle it. If I try to help him, it's just a burden in the hand." She paused to adjust her blue gloves. "You're probably wondering what's going on between us."
I glanced across the counter to see whether anyone was listening in, but fortunately there was a break in the lunch crowd, and the line had dwindled. Still, I lowered my voice. "I think I know."
"Can I tell you anyway?" She let her hands drop to her side and proceeded without waiting for permission. "I don't know what it is, but when I saw him a few weeks ago, it was like all of these feelings came back. He felt it, too. This sense that we'd let too much life get by us while we were caught up harboring old resentment."
I leaned against the counter, absently turning a silver milk pitcher in my hands. "I like seeing you two together again."
"Me too." She brightened, and I wondered if she'd actually feared that I would disapprove. "In some ways it feels like coming home again."
"And I'm sure I've given you a lot of things to discuss these days," I noted wryly. "I like to think I've helped to break the ice."
The spot between her brows creased. "We couldn't be more proud of you, Wren. You're figuring your life out and pursuing your dreams with everything you have. Look at this crowd. You did this."
I followed the sweep of her hand as she gestured to the bakery around us. "I love this place. I grew up here."
She pulled my head forward to kiss me on the cheek. "It's growing on me too. Hey!" She snaked an arm around my waist. "I was thinking we should talk about branching out a bit. With catering. I've picked up quite a few recipes over the years, and I could practically teach a class in French cuisine."
"You want to start a side business, Mom?" I grinned. "You'll need to talk to Jessie. She's in charge of the catering, and I'm sure she'd be thrilled to have some help."
That night, we closed at seven. Bone weary and yawning, I mustered the effort to avoid sitting down with Jessie and opening another bottle of wine. Sooner or later, I was going to have to return to my apartment alone.
It was home, I reminded myself. Even behind Crabby Andy's, even smelling like a fish fry, this apartment was my home. I should have been happy to near it, but every step closer f
illed me with dread, because even if this was my home, Jax had left his impression. I thought of him as I mounted the stairs and as I stepped into the kitchen. I thought of him on the way to the bedroom, and I fought the memories as I changed the bedsheets. I should have vacuumed and scrubbed. I should have spent the night, as tired as I was, removing all microscopic traces of him. But it was futile.
I took a hot shower and climbed into bed. The last thing I did before turning out the lights was check my cell phone for missed calls. Nothing from Jax. I pretended it didn't hurt.
Four days after storming off the set, I was too busy preparing a Caffè Americano to notice the tall, dark figure crossing the street. I only looked up when I heard the screams outside. It was Jax. He graciously stopped to sign a few autographs and pose for a couple pictures before continuing inside. The shrieks of recognition followed him, but to my amazement, the room went silent as he entered and crossed over to the counter where I was working. My heart was beating so hard that I had to set down the cup I was washing.
He took deliberate care removing his aviator glasses, keeping his dark eyes on me the entire time, a hesitant smile playing on his lips. "Hello, Wren," he said.
I turned to face him, keeping my chin raised. "Hello, Jax," I said, softly. "It's nice to see you."
Behind me, I was vaguely aware of Emily, breathless and still. All around us, eyes were watching. I'd be lying if I said it wasn't exhilarating.
Jax glanced around the bakery as if the crowd was nothing unusual, and yet patrons had set down their forks and cups, turned their heads and craned their necks and stilled their conversations, all to watch us. "Is there somewhere we can go to talk?"
I gestured casually to the room. "I'm a little busy right now. Can we talk later?"
He followed my gesture and inched closer, lowering his voice to a stage whisper. "I miss you."
Around me, the mostly-female audience sighed appreciatively. A few pressed their hands against their hearts. "Jax." I looked down and away. "You know it's for the best."
You could've heard a crumb drop. There was a collective intake of breath as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Then he leaned forward and gently set his hands on my cheeks, gazing into my eyes. I stifled a nervous laugh, but then I saw something, a flicker in his gaze, that stilled me. "I'm sorry a hundred times over. I'm an idiot," he said softly. "And since you left, I'm an idiot without a purpose, which is the worst kind."
Somehow, everything fell away. There we were, just the two of us. "I guess I'm sorry for telling Rubee that you wax your, uh…" I gestured helplessly and felt my face burn. "Your man region."
"That was you?" He rubbed at his forehead but then shook his head. "That doesn't matter. It's the least of what anyone has said about me. Listen, I told Alex Sherapovna all about your screenplay. Don't look shocked, it was part of the arrangement. He's very interested, and he's going to stop in before he leaves. Probably sometime next week." He paused. "I told him I wanted to play Jude."
The romantic lead in my screenplay? "You do? Seriously?"
"Seriously. It's a great role." He grabbed my hands and pressed them together in his. "I can't stop thinking about you. Please, Wren, can't we go somewhere to talk?"
I looked over my shoulder and saw Jessie, wide-eyed, mouth the word, "GO!" and shoo me with one hand.
"Yeah," I said. "This way."
I led him into the kitchen. Dad looked up in confusion but didn't have time to get out more than "Hello!" before we'd passed through the doorway and into the back parking lot. My nerves were on fire, my heart sputtering around in my chest, but I tried to look indifferent as I spun around and said, "So? Is this private enough?"
He set his hands on my shoulders. "Close your eyes. Just trust me," he added as I opened my mouth to argue.
I released a heavy sigh but shut my eyes. He led me a few steps and turned me around. "All right. Open them."
There, below the staircase behind Hedda's, was a beautiful new bicycle. Purple, just like my old one, but this one was definitely brand new. On the seat was a giant white silk bow. "Oh, Jax." I clapped my hands over my mouth. "Is this for me?"
"It's only fair, considering I made you surrender your last one." He watched me as I ran my hands over the rim. "Do you like it? I tried to pick out something that you'd like. You seem to like purple, and bows. Girly stuff." He touched the handlebars absentmindedly. "They don't make bikes with tassels for adults. I checked. If you want them, I can have it special ordered. If you don't like the bike, I'll take it back. You should get whatever you want. I want you to be happy with it. Though I don't know what you're going to do when winter comes. You're going to need a car —"
I jumped into his arms and kissed him. I threw my arms around his broad shoulders, pulling him closer, wanting to prove to myself that he was really here, that we were finally real. When he broke off the kiss, we were both breathless. He rested his forehead against mine. "So you like the bike?"
"I love it. Thank you."
"I love you," he said. "I love you truly, with everything I am, for everything you are. You're sweet, and sensitive, and insecure about everything. But I love you for it, and I should have told you sooner."
Something caught in my throat. "I love you too. You're kind of arrogant." I paused as he chuckled. "But you're also thoughtful and kind. I have to say, when you fed me that line about being misunderstood, I didn't believe it, but now I can see. All those women, though —"
"Like I said, an exaggeration," he whispered. "And in any case, that's over. There's only one woman for me." He softly kissed the back of my hand. "If you'll have me."
I rested my ear against his chest and listened to his heart. "I can't imagine what I'd do without you," I whispered. "Can I ask for one more thing?"
"What's that?"
I pulled back to look him in the eye. "Will you take me out for ice cream tonight?"
He chuckled and lifted me into his arms. "I'll buy you the world."
"Just the ice cream would be fine," I smiled. "And maybe dinner. Like, a real date."
He set me back down and cradled my chin in his hands. "Done and done."
EPILOGUE
We may have been in love, but we had some things to think about. Jax sold his house in LA, and we bought a vineyard with a farmhouse in Great Barrington, overlooking the ocean. We built a tasting room on the edge of the property, which Mom decorated, of course. We sell our wine and pair it with Jessie's chocolates.
Emily runs the operation while we're away, and we've been traveling a lot. Jax's star is very bright in Hollywood, and he had the luxury of having his choice of roles after breaking hearts in The Rose Garden. He still claims his favorite role was in my screenplay, which I titled Love over Time. I suspect he says that because he helped me develop the story so well. And truth be told, the part of Jude was made for him.
As for me, well…I'm not acting, though I did make my film debut in The Office of Wayward Problems, after all. Hodges had refused to recast Poppy and had instead reimagined my part based on the scenes I'd filmed. The movie did well at the box office, but I figure it's best to quit while I'm ahead. I'm happy writing my screenplays and staying out of the spotlight. Not because it's safe, but because it's where I like to be.
Griff and I have been friendly, if not exactly friends. Last I knew, he and Poppy were history and he was taking a break from Hollywood to spend time in India, meditating and finding himself. The tabloids reported that Poppy had successfully completed rehab and was developing her own line of makeup. I saw her one night as I was lying in bed flipping through the channels.
"Is that who I think it is?" Jax entered the room and stood still, staring at the television.
Poppy was smoothing cream into the area around her eyes and saying, "This takes care of the crow's feet. It's filled with microbeads that plump the area up —"
I sighed. "I feel like we should invite her to the wedding."
He began to undress. "I don't know about that
."
"Consider this, though: if she and Griff hadn't dated, I never would have started dating you."
"Fair enough."
I rolled onto my side and smiled at him, at his sexy, confident grin and the muscles he was revealing one button at a time. "So we're getting married, then?"
He shrugged. "I always expected we would."
"Me too." I paused. "This isn't the proposal, is it?"
"Trust me, honey. When I propose, you'll know it." He peeled off his shirt and tossed it aside. "Promise me you'll never buy anything with microbeads for your crow's feet. At least, promise you won't do anything like that for me." He reached over and gently pried the remote control from my hands.
"You can be reasonably assured of that."
He clicked the television off and tossed the remote behind him. Then he set one knee on the bed and brought his lips hovering over mine. "Good, because I like you just the way you are."
He kissed me soundly on the lips and turned off the light. I could hardly argue with that.
* * * * *
A Note from the Author
Thank you for taking the time to read The Coffee Girl! If you are so inclined, an honest review at the site of your choice would be appreciated.
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About the Author
Natalie Charles has worked as an attorney, a playground supervisor, and a makeup sales clerk, but not in that order. The happy sufferer of a lifelong addiction to mystery novels, Natalie has, sadly, never out-sleuthed a detective. She is a RT Reviewer's Choice Award winner and a bestselling author of romantic suspense. She lives in Connecticut with her hero husband and two bookish children.
Natalie loves connecting with readers! You can find her on her Facebook page, facebook.com/writernataliecharles; Twitter @tallie_charles; her website, nataliecharlesromance.com; or email her at [email protected].
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