“Okay.”
“Okay. Bye.”
“Bye.” She followed him as he went out to his car. Mothers were arriving to pick up their children. He turned to wave, but she was already occupied with a woman she was ushering inside.
He climbed into his ancient but reliable blue BMW, placed the plate on the passenger seat and turned the key in the ignition. Home to his apartment to work on his mother’s taxes? Or to the office, to locate the problem that nagged him in the Buehler Farms report the bank wanted?
He’d have given anything for a third option. Barring one, he pointed the car toward the office.
CHAPTER SIX
SANDY STUDIED HER reflection in the bathroom mirror. It was four-thirty in the morning, June 2. The house was silent, she’d eaten a cup of raspberry Greek yogurt for nourishment, drunk half a cup of Yorkshire Gold tea for the caffeine. After eight days of working a variety of shifts with Bjorn and his staff, she was ready to take on her new role as the proprietor of Crazy for Coffee. She’d caught her hair up in a loose knot at the back of her head, was wearing jeans and one of the shirts she’d had made with a crazy cartoon face Bobbie had designed with spinning eyes and electrified hair. It seemed to exemplify the Crazy for Coffee name. If she could just stop shaking, she could look like a woman who knew what she was doing.
She’d introduced herself to her suppliers by phone, and taken her two-member teenaged staff to dinner at the Urban Cafe to get acquainted. They were lively and even adorable from a grown woman’s perspective, but Terri, lanky and brunette, talked constantly, and Callista, plump and blonde and half a head shorter than Terri, kept trying to tell Sandy what to do. At this point, Sandy was mostly grateful for the girl’s self-confident instructions. The girls didn’t always get along but, according to Bjorn, except for a little sniping, their work was unaffected.
Sandy had spent half the night wondering what on earth she’d been thinking when she’d decided to embark on a new career, and the other half reminding herself that she’d had no choice. She could have kept looking for a job that required her skills and paid reasonably well, and that might or might not have become available before she had to dip into her refinance money.
But it made sense simply to use that money now to put herself in business making the best coffee anyone in Clatsop County had ever had.
“Ready?”
Sandy’s mother’s voice startled her.
“Hi, Mom,” Sandy said.
Standing in the bathroom doorway, her mother looked her over and asked sympathetically, “Scared?”
Sandy seldom admitted to fear, but this was her mother. They’d been through fearful times together. “I am. Why did I think I could run a coffee cart?”
“Because you’re always taking the next step,” Loretta replied, edging out of her daughter’s way. Sandy turned off the bathroom light. The two women went down the hall toward the girls’ room. Peering in, Sandy saw they were fast asleep, Zoey clutching her sock monkey ballerina, her wand on the floor beside her, and Addie holding a teddy bear, her tiara hung over the bed post.
“They’re good,” her mother whispered. “I just checked.”
Sandy pulled the door closed softly and gave her mother a hug. “Thanks again, Mom. I really appreciate your help so I can do this.”
“Sure. I’m car shopping,” her mother teased. “And I’m looking for all the extras.”
“As soon as I can, I’ll get it for you.”
They headed for the kitchen and the door to the garage, stepping over Matchbox cars, dolls and Lego toys.
“Don’t clean that up for them,” Sandy said, pointing to the kid debris. “They’re supposed to pick up after themselves before they go to bed. I forgot to get on them last night.”
“Right.” Her mother opened the door for her and said bracingly, “This is going to be good for you, Sandy. You were a great office manager, but stuck in an office all day when you’re so full of ideas and dreams isn’t the best thing for you.”
Sandy had to laugh. “Now I’ll be stuck in an eight-and-a-half-by-twenty-eight-foot coffee cart all day.”
“But you’ll get to see other people besides stuffy lawyers and I have every confidence you’ll have a ten-cart chain in no time.”
More horrified than excited by that prospect, Sandy hugged her mother again and stepped into the dark garage. She flipped on the light Hunter had fixed and went to her car. Every day she thought about how nice it was to have the light working again.
She hit the garage door opener, backed her car out, then closed the doors, wincing against the noise. The neighborhood was in darkness, silent except for the stirring of new leaves on the trees in the early morning breeze and the bark of a neighbor’s dog.
Then she drove out of the driveway, headed for her new life. An image formed in her brain of Hunter among the children at Addie’s party, Hunter holding Addie’s tiny foot out for Sandy’s inspection, Hunter standing in her garage, looking as though he belonged there. But he didn’t.
She closed her eyes against the image, then decided that wasn’t wise when she was driving down the hill toward town. She opened her eyes and willed away all thoughts of Hunter Bristol. Her new life did not include him.
* * *
THE INSIDE OF the coffee cart reminded Sandy of the galley on a boat; there wasn’t an inch of wasted space. A three-spigot coffee machine stood in the front of the cart between the two service windows. On the left was a sink with a spray hose and on the right, the cash register. Underneath the counter sat a wide refrigerator that held milk and other perishable products, and there were cupboards on either side of the service windows, where backup cups and bags for pastries were stored.
Along the right side of the cart ran a counter for food preparation, with cupboards above and below; there was also a stand-up fridge, with juices, yogurt, a freezer with ice cream for the milkshakes.
On the left side there were more cupboards, a metal paper towel dispenser on which she’d stuck a magnetic frame with a photo of the girls in their snowsuits, taken last Christmas, and one of her mother the newspaper had run when her church circle sold Norwegian desserts at the Scandinavian festival. There was also a basic coffee pot for the simple coffee addicts, and a plug-in tea kettle for tea drinkers. A 54-quart stainless-steel beverage cooler under the counter held ice cubes.
The ninety flavors of syrup to make fancy coffees were everywhere, with triples of vanilla, hazelnut and raspberry because of their popularity.
Her heart hammering out of control, Sandy took one last look around, decided she was as ready as she would ever be and turned on the Espresso and Open lights.
As though someone had been waiting for signs of life, a white Chevy Blazer pulled up to the window on the left side.
Sandy leaned out the window with a wide smile. “Good morning,” she said cheerfully. “What can I get you?”
The large man in a red-and-blue flannel shirt and a Mariners baseball cap frowned up at her. The magnetic sign on the side of his vehicle said Dave’s Maintenance. He stared at her suspiciously from behind wire-rimmed glasses, and demanded anxiously, “Where’s Bjorn?”
She held on to her smile. “He moved back to Chicago to help his parents. I’m Sandy.”
Knowing her name didn’t appear to ease the man’s distress. She understood. A person’s first cup of coffee of the day was important and not to be trusted to just anyone.
“Can I get you something?” she prompted.
“Ah...well...can you make a white chocolate caramel mocha?” he asked.
Suddenly more comfortable because his order suggested he wasn’t the toughie he appeared to be—she’d have figured him for an Americano—she nodded confidently. “Sure can. Eight ounce? Twelve ounce?”
“Sixteen,” he said. “With a white chocolate bean.”
/> Every coffee drink was served with either a white chocolate– or a dark chocolate–covered coffee bean.
“One pump of white chocolate?”
“Two, please.”
Ah. Hard-core. “Coming up,” she said.
Hands trembling, she went to work. After placing the small glass measure under the spigot, she turned on the espresso maker. She steamed milk, added mocha powder, all the while keeping an eye on the espresso. Bjorn had insisted that it be poured and served within ten seconds of being done, to maintain the integrity of the flavor profile. Mercifully, everything ready within the prescribed time, she added caramel and then two pumps of white chocolate. She put a lid on the cup, stuck in a straw, added the comfort collar so that he didn’t burn his fingers, put the white chocolate-covered bean in the little depression on the lid and handed the coffee out the window.
“Four twenty-five,” she said.
He gave her a ten-dollar bill and she surreptitiously kept an eye on him while she made change. He sipped, tasted, leaned his head back—apparently to analyze—then sipped again.
She passed him his change. “How is it?” she asked.
He nodded. “A little too much caramel,” he said, then added grudgingly, “but passable. I’m Dave.”
She leaned over to offer her hand. “Nice to meet you, Dave. I’m Sandy.”
He switched his mocha from hand to hand and shook hers. Then gave her a one-dollar tip. “Have a nice day,” he said and drove off.
Sandy expelled a sigh of relief. Though passable was hardly a compliment, she had a feeling it was high praise from Dave. Anyway, how could you trust the opinion of someone who thought there was too much caramel in anything?
The morning was a blur. She moved from one window to the other, preparing drinks, making change, struggling to keep supplies handy, thinking excitedly that this might be a profitable venture after all. If she could just keep up.
She was moving milk from the stand-up refrigerator to the cooler under the counter in the front when she heard a shout. “Hello?”
She leaned out the left window and recognized Hunter’s BMW.
“Hi.” He leaned out his window. His customary good looks were even more striking today with the collar of a light, black leather jacket turned up against the morning chill. “I need four drinks. Do you have time?”
“Of course.”
“Great.” He rattled off a series of drinks, one she recognized as a favorite of Nate’s. “And can we have four scones with butter and jam?”
“Absolutely.”
Preparing the order took her longer than it should have. She dropped two scones and had to toss them, dumped over the box of straws when she tried to extract four, tore several napkins and dropped the Americano and had to make another. She finally passed the bag of scones and the coffee carrier out the window. “Sorry about the delay. Still getting the hang of everything.”
“Not a problem,” he said. No smile, but his tone was sincere. He handed her several bills. “Things going okay?”
“Yes, thanks.” Four cars sat lined up behind him. She hated to think what might be at the other window. She made his change and handed it back.
“Did you check on the contract assignments?” he asked.
“I did.” Annoyed that he’d brought up something he’d been right about, though she would never admit it, she said with cool politeness, “Thanks for stopping by, but could you move on? I have a line behind you.”
Obviously annoyed also, he pointed to the beanless lids on the coffee. “No beans?”
“Oh, sorry.” Wanting to kick herself, she poured half a dozen white and dark chocolate beans into a small cup, put a lid on the cup and stuck it out the window.
“Rookie mistake,” he said and drove away.
* * *
HUNTER’S COWORKERS RUSHED him when he walked into the office with their morning coffee.
“How’s she doing?” Jonni asked immediately. Nate’s office manager was a pretty, middle-aged blonde with a professional bearing who knew everything about all of their clients. She kept the office humming while still saving time to harass Hunter. She sipped at her raspberry mocha. “Yum. How’s yours?”
Hunter handed Nate his Americano and Karen, who filed and updated data on the computer, her vanilla latte. Nate nodded over his as he walked back to his office and the ever-efficient Karen shouted over her shoulder as she carried an armload of files toward the conference room and the file cabinets, “Delicious!”
“She seems to be doing all right,” Hunter replied to Jonni’s question. “She took a little longer than Bjorn would have, but then, this is her first day alone. She’s getting a lineup, but if people are patient, she should be fine.” He sipped at his ordinary mocha. It was delicious. She’d even given him only half the usual whipped-cream topping—she’d remembered from the times they’d driven through Crazy for Coffee when Bjorn owned it.
“Hunter!”
Shaken out of his thoughts, he turned to find Nate standing behind him in the kitchen. “What?” he asked.
“Your phone’s ringing, and a client’s waiting in your office. Everything okay?”
“Who’s waiting?”
“Jill Morrow from Community Action. She said Sandy told her to get in touch with you.” He gave Hunter a knowing look. “Call me if you need help fending her off.”
Hunter sighed, dispirited. “Nice of you. I’m on my way.” He pushed past Nate and dragged his feet toward his office. Hunter had worked with Jill to get the Morenos help with fuel last February. Jill had been eager to assist. In fact, her eagerness had been somewhat of an embarrassment.
Bobbie had noticed it first. “She’s always touching your arm or your hand,” she’d pointed out. “Are you sending signals?”
“No,” he assured her. “No signals. She’s pretty, but a little scrawny for my tastes.”
“She’s gorgeous.”
“I know. I’ve seen her a couple of times at various events. She has two ex-husbands and a boyfriend. I think her flirt factor is on automatic pilot. She can’t help herself. And while I admire her brain and her civic conscience, I don’t want to get involved.”
Jill, however, seemed determined to change his mind. She stood when he walked into his office, handed him an armload of manila folders and used the possibility of his dropping them as an excuse to hold on to his forearms.
“Hi, Jill.” He took a step back and dropped the folders on his desk. “What is all this?”
She appeared surprised that he didn’t know. “Sandy Evans told me to bring these to you. Budgets, operational data, plans for what we could do if we had more money.” She leaned closer on the excuse of sharing a confidence. “Are we getting more money? And if we are, what do you have to do with it?”
He smiled and turned her gently toward the door. “I can’t tell you about it yet, but thank you so much for being so prompt with all this information.” Sandy could have given him a heads-up that Jill was coming. She knew the woman drove him crazy. “I’ll call you as soon as I learn anything.”
Jill leaned closer as she waited for him to pass through the doorway with her, forcing him to bump into her. He groaned inwardly.
“Well, give me something to go on, Hunter. Have you found a way to make a nonprofit profitable?”
Hunter walked her toward the front door and opened it. “Then we’d both end up in jail.”
“Oh...” The single-word reply was quiet and suggestive. “Would we get to share a cell?”
“Thanks for stopping in.”
She looked at him over her shoulder as he nudged her out the door. “Will you call me if you need anything else?”
Not on your life, he thought. Aloud, he said, “Of course. Thanks again.”
Jonni stood behind him when he turned to le
an against the closed door with a sigh of relief. She smirked. “That’s what you get for being such a love god.”
He made a face at her. “I’m in no mood, Ms. Thomas.”
She pretended disappointment, handing him a purple folder and an email printout. “Fine. Women’s Resource Center sent you a bunch of stuff in the mail, also at Sandy’s request, and I forwarded you this email from CASA so you can open their attachments. More of the same, I think. Anything I can do to help the process?”
Now he pretended shock. “You want to help me?”
She put a hand to her heart. “I’m serious. My payrolls are done for today, I’d be happy to help.”
All right. He had just the job for her. “Can you do a spreadsheet of income and expenses so we can see who makes best use of their funding, then draw up a wish list for them and calculate how much money it would take?”
The smirk became a smile. “Sure.” She socked his arm. “Not because it’s you, you know, but because it’s such a worthy cause.”
Jonni walked back to her desk. “Oh, and Hunter? Mr. Connolly phoned. Wondered if you wanted to have lunch tomorrow.”
“Lunch? But we’re just starting to collect information.”
“Yeah. He said he wasn’t rushing you about the project, just wanted to get together.”
“Hmm.”
“Yeah. That’s what I thought. Who’d want to get together with you?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I REALLY LIKE HIM, but he’s like this total brain freak. He knows everything about everything. Before school was out, Mr. Barker in history was telling us about Alexander the Great and couldn’t remember the name of his horse. Ryan knew. And when the Wi-Fi was messed up in the library, he fixed it. I mean, I get by okay in school, but I’m not a brainiac.”
Terri had come on duty at two o’clock. It was now 2:20, and she hadn’t stopped talking since she’d arrived. But in jeans and a Crazy for Coffee T-shirt, a lot of makeup and a heart pendant around her neck, she could still serve two customers to Sandy’s one.
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