Brunch at Bittersweet Café

by Carla Laureano

  Too late now. The deed was done, and he had two croissants to eat while he waited for his flight to leave, assuming he didn’t have to surrender them to the FBO desk in apology for having the car gone so long. He pulled out his cell phone when he climbed back into the warmth of the borrowed sedan and texted Melody a quick message: Flying home tonight. Deliver the Hornet tomorrow?

  There. That was neutral and noncommittal. As was her response: Okay. Do my best.

  Justin drove back through the deepening evening, focusing on the long line of brake lights in front of him while he tried to figure out how to spin this into a friendly and decidedly nonromantic gesture.

  Too bad that thinking made him not only a jerk, but also a liar.

  Chapter Thirteen

  MELODY PRETENDED LIKE she wasn’t counting the days until Justin returned, but in truth, she was watching the calendar like a child waiting for her birthday to come. Not so much because she was dying to see him—though she was—but because this was her first chance to find out who he really was. He’d said that he would call her when he got back. Either he would or he wouldn’t. And that would tell her whether or not she had been harboring romantic fantasies about him for no reason.

  Fortunately, between her usual work schedule and putting together a sample menu for the bakery-café, she didn’t have much time to obsess over the potential beginning of a new relationship. When she finally met her friends to go over her progress on Friday night, she had an electronic folder full of research and a Pinterest board full of inspiration photos.

  Rachel opened the door for her, a mug of coffee in hand. “Come in. Ana is on her way.”

  “She managed to escape from the office before seven o’clock on a Friday? I’m impressed.”

  “Escape is right.” Rachel shut the door and walked with her into the kitchen. “I think she had to make up some excuse about why she needed to leave.”

  “Her job is insane. No promotion or paycheck would make that worth it to me.”

  Rachel laughed. “She would say the same thing about our jobs, I’m sure.”

  “I could never imagine Ana working in a kitchen, but if she did, she’d probably end up bossing everyone around by the end of the day.”

  “True. Even I do what she says.” Rachel went to the large French press on the counter and poured Melody a cup of coffee, stirring in milk and sugar just the way she liked it.

  She murmured her thanks and sipped it while she booted up her laptop. “How has the menu planning been coming along?”

  “Slowly. I have too many ideas, and we both know I’m going to be tinkering up until the day we open.”

  “That’s okay. Mine is provisional too. We just need something for the business plan and to make sure we both agree with the direction we’re taking. If the size of my bread menu is any indication, we’re going to need a lot of space.”

  “You do realize we’re going to have to operate on a skeleton crew, right? We won’t be able to afford assistants when we begin. We’ll be lucky to have a cashier.”

  Melody hadn’t thought that far. “I think you underestimate how well-known you are. After all the press you’ve gotten, I imagine there’s going to be a lot of people watching to see what you’ll do next.”

  Rachel looked unconvinced, but Melody had a sense about these things. This wouldn’t be a slow start. As soon as word got out—helped along by Ana’s promotional genius—people were going to flock to their place. Denver was always enthusiastic about restaurant openings. All it would take was a couple of good reviews in publications like 5280 and Westword, and word of mouth would do the rest.

  “Anyway, I’ll wait until Ana is here to tell you about it.”

  “No need; I’m here.” The slam of the front door punctuated the words as Ana clicked down the hallway. Say whatever you wanted about their friend, she had an instinct about making entrances. Today she was wearing slim-cut slacks with her ubiquitous high heels, a simple cashmere sweater, and a fur-trimmed coat that Melody could only call “couture ski bunny.” She plopped herself down in a chair, shrugged off her coat, and gave a long exhale like she was in a yoga class. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you two.”

  “Long day?” Rachel asked, sliding a third cup of coffee in front of her.

  “Understatement. Honestly, the amount of the raise should have been a tip-off when I took the job in the crisis management division. I just figured I was already dealing with crises all the time, might as well be paid better for it.” She made a face. “Wrong. These clients take dysfunctional to a whole new level. I’m starting to dream of a simple product liability scandal.”

  Melody chuckled. That was Ana’s most scathing criticism, the implication that someone didn’t have it all together. It was somewhat amazing that they were all friends. Rachel was relatively structured, but by design, Melody operated in a near-permanent state of controlled chaos. Simply listing all her jobs in the last five years would have Ana breathing into a paper bag.

  “Okay, Ana’s here. Let’s see the menus.”

  Rachel seated herself beside Melody and across from Ana, shoving a piece of paper at each of them. Melody pulled two folded sheets from her purse and distributed them as well.

  Rachel’s list was restrained, refined, and written like a menu. She might think this was a rough draft, but Melody would be willing to bet that the final version would be strikingly close. A handful of sophisticated yet comforting egg dishes, which would be accompanied by house-made toast. High-end sandwiches, soups, and salads, with some unusual pastas. And then there was a separate weekend brunch menu that selected the best of both breakfast and lunch. She must have been working on this in every bit of free time she had.

  By comparison, Melody’s was rambling, expansive, and maybe a touch overoptimistic. The breads alone topped out at a dozen, plus a dozen more pastries, each with their own variations. She was most certainly going to need to narrow down the selection.

  Despite that, however, the menus seemed to work together. Melody had already planned breads to accompany the breakfasts; others like the briny olive loaf would be perfect for Rachel’s sandwiches. Enthusiasm welled up inside her. Already their ideas were jibing, like they had at Paisley.

  “I like this,” Ana said when she was finished reading the sample menus. “Secondary to this would be good coffee—the small-batch, locally roasted sort. Though you might want to start with something recognizable like Lavazza and grow your coffee menu over time.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Rachel said. “I’d like the food to be the focus to begin with and just make the coffee complementary to the menu. Maybe we can offer espresso drinks and pour-overs by the cup.”

  “No one expects more from anything but a coffeehouse,” Ana said.

  “I know mine needs to be edited,” Melody said. “As it is, if I don’t want to work around the clock, I’ll need an assistant in the morning. I’m planning on having a constant supply of fresh pastries until about ten o’clock. After that, we’ll do the lunch desserts. And I’m thinking fresh, warm bread should be available after 2 p.m. every day.”

  Rachel was nodding. “That seems like a good plan. Maximizes staffing hours and oven real estate and still lets you go home with only a twelve-hour day.”

  Melody chuckled. Only restaurant veterans would be happy with a twelve-hour day. The difference was, this time it was their own place. They were investing in themselves and not someone else’s business.

  “So I guess the next step is for us to get with a real estate agent and look for a space. You know this could take us years. It took me ten months to find the space for Paisley, and there I just got lucky.”

  “That gives me time to get my grandma’s house settled and sell the Hornet,” Melody said. “I’m not in a huge hurry.”

  “Good,” Rachel said. “I want this to be right, not rushed. In the meantime . . . I was thinking I might just throw together a quick pasta. Are you guys hungry?”

  “You had me at pasta,�
� Melody said.

  “All right,” Ana said. “But I’ll be cursing you the entire time I’m at the gym tomorrow.”

  “You’re best friends with two chefs,” Rachel said. “Embrace the fluffiness.”

  “You have no idea how tempting that is, but I’ve spent too much of my life in the gym getting this body to give up now. Besides, aren’t you supposed to wait until after you get married to gain weight?”

  “Alex seems to think so. Poor guy’s been hitting the gym every day to work off my cooking. Though I don’t see him giving up his workout routine just because he’s married.”

  Melody looked closely at her friend. “Is there something you’re not telling us?”

  A wash of pink rose to Rachel’s cheeks.

  “There is!” Ana gasped. “Tell us everything. Are you engaged?”

  The flush deepened to bright red. “He hasn’t officially proposed or anything. He knows that would freak me out. But we’ve been talking about whether a wedding would be too stressful before the café opening or if it would just make everything easier. We’d see each other a lot more since we’d be living together, and he works at home . . .”

  Melody squealed and clapped her hands together. “You’re getting married!”

  “Not yet.” Rachel couldn’t repress her smile. “But . . . someday soon.”

  Melody couldn’t help it. She leaned over and hugged her friend hard around the neck. “I’m so happy for you. It’s been a long time coming.”

  “You can’t say anything,” Rachel said. “Alex would flip out if he knew I was telling you about this.”

  “No, he wouldn’t.” A smile played at Ana’s lips. “He’d probably be thrilled. Anyone who sees the two of you together knows that he adores you. He would have married you six months ago had he thought you’d go for it.”

  “You’re probably right.” Rachel looked as shy and excited as a little girl daydreaming about her storybook hero. Melody sighed. It almost made her believe in fairy tales after all.

  “Where is Alex, by the way?” Ana asked. “It’s Friday night and you’re not spending it together?”

  “Doing a climbing clinic in Arizona with Bryan. Apparently he’s good enough now that Bryan’s bringing him along as an assistant. Second set of hands and eyes.”

  “Which means that he’s still procrastinating on his book?” Melody asked.

  Rachel laughed. “Exactly. I can pretty much guarantee he’ll come back with all these new ideas and then disappear for a few weeks to write them. Which isn’t a bad thing since we’re going to be pretty busy ourselves.”

  Melody’s phone beeped and she pulled it out of her purse to check the notification. Her heart started beating harder when she saw it was from Justin.

  Flying home tonight. Deliver the Hornet tomorrow?

  Her excitement faded. That was a very cold message. But maybe he was between flights and didn’t have much time.

  How much time did it take to write something like Can’t wait to see you tomorrow?

  Unless the week he’d spent away had made him realize he wasn’t as interested as he thought he was. Or maybe he’d never been interested. She had kissed him, after all.

  “What’s wrong?” Rachel asked from the kitchen. “You’re frowning at your phone.”

  Quickly, Melody tapped back an equally vague answer. Okay. Do my best.

  “Wait, that’s Justin!” Ana gasped. “I can’t believe we forgot about your date! How was it? What happened?”

  Five minutes ago, Melody would have gushed over him and how much fun they’d had. But now? “I don’t know, guys. I thought it went really well. He seemed really into me. Insisted on walking me to my door.”

  “Ooh,” Rachel said. “He kissed you good night?”

  The flush was back. “I kissed him. And he seemed into it. But then he just left.”

  “That’s good, though,” Rachel said. “Remember what you and Ana told me when I first got together with Alex? Not to confuse respect with lack of interest?”

  “That’s what I figured, and then I get this.” Melody showed them the text.

  “That’s . . .” Ana trailed off. “Maybe he’s just not good at text messages. You know, some people hate communicating any way but face-to-face.”

  “Or maybe he’s regretting the fact that he agreed to help me. He said he’d call when he got back, like that was a good thing.”

  “You’re overthinking it,” Rachel said. “Again. He wants you to have the car delivered tomorrow. So go with it and see him. You’ll get a pretty good idea of what his intentions are.”

  “Look who’s the expert now,” Melody teased.

  Ana shrugged. “She’s the only one who’s actually managed to get and keep a guy lately.”

  “No new candidates?” Melody asked.

  Ana made a face. “God needs to drop one from the sky or put him in my path in the grocery store.”

  “Or deliver him in a snowstorm to your place of business,” Rachel said.

  “Hopeless romantic,” Ana muttered. “I never thought I’d see the day when you two traded places. Rachel used to be the cynic in our group.”

  “I’m not being cynical. I’m just . . . overthinking. Again.” Melody sighed. “Okay, you’re right. I’ll see him tomorrow morning. I need to make sure the car gets to the right place anyway. I’ll go from there.”

  Ana studied her closely. “You really like this guy, don’t you?”

  “I do.” Melody sighed. “He’s normal, but in a good way. No crazy hobbies or weird religion or bizarre fetishes that I know of. Except for the job, he’s pretty much perfect. And except for the job, I’m pretty much perfect . . . so that makes us perfect together, right?”

  Rachel laughed. “There’s my girl. I was starting to worry for a second.”

  “I guess that means I need to call for a tow. Got anyone you like, Ana?”

  Ana pulled up her contact list and pushed her phone toward Melody.

  “Of course you do.” Melody laughed. “What do you need a tow truck for anyway?”

  “Clients. You’d be surprised.”

  By the time Rachel was finished with the pasta, Melody had arranged for a flatbed to transport the Hornet from Longmont to Justin’s dad’s house in Washington Park. It was decided. She’d follow the truck over there and settle this matter once and for all.

  Chapter Fourteen

  MELODY LEFT THE BAKERY a few minutes before six the next morning and started the forty-minute drive north to her grandmother’s house. On a weekday, traffic would already be stop and go—Highway 36, the main artery between Boulder County and Denver, hadn’t been expanded even though the population had doubled. But on a Saturday morning, it was downright sleepy. Today, that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. Eighteen hours awake after a marathon planning session with her friends and a full shift at the bakery left her struggling to keep her eyes open. She turned the Jeep’s stereo to a rock station and cranked the volume high enough to make her ears bleed.

  When she arrived at the little house, the tow truck looked to have just arrived and was backing into the driveway. Melody parked on the street and hopped out of her Jeep, meeting the driver just as he stepped out of the cab of the truck. “Give me a second to open the door for you. I’ll warn you, though, it’s not drivable.”

  “Not a problem,” the guy said easily. “I’ll wait here.”

  Of course it wasn’t a problem, Melody thought, rolling her eyes at her own comment. Why would someone need a tow truck if their vehicle was drivable? She fished the keys from her pocket and unlocked the front door, intending on going straight through the back again. And then she stopped, frozen, her chest too constricted to take a full breath.

  Bare floors stretched in every direction, squares of shiny varnish showing where area rugs had once protected them. The furniture was gone. Art had been taken down, leaving only nails in the walls. Even the antique chandelier had been removed from the ceiling, its wires dangling from the center of the plas
ter medallion.

  Every bit of evidence of Grandma Bev’s life, everything familiar from Melody’s childhood . . . vanished as if it had never existed at all.

  Melody dragged in a lungful of air, barely aware that it came on a sob. She wrapped her arms around herself as tears rolled down her face, the reality of her grandmother’s death washing in after being suppressed for weeks. When she finally came to herself and remembered the tow truck driver waiting outside, she went to the bathroom to splash water on her face and then reached for empty space where one of Grandma Bev’s eyelet-bordered guest towels would have hung.

  They were gone. Just like Bev was gone. And pretty soon, her car would be gone too.

  Doubt crept in for a bare second before Melody dismissed it. If Bev was looking down on her right now, she was probably scolding her. Things were just things, she would say. They didn’t have souls. They didn’t have memories. They were simply tools that should serve their lives. And the car hadn’t even been sentimental to her. Grandma Bev had bequeathed it as a stepping-stone for Melody’s next adventure. She wouldn’t want her to feel guilt, only gratitude.

  By the time Melody pressed the button to open the garage door, she had her emotions under control, though there wasn’t anything she could do about her tear-streaked face and red-rimmed eyes. The tow truck driver was waiting impatiently on the other side of the door, but his face changed when she swept back the chamois cover. He let out a low whistle.

  “My grandmother’s husband’s,” Melody explained. “It’s time to put it in the hands of a collector instead of languishing away in a garage.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of it.”

  Melody handed him the keys and returned to her Jeep to watch from a distance as he hooked chains to the axle and winched it onto the bed of the tow truck. In the morning light, she could see how the paint had oxidized in places, but beneath the layer of dust and faded wax, she could tell it would gleam. And if Justin could get it running . . .