Brunch at Bittersweet Café

by Carla Laureano

  Instead, she had countered with understanding, her faith evidently unshaken.

  He was not nearly the man she thought he was. But he suddenly wished he could be.

  * * *

  After the minor disaster that was the Saturday Night Supper Club, Justin wanted to stick by Melody’s side, but he had no choice. Work called, and he had no more ability to call in sick than Melody had to back off plans for Bittersweet.

  The tour was a particularly heavy one: ten legs in three days, all of them short hops along the eastern seaboard. Pretty much his favorite type of schedule: very little sitting around, lots of time in the air, airports he didn’t often fly into. By the time he dragged himself into the hotel at night, his body ached like he’d done physical labor. Just enough time to hear Melody’s sweet voice on the phone and then collapse in a thick, dreamless sleep.

  Yet a nameless dread dogged him, the source of which he knew but avoided acknowledging until he woke up on the third day of his tour in Greenwich, Connecticut, and saw the date on his phone.

  Today was his five-year anniversary with AvionElite. Today was the date he was fully vested in his company stock and could access that money to fund his charter.

  But instead of a leap of joy at that realization, his heart took a dive into the pit of his stomach.

  He had no more excuses. As soon as he could roll over his money from his current 401(k) to their corporation, they would be able to get the loan. He would be leaving Colorado for good.

  The thought dogged him throughout his morning routine, which was identical regardless of where he was staying. Drag himself out of bed, get the blood pumping with push-ups and sit-ups to remind his body that it was not in fact a sedentary lump, shower, shave, and finally shove his toiletries into his roller case. He always bypassed the fat-laden hotel breakfasts in favor of a protein bar or instant oatmeal made with water from the in-room coffeemaker.

  As he waited for his F/O in the lobby—once again, someone he’d never met before this tour—his mind was spinning back toward Melody and how he was going to tell her that their relationship had to come to an end.

  Instead, he found himself thinking about how he would tell Pete and Jessica that he was staying in Colorado.

  His phone chimed in his pocket, and a message from Pete flashed on the lockscreen as if he knew what Justin had been thinking. Happy five-year anniversary. Ready to check out of the corporate grind?

  Justin unlocked his phone and began typing a reply, which he erased and retyped three times. Everything felt like a lie. He finally settled on an excuse: Checking out of hotel. Talk later.

  Fortunately, his first officer, Tarek El Shami, stepped off the elevator as soon as he pushed Send, falling into step alongside him through the sliding-glass doors of the hotel. The FBO staff at Westchester County Airport had sent the courtesy car for them, a nice service that not every city offered, and they slid into the musty fabric seats without comment.

  Not so fortunately, Justin had little time to think about what this day represented. Their passengers today were nine—count them, nine—recent Yale grads, celebrating by heading to Florida for the week on one of their dads’ fractional hours. The kids started partying from the moment they stepped on the plane, and by the time they touched down in West Palm Beach two and a half hours later, they were all pleasantly toasted.

  “To be young and stupid,” Justin muttered as they cleaned up the trash the kids had left behind.

  “And coasting on their multimillionaire parents’ money,” El Shami cracked, scrubbing a smear Justin didn’t really want to identify off the window.

  This hadn’t even been the rowdiest group he’d ever flown, that honor still going to pop stars and their entourages.

  “Ever think we might have gone into the wrong line of work?”

  “Frequently.” Justin held open the trash bag for his F/O to deposit dirty paper towels and his latex gloves, then tied it shut. “We’ve got a couple hours until our next flight. Let’s grab something to eat while the line crew gets started on the plane.”

  It had been almost a month since Justin had been in Florida, and in that time, the weather had shifted from warm and balmy to hot and muggy. His sunglasses fogged up the minute they stepped out onto the stairs, the air condensing on his cool skin like water on a glass of sweet tea. Compared to Denver, where it stayed bone dry all summer, the air felt almost unbearably thick.

  And this was where he was considering moving?

  That wasn’t fair, he chided himself as they walked across the apron into the FBO’s lobby. The weather never bothered him when he vacationed in tropical locations. He was just reaching for any excuse to decide this move away from Melody was a bad idea.

  By the time he returned to Colorado two days later, he was twisted up in the knowledge that Pete would want to move quickly now. They had already formed the C corp and completed the paperwork they needed to establish the business as a separate entity, but he’d have to put in his resignation and quickly transfer his 401(k) funds in order to get the loan and move forward with the purchase.

  Yet the minute he touched down in Denver—in a snowstorm, no less—and turned his phone back on, he had a message from Pete.

  Problem. The charter has another offer. And it’s full price.

  Justin stared at the phone, unable to believe what he was reading. Finally he tapped out, What does that mean?

  It means that unless we can come up with another $400K, it’s done. Back to the drawing board.

  Relief flooded Justin, followed by a wash of shame over his disloyalty. What sounded like good news to him was surely a huge blow to Pete and Jessica. How is Jess taking the news?

  Disappointed. But you know Jess. She believes that God has a plan in it all.

  You?

  I’d like to believe it, but I’d rather God’s plan didn’t involve her having MS.

  Justin sighed. That was the problem he always ran up against when he tried to assure himself there was a divine purpose in everything. How could he pray for a reason to stay in Denver with Melody when it meant that Pete and Jessica would have to stay as well, potentially causing her condition to deteriorate even further? Did he reassure himself with the thought that this was somewhat of a desperate chance in the first place, and there was no guarantee that she’d do better at sea level? That researchers didn’t even agree on the reason for the excessive diagnosis rate of MS in Colorado? That she might well worsen in the humidity? It was just a ruse to hide his selfishness.

  All he felt was relief that the decision had been taken out of his hands.

  He and his F/O finished their paperwork, cleaned out the plane in record time, and then shook hands in parting, not sure if they’d ever fly together again. A shame, too, because El Shami had been good company: pleasant, competent, intelligent. It almost made Justin sad to leave AvionElite.

  Or not, now that there was no reason to quit.

  He checked his watch. Only 10 a.m. He’d been away for four days, which made going back to his apartment appealing. Then again, Melody had said she would be at the restaurant supervising the last phases of construction all morning. When given the choice of going home alone or being able to see her, there was no comparison.

  He pushed down the handle to his case and hefted it in one hand, making his way through the snow-covered parking lot. Only when he got to the car did he allow his smile to break free.

  He was staying.

  He couldn’t wait to tell Melody the good news.

  Chapter Thirty

  ALMOST A WEEK LATER, Melody still wasn’t sure who she was angrier with, her friends or herself.

  The situation at the supper club had been unforgivable, and she’d walked Justin straight into it. True, she’d never expected the questioning to go the direction it had. Of course she knew that Rachel and Ana would grill him about his intentions, maybe even question why he still was dating her when he was moving to Florida. But she hadn’t dreamed they’d drag his faith—or in thi
s case, lack of one—out at the dinner table for all to witness.

  And maybe that was the problem. She and Justin had never really delved into what they believed, not in any significant way. She could blame it on the fact this was supposed to be short-term, but if she were honest with herself, she hadn’t really wanted to know. There was no need to hear more reasons they couldn’t be together when distance and future plans already seemed insurmountable.

  She didn’t want to hear that, once again, she’d let her heart lead her into something that could never work out in the end.

  And yet, she was still utterly convinced he was a good man. Even the so-called Christian guys she’d dated got edgy after a few weeks, angling for invites to bed. Though that thought hovered between them—how could it not?—Justin seemed determined to keep things at a low simmer.

  And that was one way Melody knew his ambivalent feelings about God didn’t go straight to the core. What did it say that he treated her more respectfully than any of the churchgoing Christians she’d dated?

  No, she was definitely more angry at Rachel and Ana for attacking someone they knew she cared about. There was no way to avoid them with the build-out on Bittersweet in full swing, and she didn’t want to. But the easy, tell-all, no-topic-off-limits rapport they usually enjoyed was strained. Neither Rachel nor Ana offered an apology, and Melody didn’t demand one. They didn’t think they’d done anything wrong, and to push the matter would only widen the distance between them.

  Justin said she was handling the matter with maturity, but the only thing she was handling well was covering up her hurt. Her sense of betrayal lingered, the suspicion that they’d tried to reveal his “faults” to get him out of her mind and shift her focus back to Bittersweet.

  As if he were a distraction. Rachel was more distracted by work and final university exams. Melody, by contrast, was on site every day, making sure the contractor was on track, making design decisions, coaxing rather than threatening the process along. So much so that it looked like they might finish ahead of schedule.

  She shouldn’t have thought it, though. Work ground to a halt when a late storm cruised into Denver and stayed there, shifting between rain, sleet, and heavy, wet snow while the thermometer flirted with freezing temperatures. Melody walked through the front door just as their contractor called and said he was going to be late because of road conditions. By the time the workers arrived hours later, the damp cold from the unheated space had crept into her bones.

  “How’s it going?” Rachel stepped inside and stamped slushy snow off her boots onto the mat their contractor had brought in, then joined Melody in the corner, where she could survey the construction.

  “Good, I think. I’m liking the color we chose for the walls now that the flooring is going in. I must have second-guessed it five times even with all the swatches.” She’d gone from gray to blue to green to taupe, finally settling on a gray-green that combined the things she liked most about the two colors. The old-fashioned white coin tile gave the floors a timeless feel, the black grout making it far more modern—and easier to clean—than the traditional white.

  “We’re still doing the tile area rug right here?” Rachel squinted, as if trying to imagine the rectangular design that was going to span the length of the counter like a permanent welcome mat.

  “Yeah, but the tile we were going to use for the inset is back-ordered, so I had to come up with another idea.”

  All things considered, the construction was going pretty well. The paint and tile would be wrapped up by the end of the week. The cabinetry was being custom made by a craftsman in Loveland from reclaimed boxcar flooring and would take another couple of weeks, which meant that they’d have to hold the marble-look quartz countertop until it was installed.

  “Did you see your ovens and the range?” Rachel asked. “That all went in yesterday while you were with the graphic designer.”

  “I did. It looks good. I saw they installed the outlets for my burners on my pastry bench too.” Whereas a gas range was preferred for Rachel’s side, Melody had ordered induction plates that would keep her candies and syrups at a steady temperature within two degrees, even as she’d choked on the price. Funny how she’d never thought twice about the cost of outfitting a restaurant kitchen until it was her turn to pay for it. “Oh, before you leave today, I need you to look at the designer’s proofs for the logo and the signage.”

  “Let’s do that now. I just dropped by to see how things were going. Alex is expecting me over at his place soon.”

  Melody stepped around the power tools on the floor and led Rachel back to the kitchen. Unlike the front of the house, this room was clean and spare, ready for supplies and tools to be brought in. Steel cooling racks stood along the back wall. Empty stacks of vat-sized Cambros and Rubbermaid bins waited on steel shelving to hold leavening, sugar, and flour, even though most of the time she’d pour directly from a sack to the mixer. Only the last section of her bench was incomplete, the steel frame waiting for its butcher-block top.

  “Here are the logo options.” Melody retrieved an envelope from her oversize tote and pulled out a stack of colored printouts.

  Rachel pulled up a stool and seated herself at the worktable, spreading the papers out in front of her. “These are good.”

  “I know. I’m leaning toward one of these two.” Melody tapped her finger on the first and last option. “The green is almost the same color as our walls. Ana is going to practically die from excitement that we listened to her about branding.”

  Rachel chuckled. “More likely relief that she doesn’t have to lecture us anymore.” She held up the papers at arm’s length, one in each hand. “I like this one on the right. The Bittersweet logo is more eye-catching, and it still has ‘Café and Bakery’ beneath it.”

  “I agree. This one it is.”

  “That was easy.”

  “Compared to the paint saga, yes.”

  The bell on the front door jingled, and Rachel frowned. “Are you expecting anyone?”

  “No.” Melody rose from her stool just as a familiar head poked through the door. “Justin! What a surprise! I thought you were stuck in Oklahoma City.”

  “We hung out at the airport overnight. Finally got a break in the weather.” He held up an overstuffed paper sack. “I figured we could both use a late lunch. Or early dinner. Whatever it is.” He focused on Rachel as if noticing her for the first time. “There’s plenty to share.”

  “No, no, I need to be going.” Rachel’s expression closed, and she hopped off the stool. “Call me later, Mel. I want to go over some menu changes.”

  Justin set the bag on the stainless-steel surface. “I hope I didn’t run her off.”

  Melody watched Rachel’s departure through the open door, resentment swelling again. “No, you didn’t. She only dropped by for a few minutes.”

  “Good. Then I can do this.” Justin took Melody’s face in his hands and kissed her thoroughly.

  “Wow. You know how to make an entrance. What’s the occasion?”

  “We’re celebrating. Plus I missed you. You hungry?”

  Absolutely. For another taste of him. He’d only been gone for four days this time, but even that felt way too long. She kept the thoughts to herself, plopped down, and watched as he unloaded the plastic deli containers and foil-wrapped packages. The distinctive smell of Indian food wafted to her, making her stomach rumble in response. So maybe she was hungry for lunch as well.

  Justin grimaced. “I have utensils, but I didn’t think about plates.”

  Melody pulled the lid off a container of vindaloo. “That’s okay. You’re not getting any of this anyway.”

  “Oh, really? I bet I can convince you otherwise.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “I don’t know about that.”

  Justin pulled her to him again, and he was actually very convincing. Melody let out a happy sigh. Then she swiped the container from under his arm. “Nope. I’m still eating this all.”

  He laug
hed and took the stool Rachel had just vacated. “Good thing I’m more of a tikka masala guy myself. This place has the best tikka chicken I’ve ever had.”

  Melody watched him, warmed by his mere presence. She’d done fine while he was gone. She had plenty to keep her busy. But he brought a little more color into her world. “Did you come straight from the airport?”

  “I did. They’re plowing the runways, but they’re still pretty slick. I’m glad we made it back to Denver this morning.”

  “Me too. It’s only supposed to get worse. Last I heard was five to seven inches, which would be a record for May.”

  “Oh, good. Maybe we’ll get snowed in.” The look he gave her could have melted the ice outside down to bare cement.

  “I think we’ve already demonstrated that would be a very bad idea.”

  “Afraid you can’t control yourself around me?”

  “No, I’m afraid you can’t control yourself around me. After all, I am irresistible.”

  He chuckled. “You absolutely are.” He leaned over as if he were going to kiss her again . . . and grabbed the vindaloo from in front of her.

  “Hey!”

  He scooted out of the way and forked some of the lamb into his mouth, then held it out of reach. “Given how selfish you’re being about this objectively amazing vindaloo, I think you more than made out in this situation.”

  “Oh yeah?” She sidled up to him and scraped a fingernail all the way down the front of his pressed white shirt. Then she threaded her hand through his hair, brought down his head toward hers, and kissed him slowly, carefully, until his attention was completely on her. Only then did she reach for the container.

  “No, you don’t.” He shoved the container down the table and lifted her onto the stool, his mouth claiming hers completely. All thoughts of their silly game fled.

  “We’re just about fin—oh, sorry.” A male voice intruded on the interlude, and Melody pulled away just in time to see their tile contractor’s back disappear through the door.