Brunch at Bittersweet Café

by Carla Laureano

  “I think you’re so busy being in charge of your life you can’t see what God’s trying to do in it, yes.”

  “Right. When has God done anything for us?”

  Jessica reached over and placed a hand on his arm. “You can’t blame God for my MS, Justin. Or for Allyson’s death, or Mom and Dad’s divorce. Things happen in this world—sometimes accidents, sometimes a result of our own actions—but that doesn’t mean God’s abandoned us. It just means that we live in a messed-up world. It’s when we trust Him completely that He begins to bring good out of bad situations.”

  There she went again. In some ways, Jessica and Melody were absolutely alike, with their blind faith and wishful thinking. “Seems like He could have stepped in a long time ago if He had the least bit of concern for us.”

  “Maybe He did and you just weren’t paying attention. From what Pete managed to put together, God practically dropped you on the perfect woman’s doorstep. You’re the one who pushed her away. You blew it, not Him.” Jessica got to her feet and took her coffee mug with her. Justin barely registered the rumble of the sliding door as she went inside.

  Was he making the same mistake his father had made? It sounded like Dad made the decision to divorce, regardless of what his wife wanted. Maybe it had been out of love or guilt or a mix of both, but had it really been the right thing? Or had it been an excuse?

  Had Jessica’s health been Justin’s excuse?

  He kicked his feet up on an empty chair and brought his mug to his lips, a little annoyed that his sister had his head spinning tonight. It was like eating dinner with Dr. Phil or Dr. Laura or whoever the latest celebrity shrink was. Except all those doctors urged people to take control of their lives, to accept responsibility for their actions. Which was exactly what he’d always done. He’d followed every step in his life’s plan—his flight training, his jobs, and finally owning his own charter.

  But you’re still not happy. You’re dreaming of a woman who is seventeen hundred miles away, who wasn’t anywhere in your plan. How do you account for that?

  Really, hadn’t everything in the past three months been a disruption, a detour from his thoroughly charted future? An uncharacteristic oversight had led him to getting stuck in the snow, which led him to Melody. That was the point where his life had diverged from his plan, spun out of his control. Melody hadn’t been predictable. Or temporary. She had been a fork in the road, and every step he took with her brought him further away from his carefully measured life. Even he couldn’t explain the instant draw he’d felt to her—he who managed to be detached and practical, even calculated, toward women. She hadn’t fit into his plans, but he’d fallen for her anyway. A bright, bubbly, impossibly optimistic baker who had shattered every assumption he’d had about how his life should look.

  But when it came time to take that next step, when he was given the choice to throw away the map and see where the future took him—took them—he’d faltered. Wasn’t that why he hadn’t called Melody to let her know he wasn’t going to make it back for her opening? He hadn’t had the courage to admit he was scared to take a chance, so he’d orchestrated it so she’d have no choice but to dump him. To shift the blame for their breakup to her.

  He was a complete and total coward.

  It was an uncomfortable look at himself, an image that he didn’t want to own. But he could no longer fool himself. He’d blamed his career for the fact he couldn’t keep a woman. He’d blamed his sister’s disease for the fact he couldn’t stay with Melody. And he’d blamed God for everything else he didn’t like about his life and his childhood, letting his faith be hijacked by incidents that were the result of chance or other people’s choices. Instead of learning to trust Him, to let God guide him, he’d placed his confidence in his own ability to navigate his life.

  It had taken making a mess of his decisions and hurting someone he loved to see the absolute ridiculousness of his thinking. Could Melody really have been put in his path to knock him off course and set him on a new direction?

  “Have a little faith,” she’d said. He’d need it. If he did this, he’d have no job, no money, no security. Not even any assurance that she’d take him back.

  But first he had some apologies to make. To Melody, certainly. But also to God.

  His prayer, even in his mind, felt rusty, hoarse, like a voice long unused. I don’t know if You really want to hear from me at this point. I’ve been so determined to be angry at You. But if You’re trying to tell me something here . . . if You’re trying to show me a way back . . . I’m sorry. I’m here. I’m ready to listen. Tell me what You want me to do.

  Justin sat there and sipped his coffee, a memory coming to mind: the night of the supper club, when he’d been so sure that he’d ruined things with Melody by being honest with her friends. Another attempt to make her call it quits so he didn’t have to be responsible for the decision to leave.

  “I respect your faith,” he’d said, “but I’m not sure I’m ever going to trust God like you do. There’s too much water under the bridge between us.”

  And in her typical, always-positive way, she’d replied, “There’s never too much water under the bridge.”

  He jumped to his feet and rushed back into the kitchen. Jessica looked up from the dishwasher. “Took you long enough.”

  He went to her side and squeezed her into a hug. “Jess. Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. You’re still on the hook for a half-million-dollar loan for a business that’s across the country from the woman you love.” She drilled him with a look. “Because you were stupid.”

  Justin’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Thanks a lot, Sis.”

  “I call them like I see them. Now hurry up and figure out what you’re going to do. This one is going to call for a lot more than roses and a pretty apology.”

  Jessica was right—he was going to have to make a grand gesture to show Melody how sorry he was for leaving her. And he knew exactly where to start.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  MELODY BENT OVER the taut oval of dough, the edge of the razor blade in her hand flicking through the soft surface with practiced speed. Slowly, the design took shape beneath her hands: two sinuous lengthwise cuts that would form a stem, surrounded by pairs of curved slashes that would become leaves. When the bread rose, the design would take on a 3-D effect.

  She pushed aside the loaf and started on the next one, number two of five of this type that she would bake today. At 3 a.m., the only sounds were the click and whoosh of the ovens preheating, the whine of the mixer kneading dough, the gentle tap of raindrops on the windows. Customers would trickle in slowly this morning because of the rain, which she’d predicted without looking at the forecast—she could feel the coming storm in the texture of her dough.

  “Perfect.” She straightened from the last loaves and then batched them into the oven so she could start the more ordinary boules and batards and ciabattas on the roster. Talia would be here in less than an hour, Rachel and Sam an hour after that, all bringing a sense of life and enthusiasm into the kitchen. She loved working alongside one of her best friends and two women who were fast becoming friends, but for now she would enjoy her oasis of calm.

  She was just taking the decorative loaves from the oven, golden brown and beautifully bloomed, when a key rattled in the lock. Talia appeared, shaking water from the canopy of a leopard-print umbrella. “Good morning!” she sang cheerily, then gasped when she saw Melody’s early work. “Mel! That’s gorgeous! Are you going to Instagram it?”

  “Thinking of it. I didn’t bring the right book, though. I thought for sure I was going to do flowers, not leaves, so I brought The Scarlet Pimpernel.”

  Talia grinned. “I don’t think it matters that much. Your houndstooth miche got four thousand likes yesterday, and I don’t think it was because of Sherlock Holmes.”

  Talia was right, but her feed was called Books in the Bakery for a reason . . . and it had exploded. Hard to tell if the success of B
ittersweet fueled her newfound popularity or if her Insta-success brought customers through the door, but either way, she wasn’t complaining.

  What had started as steady coffee-and-pastry traffic had become all-day crowds, to the point they were already talking about expanding into the space next door to accommodate the demand. Reviewers from major Denver publications had lauded Rachel’s food and praised their bakery menu, going so far as to call Melody’s artisan-style European bread the best in the city. Demand had spiked so much that Talia now handled all the pastry to let Melody focus exclusively on the bread menu.

  They worked rapidly, side by side, on their own projects, Talia rattling off new ideas for the daily éclair flavors. Five o’clock rolled around and brought Rachel and Sam in, adding the smells of simmering stocks and the sharp bite of raw onion and garlic to the scent of wheat and sugar. Melody inhaled deeply and smiled, her heart full.

  She’d never thought she could feel this contented and fulfilled at work. It was hard labor, stressful more often than not, but knowing she was building something lasting, something she wouldn’t walk away from, was more satisfying than she’d dreamed.

  And yet underneath it all was a vague current of sadness. She hadn’t spoken of Justin since the day she returned to the café eight weeks ago, at least not aloud; her prayers were filled with him. She’d deleted his number from her phone so she wouldn’t be tempted to call.

  “Mel, you have the raisin bread on the menu today?” Rachel’s voice snapped her out of her reverie.

  “Yep, coming up at ten.”

  “Good. I think I’m going to do a chicken curry sandwich on raisin bread.”

  “Ooh,” Sam said. “Save me some this time.”

  Melody laughed. “I did olive loaf for your niçoise too.”

  Rachel gave her a nod and a wink in thanks and turned back to her dicing.

  “So, Rachel,” Talia said with a knowing look, “I heard you and Alex set a date.”

  “June nineteenth. And then we’re going to take an entire week’s honeymoon in Maui. It’s going to be amazing. I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii.”

  “Even odds they never see the outside of the hotel room,” Melody said sotto voce, earning a stifled laugh from Talia.

  “I heard that!” Rachel said.

  Melody grinned at her. “You were meant to.”

  “Melody and Ana have agreed to share maid of honor duties, since there’s no way I can choose between them. I’m just hoping Bryan is back in time to be Alex’s best man. He left for Colombia last month and hasn’t contacted anyone.”

  Melody frowned. “That’s unsettling. Are you sure he’s okay?”

  “He checks in every once in a while on social media, so we know he’s alive.” Rachel shrugged. “He went off the grid once before after a nasty breakup with his longtime girlfriend, but he hasn’t been seeing anyone seriously. Alex doesn’t say it, but he’s worried.”

  Melody opened her mouth to reply, but a tapping at the front of the shop caught her attention. “You’re not expecting anyone, are you, Rachel?”

  “Nope. All the deliverymen come to the back door.”

  “Someone overeager to get Melody’s bread of the day,” Talia said. “Did you see this morning’s masterpiece?”

  Melody left the women chatting in the kitchen and pushed through to the front of the shop. A man stood half-concealed by an umbrella, the hood of his raincoat pulled up against a steady patter of raindrops.

  “We don’t open until six,” Melody called.

  The man turned, and instantly the strength left her body. Even with his face shadowed by the hood, she would recognize those blue eyes anywhere. She stood there and gaped.

  “Melody? Can I come in? Or I could come back at six if you want. . . .”

  The words penetrated her stunned brain, and she fumbled for her keys. The lock clicked open and Justin pushed inside, bringing with him a rush of cool, humid air. He closed his umbrella and placed it in the bucket in the corner, then shoved back his wet hood. “Hi.”

  Justin’s gaze traveled to a point over her shoulder, and she followed it to find three women huddled in the kitchen doorway, staring with almost as much surprise as Melody felt.

  “Um, guys, can we get a little privacy?”

  They disappeared back into the kitchen, but no doubt they had their ears pressed against the door. That would have to do, because she wasn’t stepping out in the rain to talk.

  She reeled in her runaway thoughts, only now realizing that she hadn’t said a word since she’d recognized Justin. Her pounding heart vibrated her whole body with every pulse, and her breath seemed to be caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat.

  He was here. After all this time.

  “What are you doing here?” she finally managed.

  “I missed you.”

  “Justin—”

  “No, wait. I have something to say. I owe you an apology. Yes, I know I had an obligation to my sister, but the real truth was that I was afraid. Afraid of repeating my parents’ mistakes, afraid that somewhere down the line, I was going to hurt or disappoint you. So I ran away. I used my sister’s health as an excuse to walk away from the woman I love.”

  His image swam before her eyes. “You love me?”

  “I do. And I never should have asked you to give up something that means so much to you. Melody, this place is incredible! You should be so, so proud of what you’ve accomplished.”

  Her brain wasn’t working fast enough to process all his words. He was here, and he was apologizing, and she needed to come up with a response, but she didn’t even know what the question was. “What are you saying, then? What about your business? It was your dream.”

  He shook his head. “No, it wasn’t. It was never my dream, not the way you feel about Bittersweet. It was just a plan . . . and once I’ve got a plan, it’s nearly impossible to get me off course. But it turns out that my dad wasn’t as keen on retirement as he thought. It didn’t take too much convincing to get him to Fort Lauderdale to take the chief pilot position in my place.”

  Melody’s hand crept to her mouth, fingertips pressed to her lips in shock. He was here. He had given up his job in Florida without knowing whether she’d take him back. “But, Justin, what are you going to do now? You gave up your captain position at AvionElite and now the charter . . .”

  “I’ll find another job. I’ll start at the bottom if I have to. But there’s no job that’s going to make me happy if I don’t have you to come home to.” He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t have the first clue how this is going to work, but if God really brought us together, He must already have a plan figured out. That’s good enough for me.”

  Slowly, he dropped to one knee and reached into his coat.

  Panic gripped her. Once upon a time, this was all she wanted, someone who would commit to her, who would promise to never leave. But his being here was already an answer to prayer in itself. For the first time in her life, she could see the value of patience. Her relationship with Justin wasn’t something she wanted to rush.

  And then she exhaled on a relieved laugh when the package he withdrew from his coat turned out to be not a ring box, but something flat and rectangular wrapped in flowered paper.

  “I may not be as steady and reliable as Gabriel Oak, and I most certainly know nothing about sheep, but I promise you I will never be a Sergeant Troy. Will you give me another chance?”

  Slowly, she pulled the paper away to reveal the last thing she’d expected: the long-desired, impossible-to-find yellowback edition of Far from the Madding Crowd.

  Melody looked between the book and his expectant face. “I can’t believe you found this. And you read it too?”

  “I tried.” Justin grimaced. “Melody, that’s a really weird book.”

  “I know.” She laughed and extended her hand, pulling him to his feet. “This is one of the nicest things anyone has done for me. You have a talent for grand gestures.”

  He squeezed her
hand but kept his distance, waiting for her answer.

  “You know, I think I’ve been obsessed with this book because I’m a lot more like Bathsheba Everdene than I’d like to admit. All this time, I’ve been hoping that my true love was out there, someone who would choose me in the end despite all my bad decisions. But now that I have him in front of me, you know what I’ve discovered?”

  His smile stretched at the implications of her words. He tugged her closer. “What?”

  “It’s just a book.” Melody tossed the volume aside and wrapped her arms around his neck, meeting his lips in a kiss that was simultaneously sweet and heated, impatient and yet filled with endless promise, familiar and wondrously new. Because for the first time, she wasn’t forcing a love that wasn’t hers to keep, searching for the kind of acceptance she’d never find in another person. Justin wasn’t a fantasy—he was a gift.

  “Melody?”

  She drew back dreamily, still enveloped in a delicious haze from the kiss. “Yes?”

  “That book was like a thousand dollars.”

  Melody gasped and jerked away, dropping to her knees to scramble for the book. “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry! I just got caught up in the moment.” She turned it over and examined the cover, the binding. “I think it’s okay. I would feel terrible if I ruined it after you went to all this effort!”

  Justin laughed and took the book from her hands, then set it aside on the counter. He pulled her back into his arms and looked into her eyes. “You’re far more important than any book. What do you say, Melody? Should we give this a try? See if we can’t find our own kind of happily ever after?”

  “Yes.” She stretched up and kissed him once more. “My answer is yes.”

  Author’s Note

  WHILE I DO MY BEST TO write accurate and realistic fiction, I took some dramatic liberties with the birth of Bittersweet Café. Opening any kind of eatery is an arduous process that can take nine to eighteen months or even longer. In fact, with Denver’s recent rapid growth, restaurant space is at such a premium that potential restaurateurs often take years to select the right location. But pages of phone calls with contractors and city planners make for pretty boring fiction, so I let Melody and Rachel take advantage of their relationship with the author in order to speed things up a little (okay, a lot).