I stood between my truck and a crooked Kia Soul behind the Bean Bag, a coffee shop I owned, talking on the phone with Nolan before I went in.
“Dude, I told you they were getting too serious. You need to talk to Trevor. He’s only seventeen.” Sure, Trevor wasn’t my kid, but you could have even asked him—he pretty much had three dads. More than that, he worked for me. Then again, so did his girlfriend, Mia.
Don’t get me wrong, she was a good girl. I’d hired her, too.
Nevertheless, blowing off an important test so she wouldn’t miss hers, wasn’t something I was ready for him to do. If that meant I had to pull a shift at one of my small businesses—then so be it. How hard could it be?
“I did talk to him. So did his mother.”
We all got along with Trevor’s mom, Shauna, even though Nolan wasn’t with her anymore. They didn’t work out as husband and wife, but Nolan and Shauna had done a great job raising Trevor together.
Hell, we were all only fifteen when he was born. It took a village.
“And another thing, Nolan, teach the kid how to park, for crying out loud.” Trevor’s bright orange car looked like it had been parked by a blind armless person. I looked in his driver’s side window. At least he was keeping it clean. “I’ll talk to you later. I’m going inside.”
“Wait. I want to hear about the chick from last night.”
I stopped in my tracks, my hand on the doorknob, when he reminded me of the whole reason he called in the first place.
“I’ll tell you about it later.” There wasn’t anything to tell. Clare, my date from the night before, had a nasty habit of biting her nails, and, at twenty-seven, she still thought baby talk was cute. Or sexy. Or something, but it most definitely wasn’t. We’d had dinner, and that was it. I just wanted to drive Nolan, the nosy pain-in-the-ass, crazy.
“You’re a dick.”
Mission accomplished. I chuckled as I pulled open the steel door at the back of the coffee shop.
Of all my businesses, I loved being at this one the most. Ironically, it was the one I had to manage the least and, therefore, rarely got to visit like I would’ve preferred.
“I’m hanging up. I’ve got to knock some sense into your son.”
The smell of coffee beans nearly knocked me down as I walked through the stock room, and it only got stronger as I passed the empty office on my way out to the counter. It was always crazy how strong the scent seemed after I’d been away for a month or so.
Trevor tore a receipt off the register and thanked a customer with a smile. He was actually a damn good kid.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. The bell rang above the front door, signaling the customer was probably gone. I wasn’t certain from where I stood in the narrow pass-through between the counter and the back of the shop, but it sounded pretty quiet out front.
“Hey, Cord. And what does it look like?” He rinsed a few things in the sink but turned his head toward me when he spoke. “What are you doing here?”
Total smart ass. He got that from his knucklehead dad.
“I thought you had an SAT test today.” I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms. It seemed like a big, tough guy thing to do.
“They have other dates open, and I’ll take it later.”
Later my ass.
“Where’s everyone else?”
“Andrea and Brian are out of town this weekend,” he answered.
“And Jodi?” The other full-time woman who worked there.
He shrugged. “Called in. Sick kid.”
“And that leaves Mia, who’s taking the SAT. Why didn’t you call me?”
Sure, I hadn’t worked in the coffee shop since college, but I could manage just fine for a shift or a few hours. I did own the damn thing.
“Are you serious?” Wiping his hands on his apron, he walked closer to me laughing and shaking his head. “You can’t handle this place on your own.”
“Well, I guess we’ll see about that.” My watch showed he still had plenty of time to make it.
Before I came in, I’d prepared to let Trevor have it for taking Mia’s shift—because that’s what I had assumed was the whole story. Actually, he was just going the extra mile at work, and not just being a foolish seventeen-year-old like I’d first thought.
I couldn’t be too hard on him. So many kids his age didn’t give a shit about responsibilities, and here he was taking care of my store when shit hit the fan.
See? I told you. Good kid. I’d like to think he gets his work ethic from me.
“You’re going to stay here while I go take the test?” Mirroring me, Trevor crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t think I could do it, but it wasn’t like I had no experience at all.
“Believe it or not, it doesn’t take a Nobel Prize to make coffee. I worked here when you were still wearing Pampers, bro.”
Trevor’s face said he wasn’t so sure, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he took a deep breath and seemed relieved. “Okay. Awesome.” He looked at the clock as he untied the brown apron and tossed it at me. “I’ll go take it, then come right back. Are you sure you can do this?” he asked as he walked sideways toward the back exit.
“Trevor,” I warned. “Go take the fucking test.”
“I owe you one,” he barked as he pushed the heavy steel door open. “Thanks, Cord.”
“You can pay me back by learning how to park!” I yelled before the door slammed shut, even though he was long gone.
I wasn’t putting on his damn apron. The jeans and t-shirt I wore could survive whatever I threw at them. Had I been wearing something nicer, I might have considered the stupid thing. Trevor hadn’t looked that dumb wearing the smock, but he also had a boy bun—or a rooster’s nest or a cock knot or whatever the hell hipsters called them—and there was no way in fucking hell I’d ever try one of those either.
It turned out I’d arrived during the calm before the storm, and then the coffee shop got rushed. The cranky pre-caffs were asshole to elbow. There were times when I wondered if Trevor hadn’t been right—that I couldn’t handle it on my own.
It was like war. Children screaming. Coffee grounds everywhere. People shouted for mocha-choca-frappe-whipped-up-lattes, and about thirty other fucking drinks I didn’t know how to make. Surely, they made up half of them on the spot just to see me scramble. I thought it was never going to end.
Didn’t anyone just drink coffee anymore?
Yet, I made a fair amount of money from people who wanted something more than just coffee, and I’d like to think of myself as a problem solver. So I came up with a solution, and I did the best I could do—which wasn’t that great.
“If you’ll take a regular hot, black coffee, then you can have it for free,” I repeated for the millionth time. I don’t think I adequately conveyed just how fucking bad it was in there. I was a desperate man.
“Sure,” a guy wearing thickly framed glasses said. “I like it black anyway.” Tight Jeans had gone from an iced caramel macchiato with soy to a regular coffee.
What a shame. No one was even around to pat him on the back or tell him if he was cool or not.
How progressive.
Maybe my annoyance was just another sign that I was getting older.
Soon, the rush was gone, and, aside from two younger girls in a booth who looked like they were studying, the place was pretty much cleared out.
After wiping up my messes and straightening up the tables, I went in back to get more cream from the big refrigerator and grab a few sleeves of large insulated cups. The stock room was basically the same as it had been when I worked there.
I guessed if it wasn’t broke, why fix it, right?
How long ago had that been? Eight or ten years? Time had flown by.
A few years after college, I bought The Bean Bag. It had seemed like the right move when the old owners were selling cheap to move south to be with their kids. It was my first business and my first big purchase. My first real loan. My first employees. My first taste of success.
The Bean Bag, small and unassuming as it was, proved I could do it. With that confidence, I didn’t stop. Shortly after I took ownership of it, I left the real estate development company I was working for and started my second business. My own small—at the time—property development firm, Taylor Properties.
As I loaded my arms with supplies, I considered opening another coffee shop location. Maybe closer to the college. If Trevor stayed around Kansas City for school, I could buy a storefront close to his campus.
Thinking about the future, walking behind the wall of retail things, which blocked off the back room from the patrons, I heard a woman on the phone. Normally, I wasn’t one to eavesdrop, but what she said got my attention.
I paused to hear her out.
“Bec, it’s not that complicated. Is it too much to ask for a guy who can kiss like a playboy and who will also hold my hand when we walk down the street? Someone who will answer the door when the takeout arrives so I don’t have to put a bra on—a mutually beneficial thing I might add. Someone to watch Netflix with, someone worth not binging ahead when they aren’t there to watch too. I’m talking about a man who will take me out on the town, wine me, dine me, fuck my brains out, then still be willing to introduce me to his friends. You know?”
I sure as shit did.
There were guys out there like that. I didn’t think of myself as one—not yet anyway—but there were good guys out there. Reuben was a guy like that, but he was getting married. Nolan was kind of like that, but he was focused on his son most of the time.
Maybe I could help her—I was especially interested in the wining, dining, and brain fucking portion of her monologue.
She laughed on the other side of the wall of shelves, unaware that I was listening behind it, but I couldn’t stop myself. She sounded smart and sarcastic, both qualities I have a weakness for. Brains and wit… and single.
And her laugh made me smile.
“Exactly,” she exclaimed. “I want some of that. Stability and passion. Loyalty and lust. Hell, I just want a relationship, not another damn date. I’m really done with guys like Cameron. I’m serious this time.”
I wholeheartedly agreed with her on one key point. Fuck that Cameron guy.
I wondered to myself if she realized she’d probably have to trudge through at least a few more dates before a guy would want to do any of that shit. Seriously, even as fun as it sounded, braless takeout wasn’t really a first date kind of thing.
Did all women think it happened like that? Meet—bam—love?
I’m not saying that it never happened or that it was impossible, but not everyone gets love at first sight. Not everyone bumps into their soulmate on the subway.
Life was more complicated than it was in the movies, where their eyes meet for the first time, and fireworks go off in the background. Somewhere music plays, probably some stupid Celine Dion song. The air breathes easier. The sun is hot as hell. Off in the distance fuzzy woodland animals frolicked and shit like that.
That’s the fantasy, right? Kismet, that one in a million flicker inside.
Then, bam. I’ll be damned if it didn’t happen to me.
I rounded the corner, and the vivacious voice belonged to a goddess. Long, wavy auburn hair that I could picture running my fingers through. Big expressive blue eyes. Lips. Oh, my God. Those fucking lips. She was wearing a knee-length trench coat, which I immediately imagined was hiding a wickedly naked body underneath.
The bitter aroma of coffee turned sweet, the Muzak played another goddamn Adele song, and I froze.
She was talking to me, but all I could hear were the motherfucking fireworks.