CHAPTER THREE

SIERRA

“Ready, sweetcakes? Doors open in ten minutes for the first round of the contest, and it looks like we’ve already got lines forming. Spreading the word on the Suitor’s Crossing social pages was a stroke of genius.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” It’s 7 A.M. on a Monday, and I’ve never had a line of customers waiting for me to open. Suitor’s Crossing is a small town and staunch supporters of local businesses, but we’re not exactly a hub for corporate suits in need of a caffeine hit before heading to the boardroom.

My busiest hours are actually after the morning school drop-off and right before the businesses around me open up at 9 A.M.

“The Cafe Clash. First round: Dough Joe Duel,” Caleb says, referencing the names we came up with for our contest and rounds. I figured we needed something catchy to make this thing feel like a real event for the town rather than a weird string of challenges between me and Caleb. Because this is for more than settling a personal score. It”s about promoting our businesses so a big corporation doesn”t win.

“Remember the rules? Whoever attracts the most customers during today’s morning rush wins this round.” This is the most equitable challenge as the other two skew towards either baking or brewing specifically.

It took us a day to sort out the details of the contest then another two weeks to hype it up around town. All of our friends shared it with their customers—like the engaged women who see Shannon for their wedding dresses at Blushing Brides Boutique or the groups of people who frequent Austin’s bar The Ole Aces. Word spread quickly about The Cafe Clash, so I’m hopeful this brief truce Caleb and I have will prove fruitful.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah… Don’t cite the deep magic to me, Witch. I was there when it was written.” His voice lowers to quote Aslan from The Chronicles of Narnia, prompting me to playfully smack his shoulder.

“You’re such a child.” An arrogant grin showcases his deep dimples, and I studiously ignore the little flutter they set off in my belly. So my archnemesis is funny and attractive.

Like Paul Rudd mixed with Henry Cavill hot.

So what?

Just because I’m woman enough to objectively recognize his handsomeness doesn’t mean anything. It’s a natural response to a good looking man. Like if I saw a pair of bear cubs playing in the forests that surround Suitor’s Crossing and felt the urge to touch all that cuteness. Doesn’t mean I’d act on the impulse. I’m not stupid. I’d just admire from afar, knowing that getting any closer poses a clear danger.

Or in Caleb’s case, a clear conflict of interest.

Because he’s the man determined to steal my customers and run me out of business with the combination of his specialty coffee and inferior pastries.

At least, that’s the story I’ve told myself ever since he first opened Brewed.

“Smack talk already? Isn’t it a little early even for you guys?” My employee and second-in-command at Buttercream Dreams bumps the swinging door between the kitchen and front counter open with her hip. Balancing a tray of glazed donuts, Mandy shoots the stink eye toward Caleb before lowering the load beside the glass case where we display our baked goods. She’s worked for me since she was sixteen, part-time during the school year then full-time after she graduated and decided to forgo college in favor of becoming an apprentice to me.

“It’s never too early for some good old-fashioned banter.” Caleb winks before tapping the counter with his knuckle and exiting, weaving through the line outside to get back to Brewed.

And, no, I definitely did not stare at his jean-clad butt before it disappeared in the crowd.

Nope.

No way.

“You’ve got this, boss. Don’t let him intimidate you.” Mandy pats my back on her return trip to the kitchen to collect more donuts, and all unwanted thoughts about Caleb evaporate in the wake of more pressing matters. I’ve got a competition to win. I don’t have time to check out the challenger’s firm assets when people are waiting for me to satisfy their breakfast cravings.

We’re offering a special in honor of the contest—free coffee with every pastry purchase along with triple points for customer loyalty cards. I’m hoping the lure of free coffee will convince enough people to skip Brewed and head straight to Buttercream Dreams for their caffeine and sugar fix. But it’s hard to tell how successful the promotion will be when the lines outside seem merged together—rather than one enormous queue snaking from my door and around the block, away from Brewed.

“Don’t worry. Caleb doesn’t scare me. He’s just the man I’m going to crush into sad coffee grounds by the end of the day.”

Mandy giggles and does a fist pump. “That’s the spirit. We’ve got this in the bag!”

***

We did not, in fact, have it in the bag.

Because the only predictable thing about owning a small business is its unpredictability.

The morning passed in a blur of familiar faces mixed with strangers who decided to check out the event. It was amazing, hectic, and I would’ve sworn I had Caleb beat—may have even bragged to Shannon about my impending victory when she stopped by to see how things were going an hour ago.

Then the bakery gods decided to bring me back to Earth.

“What”s going on out there, Mandy?” There”s a crowd of people gathered on the sidewalk, and the iPad I use as my register shows that it”s only 3:13 in the afternoon. Hardly a popular time for business.

“Why don”t you go check it out?” I ask, nodding toward the door.

Mandy slips from behind the counter and pushes the front door open, setting off the jingling bell. She shoots a cautious glance back at me, then turns to the left toward Brewed. Five minutes later, Mandy is back, and she doesn”t look happy.

“He”s having a coffee tasting on the sidewalk. Has a table set up with all these different flavors, then encourages people to go inside to purchase a cup of their favorite…” She bites her lip. “But that”s not the worst part.”

“It”s not?” I can”t imagine what else Caleb could”ve cooked up. A coffee tasting? Why didn’t I think of something like that? I could’ve offered cake pop samples or something to entice people inside during a lull.

Afternoons are usually slow and peaceful, especially since I close up shop at 5 P.M., in accordance with most of the small businesses on Main Street. Brewed stays open later, but Caleb and I accounted for that in the contest rules—we’re only tallying customers between 8 to 5.

“Remember how that guy came in earlier and bought all of our muffins? All the blueberry, chocolate chip—”

“Poppyseed,” I finished the list of our most-coveted muffin flavors.

“Yeah. Well, that guy must be a friend of Caleb”s because they”re over there giving those muffins out for free with a drink purchase.”

“You”re kidding. That lowdown, sneaky...” A growl of frustration swallows up my litany of insults. I don’t know why it never occurred to me that Caleb would sabotage me.

He is my archnemesis, after all.

“Okay, so what”s our response?” I force myself to take a calming breath and focus on rebounding, but then see the status of our depleted display case. We don”t have much left to sell with an hour and a half left until closing.

“Why don”t I whip up batches of cookies? They”re quick and easy to make, and we can take them outside…” she trails off, thinking through her plan.

“We can make the cookies, but even if they come in, we don”t have very much to offer them. But it was a good suggestion.” Her shoulders slump in defeat, and I fight the urge to join her. I thought I estimated the right amount of surplus we would need today. But our marketing efforts surpassed even my expectations, and I might lose because of the miscalculation.

And Caleb’s sabotage.

I can’t believe he had an undercover shopper buy all of our muffins just to turn around and offer them as an incentive to purchase his coffee. A part of me admires the clever tactic—and wishes I’d thought of something just as calculating to mess with him—but mostly I’m annoyed. Losing those muffins wouldn’t be such a big hit if I’d baked more stock.

I may have just lost the Dough Joe Duel due to an oversight, and the realization stings.