2. Arielle

two

Arielle

We arrive in the heart of downtown Mapleton right around dinnertime and pull into the historic Harbor Inn and Lodge parking lot. I’ve visited plenty of small towns, but unlike most, where it’s clear their better days are behind them with old infrastructure and deserted downtowns, Mapleton appears to be quite the opposite. People of all ages bustle in and out of downtown businesses from street corner to street corner, and everyone has a cheery smile on their face. I step out of the car and do a double take when I see I’m walking on an actual cobblestone covered street.

“This way.” Christian motions toward a robin’s-egg blue, two-story building. It’s perfectly colored to match the pattern of all the other buildings surrounding it, resembling something out of a storybook.

Finding the bookstore sign right where it should be—above the door—I read it out loud, “The Bookshelf. Isn’t that adorable!”

“You say adorable, but I say it looks like money.” Christian rubs his hands together, the smirk on his face growing even wider. “I’ve been talking to the owner for weeks, and he’s looking to expand coffee sales. He thinks franchising would be a great option—which I agree. I’ve pretty much got him sold on partnering with me for a Coffee Loft franchise.”

We slow our steps, and I take in the large street window display full of paperback books. I can’t help but think I’ve been here before, even though I know I haven’t been. After pondering for a moment, I conclude the reason it looks familiar is it resembles the quaint little bookstores you see in Christmas movies.

Christian opens the wooden door, and we are hit with the scent of paper mixed with hints of vanilla and deep espresso. My nose perks at the scent cocktail. I’m not a huge reader, so the scent of new books doesn’t excite me, but the coffee notes feel like home. My attention lands on an impossible-to-miss mahogany staircase that lines the wall, leading to an overhead loft filled with more books. We meander past it, like two lost people, toward the familiar sound of a milk steamer.

“Morning,” a gentleman from behind the coffee bar calls as he snaps a plastic lid on the hot drink in front of him. He’s tall, and with his head bent over the drink, his dark wavy hair flops almost over his eyes.

“You must be Graham.” Christian steps forward, offering his steady hand over the bar. “I’m Christian Hanson.”

“Oh, yes.” Graham lifts his head, shaking his hair back and finding a hand towel, wiping his hands before he takes Christian’s. “How do you do?”

“Excellent.” Christian leaves on his business-neutral expression as he drops Graham’s hand and turns to me. “This is my sister, Arielle.”

Graham’s gaze plants on me, and he extends his hand again. “Nice to meet you, Arielle.” I shake his hand, and Graham nods to the barstools at the bar. “Welcome to my office. Have a seat. Can I make you a drink?”

“Thank you, but I've had plenty already.” Christian waves off his gesture.

“No, thank you.” I smile politely, and then stare past him to survey his bar. He has all his syrups on a bookshelf on the wall, which is cute since it’s a bookstore. It wouldn’t be my first choice to put the coffee bar way in the back of the store, but he has it decorated well, with lots of coffee pun signs and colored mugs hanging on the wall.

“I’m glad you made it over here.” Graham takes the coffee he had just prepared and lifts the cup to his mouth, sipping out of it. “I’ve been reading about Coffee Loft for months, and I’m a huge fan of what they’re doing.”

“Same. Once I started looking into their franchise, I knew it was perfect for me. I’m certain you’ll love it too. The buy-in is lower than most other coffee franchises.” Christian holds up a finger to make his point and continues to add a finger with each point he counts off. “Their yearly fees are lower. They have better quality products, and the opportunity is endless, as there is no saturation.”

“It sounds perfect for my situation. My wife and I are about to have a baby.” Graham’s happy life slams me back inside my head, where I can’t help but feel a sting of sadness. Not that he’s married—well, he is handsome with dark-blue eyes set behind thick lashes—but I had been doing okay. It had been at least an hour since I thought about my heartbreak. Hearing him achieve a milestone reminds me I recently got sent all the way back to the bench and am starting all over again. Again, the tears bud in the backs of my eyes, and I struggle to hold them back. I hate that it makes me sad to hear someone else is happy, but I desperately want that to be me.

“Weekends are our busiest days,” Graham continues. “My wife and teenage daughter usually come to help. That way, there’s always someone at the bookstore checkout and the coffee bar. With Elinora having the baby, she needs to be home more, and Hadley’s going to be hopefully off to college after this year. It’s made me consider my options, where I don’t have to rely on them so much. I’m so busy with the bookstore, I would love to bring in a partner to manage the coffee bar. I think if it’s done well, I’d make the same money, but with half the hassle.”

“I hear what you’re saying.” Christian rubs his chin, and I can literally see dollar signs bling in his eyes. “That’s right up my alley. I have one shop on Long Island, and I’ve done a lot to turn it around. I would love another location, but I can’t be in two places at once. I love the idea that we’d be partners. You could be here to monitor it, but essentially, I’d manage it, train, and hire the staff. I think it would work well.” Christian turns on his heel, scanning the store again. It's quaint compared to his huge Long Island location, but that dollar-sign gleam in the corner of his eye tells me he’s already sold. “I love your store. It’s so cozy in here, and Mapleton seems like a great little town,” he adds, buttering up Graham even more.

“It’s great. I moved here in my early twenties. Later, I moved away for what I thought were better career opportunities, but this always felt like home. So, after I got married, we came back, and we love it.” Graham nods to the door, not unwelcoming, but excitement shines through his smile. “Why don’t you spend some time downtown and get to know the area? I’ve already signed the contracts you sent over, but I don’t want you to have any buyer’s remorse. Even though I’m certain you won’t. If everything checks out, I think tomorrow morning we can officially make this transition.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.” Christian rocks back on his heels, surveying the place one more time. I’ve seen that glazed over expression before. I bet he’s already envisioning himself carrying loads of money to the bank. I shake my head, rather amused. Christian is good for a distraction from my miserable life. It has been at least another minute since the last time I thought about Tom . . .

I’m getting better.

I think.

Except for this rock that I have in my gut that’s so heavy, it makes it hard to pretend I’m normal. I try my best to ignore it and continue forward out the door with Christian into the crisp winter air. We amble back down the block to the lodge.

As soon as we pass through the sliding front doors, we are met with the most gorgeous mountain lodge décor. An enormous stone fireplace fills the far wall, and a roaring fire crackles, bringing warmth to the entire room. Knotty pine beams frame out the high angled ceiling, and I instantly feel welcome. My shoulders fall, releasing tension, and I’m suddenly ready to relax.

We check into our room and walk down the hall, both of us checking our phones for messages. Christian’s busy texting Portia—those two are so cute—they never stop talking. The rock in my gut swells when I see I have no messages.

Not that I want to hear from Tom.

However, there’s an obvious void in my life that is going to take some time to fill. It’s like I have a nervous jitter now as I wonder what I should be doing with my time, now that I shouldn’t be thinking about Tom.

Christian swipes his key card to unlock the door to our room and winces. “I forgot to pack underwear.”

I sputter out laughing. “Don’t think you’re going to be sitting next to me.”

He extends his arm, holding the door open for me to pass through. “Nah, I saw there was a general store right down the block. You make yourself at home. I’ll run over there before it closes.”

I roll my suitcase forward, finding the perfect spot to park it in the closet. “Can you pick up something to eat too?”

His unruly brows stoop down as his gaze bounces around my face, and he asks in a kind voice, “You don’t want to go out for dinner?”

Tugging one side of my lips into a lopsided grin, I force a positive expression. “I don’t care to go out. Takeout sounds so much better.” His gaze hangs on me, and I rush out, “It’s not about Tom.”

After a long beat of silence, he finally replies, “Sure, I can find some burgers or something.”

The way he looks at me with his eyes so full of empathy makes tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I get choked up. The only thing I can force out is, “Thank you.”

“Sure thing, El.” He backs out of the room, softly closing the door behind him, and I’m left alone.

The rock in my gut balloons, feeling ten times heavier, and I grab my stomach to brace it. I can’t hold it in for another second. Tears rapidly fall down my face, and I swipe them away as I scurry to the bathroom for a tissue. I’ve never been a huge crier, but this isn’t a normal breakup. I thought Tom and I were going to be married. I quit college so I could be closer to him. I was so dumb for thinking that was a good idea. Now I have no job skills, and the only job I could get was cleaning. I screwed up my life and all I got in return is a broken heart.

I ugly cry, letting my shoulders shake, and I blow my nose into a tissue. I let it all out before Christian gets back, because he won’t tolerate me crying over Tom. After all my sobs are out, I blow my nose one more time and toss my tissue into the trash. I take a deep breath, clearing my head of all things Tom, and I mentally draw a line to be done crying. I need to clean up before Christian gets back. I splash water on my face, drag my feet back to the bedroom, and pick up my phone. My throat instantly dries when I see an unread text message.

No, not Tom.

It’s the code for the karaoke app that Portia told me she’d send me. A frown of forlornity tugs on my lips.

I will not sing karaoke.

Especially not here in a hotel room.

Portia has the wildest ideas.

I mean, if that’s what she likes to do, then more power to her. Shaking my head, I let my fingers hover over the code as I’m ready to delete it. My gaze floats back to the door.

The room is empty.

No one would hear me.

It distracted me last time.

Right on cue, the rock in my gut swells, threatening to spring more tears.

I just cleaned up from ugly crying. I can’t cry like that again.

I need a distraction.

At least until Christian gets back.

My fingers tremble as the tears travel up from the rock in my gut, and I panic and click on the code.

Anything is better than crying.