8. Arielle

eight

Arielle

“My job here is done.” Christian zips his black hardcover suitcase up and slides it off the hotel bed. Brushing his hands together, he plants a pleased smile on his face. “Do you have your stuff together? They opened the interstate, and I’d like to get on the road by nine.”

I’m having the hardest time crawling out of bed, and I struggle to keep my eyes open. My body decided to take up permanent residence in this spot, despite the many times I’ve rubbed my eyes and stretched. “Yeah, I just need to grab my stuff out of the bathroom.” I roll over, letting one foot hang to the floor, testing an upright position.

Ert.

Nope.

I pull it back onto the bed and sigh. “Do we have to leave so early?”

“You don’t have to go back to Boston.” Christian’s words are measured, as if he’s rehearsed this speech. “You can stay with me if you want. It might be helpful to have an extra hand in the store since I’ll be returning here in a few days.”

“Oh, wait a second . . .” My brows bead together as I visualize the return to Long Island today. I sit up straight as I recall inviting that man to come back today. It was a casual comment I made to prevent him from being upset. I hadn’t thought that we wouldn't even be here. That was a hairbrained thing to do. I scratch the back of my head, lazily speaking through a deep yawn. “I did something dumb. I was so eager to get the new Coffee Loft equipment yesterday, I told the customers to come back to try the coffee today.”

“Why would you do that?” Christian parks a hand on his hip, never disappointing when it comes to all-things dramatic.

“I wasn’t thinking clearly.” I rub my eyes and yawn one more time as I stand and stare at the bathroom, all the way over on the other side of the room. It feels like a lot of effort right now.

“We can stop by on the way out of town. I can put a sign on the coffee bar explaining we’re closed to prepare for a grand reopening.”

My gaze directs to the tiny hotel window, the tops of the distant snow-covered mountain range peeking out from behind the downtown buildings. I feel so different in Mapleton. My chest isn’t as tight as it was back home, and I can take real breaths. I’m in a little bubble that’s safe from real life. When I think about going back to Long Island—even though it’s not Boston—I think about reality hitting. I’m not ready to hurt again. “You know,” I say slowly, already positive Christian will hate my idea. “I could stay.”

His head cocks to the side, and he freezes. “Why would you do that?”

I lift one shoulder into an anticlimactic shrug. “I can keep the coffee bar open, and you won’t lose customers from being closed. Maybe I could even screen the job applicants for you?”

“I would be tempted to take you up on the offer if I didn’t think you were using this as an excuse to hide from reality.” Christian’s mouth takes a downward angle as his eyes pace my face. “I don’t think that’s healthy.”

“Just for a week.” My voice cracks, as I hate explaining to Christian, of all people, how I’m a classic avoidant personality type. I would rather just deal with my heartbreak my way—by pretending it didn’t happen.

He whips his head to the side. I’m sure he’s about to roll it back in a hard “no” shake, but instead, his gaze finds mine and he’s unusually soft in his tone. “I’m going to worry about you if I leave you here.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Just let me take this time for myself.”

His lips bunch to the side, into a hard thinking position, before he heaves a heavy sigh. “Call me immediately if you hear from Tom.”

I nod, my lips bending as I know he’s already giving in.

“If Dad finds out, tell him I had nothing to do with this. I’ll be back on Sunday to take you home.” He removes his keys from his coat pocket and slides one off the ring for me, handing it over. “To the bookstore. Don’t lose it.”

“I won’t.” I reach for my boho-style bag on the nightstand, retrieve my key ring, and slide it on. I don’t have many keys on the ring, but one that stands out is the key to Tom’s place. My lips paste into a frown. I’m not sure why he ever gave it to me because I wasn’t allowed to use it without first letting him know I was coming. My frown doesn’t abate, instead my brows lower, tipping my expression into a scowl. I had overlooked another clue to his infidelity that was right in front of my face. My cheeks heat from the pure anger that’s left at all the lies he told me and for taking advantage of me. My fingers move with precision to slide that key off the ring, and I cup it in my palm and walk it over to the trash.

If I wasn’t trying to keep my cool in front of Christian to install confidence that I actually am fine, I might have tried to do something more dramatic with this key. Not sure what, but slamming it over and over with a hammer might have been fun.

Christian doesn’t see me toss it away because he’s typing on his phone. After a moment, he says, “I let Graham know you’ll be staying.”

“I’m not a little girl.” A chuckle twitches from inside, as I had forgotten how protective Christian can be of me. It’s one result of us growing up together without a mother. I playfully shoo him away. “Leave. I’ll be fine. Better than fine. I’ll have the coffee shop deep cleaned and running at full speed by the time you get back.”

And maybe I’ll have a new friend by then too—One who has excellent taste in flannel shirts. My heartbeat picks up the pace as I tease the idea.

“I’ll stop at the front desk to request they extend the stay in this room.” He grips his suitcase handle, pulling it behind him as he stops right before the door. “I don’t mean to rush, but I really do need to get to my vendor show.”

“And to Portia.” I smile teasingly at him, as I’m so happy he has someone to rush home to.

“And to Portia.” His smile matches mine, but he doesn’t pause for a beat when he adds, “You’ll find your happily ever after too.” His eyes spring open, and he tacks on, “Just don’t let Portia know you’re looking, or she’ll add you to her website.”

“I already told her I wasn’t interested in ever going on that website.” I flash my hands up in a silent wave, because if I don’t end this, Christian will stay all morning “making sure I’m okay.” He’ll miss his vendor show. “Love you.”

Flashing his palm up in a wave, he says, “I’ll call you later.”

“Bye.”

Bowing his head, he opens the door, pulling the suitcase behind him. I wait for the door to click and turn on my heel, heading to the window. I’m not sure what I’m expecting to see. People bustle in and out of the downtown shops, carrying perfect little packages filled with the treasures they found, all wearing smiles on their faces. That part is enjoyable to see, but the best part is that none of these people know me or Tom. That’s exactly the kind of place I need to be right now. I cross the room to my suitcase and pull out a pair of faded jeans and a cream sweater and head to the shower.

Today is going to be a good day.

Because I said so.

And maybe, a handsome guy will come in for coffee.

It’s ten minutes to six o’clock, and I shut off the brightest overhead lights as the last two customers head out. It’s been a slow day with the bookstore remaining closed. I assume most of the town residents are yet to find out about the new partnership with Coffee Loft. That makes sense to me since Christian hasn’t done any advertising. I open the cash drawer to count the bills. Like clockwork, as soon as I stop thinking that maybe he’ll come in, the door swings open, and my heart skips a beat.

“Am I too late?” My lumberjack peeps inside. He’s wearing a heavy blue flannel shirt and jeans, looking as casual as can be, but the way he immediately finds my gaze and holds it sparks the butterflies in my gut.

“No, not at all.” I push the cash back into the drawer and close it with my hip. “I was hoping you’d stop by.”

“I told you I would.” He steps forward, letting the door jingle to a close behind him. “You owe me a coffee.”

“I do.” Heat flushes my cheeks as everything about the way this man looks at me makes my knees jelly. “Have a seat.” I gesture forward, adding in a playful tone, “Let me guess how you like your coffee.”

He pulls up the closest barstool, plopping down, both eyes locked on me. “Not with tea.”

“How about something sweet?”

“I like my coffee so strong my ancestors can taste it.” His chuckle slips out at the exact time mine does: his baritone sound perfectly balances my sweet inflections.

“Maybe just a little sweet then.” I scan all the new Coffee Loft syrups displayed behind me until I catch the perfect one, or in this case two. I’ve never been one to initiate any kind of flirting, but since no one knows me here, I seem to have found the confidence to be a little bold. I grab the marshmallow and the raspberry and hold them up. “If I mix these together, and add a little milk, you get something called a raspberry kiss.” I hold my gaze steady on him and bite back a smile as he squirms in his seat, shifting from side to side.

He doesn’t disappoint, flirting right back. “It’s our first coffee together, and you’re already offering a kiss.” He lets his direct eye contact linger.

It’s suddenly apparent the heat in this place is definitely working at full steam today. I push up my sweater sleeves to my elbows, all the while wishing I could crack a window open. “Technically, this is my third time serving you.” I set the syrups on the counter and grab a large drink cup, the one we call the Lofty size. I don’t care what size he orders, but I’m giving him a free upgrade. I tip the empty cup toward him. “This one is on me for all the trouble this week.” After sidestepping to the espresso machine, I push the button for the espresso before I ask, “Caffeine good or do you need decaf?”

“The only time I’ve ever gotten decaf coffee to work for me is the time I threw it at my brother.” He holds a straight face, but as hard as I try to bite back a laugh, a snort bleeps out. He acknowledges my snort with a simple, “That’s classy.”

“It really wasn’t.” I pump the syrups into the cup, add the milk and espresso, mixing it all together. A gleam in his eye sparkles when I set the coffee in front of him, and it encourages me.

I hate for this conversation to be over.

I spent all day looking out the window for him, and now it’s over . He’s so fun to banter with, and it’s been ages since I let myself do this. I point to the coffee-mug shaped clock on the wall, now one minute past six. “I have to lock up, but if you don’t have anywhere to go, you’re welcome to sit with me while I clean.” I hold my breath, unsure where my sudden bravery came from.

“I really should be on my way.” His gaze regretfully pulls to the exit, and my heart drops. How did I get this conversation so wrong?

He was totally flirting with me.

Maybe he is dating that lady in the park or someone else? My gaze drops to his hands. Not a ring on any of his fingers, but I dare to ask, “Are you involved with someone?”

His lashes flicker, blinking several times. The time it takes for him to answer my question makes me wish I hadn’t asked. My fingers get jittery, and I reach for the bar towel for something to fidget with. I direct my gaze down and wipe the counter before I hear his down-hearted reply, “I was, and not looking for anything.”

I raise my gaze up to meet his. “Me too, and me neither.” I add a shoulder shrug. “Or maybe just a friend.”

His Adam’s apple bobs, marking his swallow. I stand back, waiting for him to get up and leave. To my surprise, he lifts his drink and takes a sip. He swallows slowly, like he’s savoring the flavors, before he sets down his cup. His lips tug up gently in the corners. “Your kiss is very sweet.”

“Too sweet?” I park my hand on my hip, feeling the tension rise back up between us.

“It could be perfect.” He nods more to himself as his gaze is locked on his drink. “I might need to try another one tomorrow. Just to make sure.”

“I’m here all week,” I speak softly, as if I’m afraid to stir the air. We’d somehow built a bridge of camaraderie without even trying. I know I could use a friend. Especially one who is as handsome as he is. “My name’s Arielle, by the way, but people call me El.”

“I think we are doing this backward.” He rises to his feet. “You’re supposed to tell me your name before you give me your kiss.”

I’ve never met a man who can make my knees shake from just the way he looks at me, but I place my hands on the counter to steady myself. “You can give me the kiss back if you don’t want it,” I tease, batting my lashes as I gaze up at him.

“Nah, I never said that.” He snickers, his gaze drifting from his drink to me. “My name is Stallone.”

“Stallone.” My smile is flirty, languid. The heat from our direct contact melts my insides. That is such an unusual name, but it suits him well. “Did your parents love Rocky movies?”

“My dad was a fan.” He shifts his weight from one leg to another, as if he is unsure if he’s coming or going. “I’d better let you lock up.”

Disappointment trickles into my heart, and I lower my gaze to the bar towel again, saying, “Thanks for stopping in.”

“Night.” His tone is laced with confusion, and he turns and lumbers out the door. I stare after him.

How did I get that so wrong?

I thought he was coming to see me, but maybe he really did just want coffee.