Building Romance (Romances in the Building #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Cam

“Why is it so hard to find good dick?” Drew asks with exasperation as he strolls into my café as if he owns the place.

I glance up at him from where I’m making sourdough bread and fight a smirk.

“Uh, is that a trick question?” I ask, looking around to ensure another customer hasn’t snuck in here even though I know I’m alone.

“Well, let me tell you about my latest text from this guy,” he sighs and sits down at my counter. He starts to prattle on about a conversation he’s having on a dating app, while I continue my work.

The feeling of the dough beneath my fingers is as familiar as the air I breathe.

It’s soothing. My senses are filled to the brim.

The sourdough beneath my fingers, the smell of the chocolate chip muffins in the oven, the sounds of Drew’s voice as he speaks, the taste on my tongue of the cookie I just sampled a minute ago, and the sight of Drew waving his hands animatedly as he speaks.

I glance down at my dough. It’s nearly ready to proof.

Between school and bakery jobs, I’ve worked for a solid decade toward a goal. And last week, that goal was achieved when I opened my very own bakery. I can hardly believe it. I feel like pinching myself again just to prove that all of this is real.

When my former boss, Phyllis, decided to retire a few months ago, she offered to sell her business to me. The landlord for the property likes having a café here and agreed to sign the lease with me. I snagged a small business loan, and just like that, everything fell into place.

Well, nearly everything. I glare at the empty building down the street. A large banner sign hangs over the front door.

“McDowell’s Coming Soon”

I grimace. I’ve worked so hard and I felt like I nearly had it all figured out. I was going to be that quintessential success story. I was.

“Turn that frown upside down,” Drew says, breaking my train of thought. Regardless of how discouraged I feel right now, the thought that my closest friend is sitting in my café does make me smile a little.

“That’s better. The usual, by the way,” Drew states as he swivels in the barstool and types furiously on his phone without looking up at me, clearly responding to this man he just ranted about for the last five minutes. “I am so over this new guy. I swear he’s the most annoying human ever born.”

I raise an eyebrow at my best friend. Drew had been in a serious relationship until a few months ago. Drew was dating an Italian man who finished his graduate degree and went back to Italy. He pretends it’s no big deal, but I know he’s still heartbroken.

And now, well, he’s swiping right on one-night stands. I hate seeing him like this. I know deep down, he wants a serious relationship. Hell, the man reads more romance books than I do.

“So, no second date?” I ask as I make his coffee and pull out an orange cinnamon roll, something I added to the bakery menu when I reopened as Cam’s Café. I set the roll on a plate and push it toward him.

He finally glances up at me. “Hell no. He wore a paisley shirt, Cam. The entire shirt was paisley,” he grimaces.

I giggle as I finish making his caramel latte with mocha cold foam. The man has a new fancy drink order monthly and this is his new usual drink, at least for the next two weeks.

“I mean, there are worse offenses,” I state with a knowing look.

“True. That guy you went out with a few weeks ago wore cargo shorts. It’s freaking winter practically and…cargo shorts. Just no,” he says. “Thank God I was there to rescue you.”

“I’ll cheers to that,” I say as I clink my coffee mug with his after I set it down. I wouldn’t say I’ve given up on love, but it’s definitely taken a back seat while I’ve been getting my café up and running.

“Morning,” my new employee, Adriana, says as she walks through the front door.

She’s a young college student, but she worked as a barista in high school and only lives a few blocks away.

So far, she’s been great. I kept Amber, my baking assistant, on my team.

She’s worked here with me for years. She’s a few years older than me and a single mom.

And then there’s Hugh. He’s older and takes care of stocking my shelves, cleaning, repairs, and basically anything I ask him to do. It’s a small team, but a good one.

“Morning,” Drew and I say in unison.

“Banana bread still in the oven?” she asks as she walks back toward the kitchen.

“Yep, should be done in about five minutes,” I answer.

She nods and I watch as she disappears into the back.

“How’s that working out?” Drew asks, nodding toward the door.

I shrug. “So far, so good,” I state as I walk back into my kitchen and slide the dough I was kneading into my warming oven.

I wash my hands and step back out to find Drew smiling at his phone.

“Dick pic?” I ask with a smirk.

He glances up at me and rolls his eyes. “Nope,” he says as he sips his coffee.

“Gonna share with the class?” I ask.

“Nope,” he replies.

“You are exasperating,” I groan while wiping down my marble counter.

“I know, but that’s why you love me. Also, you’re grumpy.

You need to get laid,” he says with a laugh as he gets up and places his glass in a bin for dirty dishes.

I glare at him, but I can’t even be mad because he’s right.

“Toodeloo. I’m off for a mani. These nails are ragged as fuck,” he states with a wave.

“You home for dinner?” I call out as he opens the door.

“Yeah.” He pauses. “Chinese?”

I tilt my head as I contemplate our food options. “Yeah. Golden Palace?” I suggest.

“Exactly. The usual?” he asks.

I nod.

“Oh, can you look again for my grandmother’s saltshaker?

” I ask. Last week, my grandmother’s saltshaker that she got at the 1964 World’s Fair in New York went missing.

I don’t know if it’s because the salt and pepper shakers are shaped like telephones or that they are historic or because they remind me of cooking in her kitchen with her, but I love them.

And I’m heartbroken to be missing one. I don’t know why, but I always use that stupid saltshaker and I feel like it’s my good luck charm.

“Yeah. I’ll look again,” he says giving me an encouraging smile. He’s already scoured the kitchen for it. As much as he drives me nuts, he’s a good guy.

He waves as he exits the café and heads down the street to the nail salon.

He loves getting his nails done. The man always has them buffed, no polish.

He actually got our giant, former-football-player neighbor, Hutch, to go with him a few months ago after a year of nagging.

Now, the two have mani-pedi days once a month.

I haven’t had time to go. I glance at my nails that desperately need shaping.

I really ought to make time to take better care of myself.

Hell, I need time for anything…like finding a guy. Drew is right. I need some dick.

* * *

I lie in my bed and stare at my phone, willing it to vibrate with an incoming message.

Nothing. Damn it. What the hell is Max doing? He always replies right away.

Last year, I started chatting with this man on a dating app where there are no photos.

Drew suggested it. I’m always drawn to a certain type of man based on looks and it has never once worked out well.

So, begrudgingly, I took his advice. Three days later, I started talking to a man named Max.

We eventually decided we should just be friends after he admitted to hating my absolute favorite sports team and also scoffed at the fact that I love reading romance novels.

I told him we were incompatible. He sent twelve laughing emojis…

TWELVE. And then I rage ignored him for two days.

But after he sent me an e-gift card to my favorite spa to an email I shared with him, I eventually forgave him and we’ve been talking nonstop since then.

I still swear we are not compatible, but that hasn’t stopped us from being friends.

I grab my e-reader and try to distract myself with my latest read.

It’s an enemies to lovers. There’s just something about the trope that I love.

But I also think it’s completely unrealistic.

Or I did, until my friend Gray ended up with his now girlfriend, Roxy.

They both live here in my apartment building.

Roxy owns a romance bookstore on the first floor of the building.

And at first, they hated each other. But now, it’s like a flip switched and all that anger turned into off-the-charts passion.

They actually make me a little sick with how sweet they are to each other.

And then Kasen, my other friend, who happens to be a scary-looking ex-military guy who barely speaks, somehow landed a sweet and happy woman who is his exact opposite.

My phone vibrates on my nightstand and I toss the e-reader onto the bed and glance over to see a notification. Max has texted me.

Max: I thought your business was doing great. No?

I had told him I was worried about a competitor moving in near my café.

When Max and I started talking, we had decided to not discuss anything that would be too personal.

No names of people we know. I honestly wonder if Max is his real name.

I use my middle name, Eliza, on the app.

No saying where we worked or what industry.

Nothing that would make us easily identifiable.

We just wanted to get to know each other without the desire to internet stalk.

For reasons that I really haven’t considered, we’ve kept up this weird charade where we talk about life but with no identifiers.

So he knows I just bought a business and I have a store, but he has no idea that it’s a café.

I know his family owns a business and he works for it.

But I couldn’t tell you what he does or what the business is.

It’s the absolute strangest relationship I’ve ever had, yet, there’s something very liberating about it. I can complain about anything I want and there is zero judgment. I love Drew, but my bestie is a judgy-judgerkins.

Me: I mean, it is for now.

Max: Get the local community behind you. Locals have a way of making or breaking a business.

Me: Says the businessman.

I can’t help wondering what kind of business his family owns, but I sort of like daydreaming about it.

In my mind, they own a local car mechanic shop or a flower shop or something.

He did mention once that whatever the family owns has been in operation since his great-grandparents, which I think is pretty cool.

I told him I hoped my store would be run by my great-grandchildren someday.

Max: You need to play offensive. I’ll send you a list of books you should read.

Me: (eye-rolling emoji)

Max: I’m serious.

Me: OK, Professor Max.

Max: I sort of like that. (questioning emoji)

Me: On that note, I’m going to bed.

Max: Goodnight, my little entrepreneur.

Me: Goodnight, Professor Max.

I toss my phone on my nightstand and grab my e-reader. I look at the links Max has texted and download two of the books he recommends. I mean, it can’t hurt to learn. And if it means I find a way to crush McDowell’s, then it’ll be worth it.