26. Bella
Chapter 26
Bella
“ B ella, darling. This is the single best cup of coffee I’ve ever had in my entire life.”
I smile at Ingrid’s mom as we stand in the kitchen of her massive luxury home just outside of Denver. A dozen of her friends mill around her gourmet kitchen and dining area, sipping the samples of coffee I prepared for the morning coffee taster I’m hosting for them.
Four glass carafes sit on the marble counter in the kitchen. Each one is a different roast and blend.
I beam at her. “Oh wow, thank you, Mrs. Thompson. I’m so happy you like it.”
She waves a hand. “Goodness, no more calling me Mrs. Thompson. I feel so old when my daughter’s friends do that.” She chuckles and pats my hand. “Please call me Amy.”
Never in a million years would I call Ingrid’s mom old. She could pass for Ingrid’s older sister. She has the same long blonde hair, perfect skin, and bright blue eyes as Ingrid.
I smile at her. “Thank you, Amy. You’re so kind. ”
“I’m serious. Your coffee is so delicious. It tastes so much richer and deeper than all the other coffee I’ve had.”
“I’m kind of a snob when it comes to coffee. I like to roast the beans myself. That way I can control the depth of flavor,” I say.
“Do you have to have a commercial-grade roaster to do that?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No, I just do it in my oven with a regular sheet pan on parchment paper. It’s so easy. You just have to keep an eye on the beans while they roast and pay attention to when they crack. If you want a lighter roast, you wait until they crack once. If you want a darker roast, you roast it until it cracks a second time.”
“That sounds like a lot of work.” Amy shakes her head, then chuckles. “I’m terrible in the kitchen. Just ask my husband.”
“Your daughter would also agree,” Ingrid says as she walks into the kitchen, coffee cup in hand.
Amy rolls her eyes good-naturedly right as Ingrid pulls her mom into a side hug and kisses her cheek.
“I’m kidding, Mom.”
“No, you’re not.” Amy laughs. “It’s okay though. I know how bad I am in the kitchen. Thank goodness your father knows how to cook.”
I smile at mother and daughter as they joke with each other despite the tiny ping of pain in my chest. It’s been so long since I’ve joked with my mom and dad like this. Ever since I moved to Toronto to be with Matt, things between us have been frosty. They never really liked him, and when I told them I was moving countries and buying a house with him, that caused even more strain between us. And ever since I moved into my aunt’s apartment, we haven’t spoken much because we always end up arguing .
I wish I could have a fun-loving and affectionate relationship with them again.
I push aside the sadness and try to focus on the good things happening right now. Ingrid’s mom and friends are loving the gourmet coffee bar I set up. For the hour that I’ve been here, everyone has been raving about the drinks I prepared and the bakery board I put together with pastries, fruit, and other treats.
“Bella, darling, I have a favor to ask. Please feel free to say no,” Amy says.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Well, I just love the way you roast your coffee beans. And you already know how terrible I am in the kitchen,” she says. “Could I pay you to roast fresh coffee beans and deliver them to my home every week? I’ll pay you whatever you’d like.”
Before I can answer, one of Amy’s friends walks over to us. “Oh, what a brilliant idea. Would I be able to pay you to do the same for me, Bella?”
“Me too.”
“Yes, I’d like that too!”
Before I can utter a word, all the women in the group have asked me to roast and deliver coffee beans to them.
It takes a second to process it all.
“Sure, I’d be happy to do that for you ladies,” I say. “As long as you’re okay with the cost.” I hesitate for a second, working up the nerve to tell them an estimate of how much I’ll have to charge each of them for a single bag of roasted coffee beans.
“When I factor in roasting time and the delivery fee, it will probably be around a fifty bucks per bag of roasted beans.”
I managed to keep my tone light and pleasant, even though I’m freaking out on the inside. No way they’re going to say yes to that.
But all of them chuckle and say no problem, that they’d be happy to pay.
I glance at all of them. “Really? You’re okay with that?”
They all say yes without hesitation.
I let out a laugh of sheer disbelief. I just secured an extra $1200 of income each week.
They all tell me thank you before jumping back into conversations with each other.
Ingrid steps over to me, grinning. “You’re a hit, Bella. This group is officially in love with your coffee.”
I can’t help the cheesy grin I flash. “I can’t thank you enough for recommending me to your mom and her friends, Ingrid. This has been such a blast. And I can’t believe that they want to pay me that much money for home-roasted and hand-delivered coffee beans.”
Ingrid smiles and shrugs. “This group loves to spend money. Especially when they’re in a good mood and sipping on yummy beverages.”
I chuckle, still in disbelief. I still have a long way to go to fully replenish my savings, but if I can turn this coffee side gig into a steady stream of extra income, it would help improve my financial situation way faster.
“My mom is going to tell everyone about your coffee. You’re going to get a lot of business out of this, just wait and see,” Ingrid says, squeezing my shoulder in encouragement.
I’m grinning so wide, my cheeks hurt. I’m so excited about this.
“That bakery board was genius.” Ingrid nods to the massive wooden board on the marble kitchen island, where I set up mini croissants, small jars of jam, fresh berries, hazelnuts, and chunks of dark chocolate. “And all the different kinds of milk you brought.”
Next to the carafes are different types of milk in ceramic cups.
She turns to me. “I didn’t even know cashew milk existed until I came here to help you set up.”
I laugh. “Non-dairy milk options are a requirement in the coffee world.”
I go to check on the milk and notice the almond milk is running low, so I grab more from the refrigerator.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. When I grab it and see a text from Braden, I smile.
Hey, pretty girl. How’s the coffee tasting going?
My smile widens, heartened that he’s thinking me about it.
He left early this morning for an away game in Seattle, before I woke up. I’m honestly surprised he remembered I was doing the tasting today. I figured he’d be so focused on getting ready for the game. It’s really sweet that he thought about me.
Me: So far, so good. I’ve made more in tips after just an hour here than I do working a single night at Spanky’s.
Me: A nd guess what? I just secured a cool new side gig from this! The ladies here like my coffee so much that they want to pay me a ridiculous amount of money for home-roasted beans! How cool, right?!
Braden: That’s freaking awesome! Way to go!
I smile at my phone at how excited Braden is for me. It feels good to share this news with him and to see him get excited for me.
Braden: Your coffee must be really damn good. Will you make me a cup when I get back?
Me: Sure, but it’ll cost you .
Braden: I’m willing to pay.
Me: Not money ;)
Braden: You want me to pay you in the bedroom, pretty girl?
I send a cheeky smile emoji and bite back a grin while watching those three gray dots appear on the phone screen.
Braden: Your wish is my command
My clit pulses. I put my phone away, refill the almond milk, and try not to think about just how badly I want Braden right now. He’ll be gone for away games for the next few days, so I’ll have to wait a while before we can fool around again.
I think about two nights ago, when we were last together. That was the night that he and his team won against Minneapolis and he waited until the end of my shift at Spanky’s to drive me home. Things between us were super flirty that night, and we were definitely going to hook up after I finished working, but then Braden found out that his dad had badmouthed him on a popular sports podcast.
I think about the broken expression on his face, the sadness in his eyes. How he was so upset that he couldn’t even talk about it at first.
My chest aches just remembering it. A second later, tiny pricks of anger spike up inside of me. I still can’t believe his dad would do something so cruel. What kind of a parent insults his own kid on a public platform like that?
Even though my parents and I aren’t getting along right now, they’d never do something like that to me, ever.
What the hell is wrong with Braden’s dad? How could he treat his son that way?
I think about how after comforting him, we fell asleep cuddling on the couch together. To know that Braden felt comfortable enough with me to be vulnerable, to open up about the pain he was experiencing, to trust me enough to tell me exactly how he was feeling and what he needed in that moment…it made me feel special. It made me feel like I’m important to him.
Warm courses through me at the same time as sparks fly up my chest. And then I silently remind myself not to get too carried away—not to catch feelings.
I’m Braden’s friend, neighbor, and hookup. Nothing more.
My phone buzzes again with a text. When I pull my phone out of my pocket and skim Braden’s text, a giddy grin splits my face. I bite it back and and attempt to rein in my expression, hoping no one noticed.
But I can’t help it. Braden’s text is driving me wild .
Braden: I’ve got a game tomorrow. You know what that means, don’t you, pretty girl? I need to see you naked and touching yourself on video chat. I need to see you playing with those gorgeous tits and that perfect pussy, crying out my name, until you’re soaking wet and begging to come. Would you do that for me?
I quickly type my reply before I get back to work.
God, yes.