CHAPTER 2
I t was as if the Lord had taken all the best parts of a man, mixed them together, and came up with him. As Treva stood behind the counter and patiently waited for the couple to pick out their choices, she couldn’t help but eye the gorgeous man standing behind them.
He wasn’t Amish. At least, she didn’t think so. He was dressed kind of Plain, but it wasn’t a real match. Instead, he looked like he was balancing two worlds, which was a ridiculous thing for her to even be thinking about. Was it even possible to be both Plain and fancy?
She hadn’t thought so. Reuben certainly hadn’t.
Annoyed that her ex-boyfriend had crossed her mind even for a second, Treva smiled at the couple on the other side of the counter.
“Are you still deciding?”
“I’m afraid so, hon,” the lady said. “Everything looks so good.” As if she was suddenly aware that there were people behind her and her husband, she turned to the perfect man standing behind them. “I’m so sorry. I won’t be but a second more.”
“Take your time. I’m good.”
Oh! Now that he was standing closer, she noticed that he had a deep, scratchy voice! Unable to help herself, she glanced at him again.
She should be ashamed of herself, but how could she help it? He was standing right in front of her.
“I’ll take the scone . . . no, the coconut thingy . . . no, the cinnamon roll.” The lady sighed. “Maybe we should get all three, Steve?”
While the lady’s husband weighed in, Treva looked at the stranger again. He was wearing an expensive pair of sunglasses, a loose pair of jeans, and a plain white-colored shirt. There was no reason he should have caught her attention the way he had.
Or . . . maybe there was.
His blond hair under a ball cap was gorgeous. It was that perfect shade of blond—warm and golden instead of brassy. The scruff on his cheeks and jaw was one shade lighter. Somehow it served to make him even look more masculine.
Or maybe it was his tan.
Or maybe it was the fact that he was wearing worn-looking white Converse tennis shoes without socks.
He was so very different from either her Amish customers or many of her English ones, with their phones and trendy outfits. Unexpected.
“Treva, did you hear me?”
“Hmm? Oh, sorry. Nee . What did you want?”
“One of each of your scones. Chocolate-orange and blueberry.”
She immediately put one of each in the bag in her hands. “Here you go. Is that it?”
“Yep. Well, two black coffees, too, dear.”
“Coming right up.” Focusing back on her job, she tallied the two coffees and two treats, gave them the total, then set everything on the counter for the couple to take.
And then there he was.
Her mouth went a little dry. “What would you like?”
His lips twitched. “Coffee, please.”
“You need to be more specific.”
“Pardon?”
“Do you want a latte? Espresso? A cup of coffee? Black? Cream, sugar, Equal? Large or small?” She winked at him. “We need specifics around here.”
The corners of his lips turned up. “All right. I’ll have a latte. Large.”
“Sorry, but I still need more information. What kind of milk? Regular, low-fat, almond . . . ?”
“Low-fat milk.” He leaned forward slightly. “Do you need to know anything else?”
He was almost flirting!
Or, maybe he actually was. It had been so long, she’d almost forgotten how to flirt. “All I need to know now is what you want to eat.” She smiled. “Maybe an apricot bar? They’re the specialty around here.”
“Thanks, but no.”
“All right, perhaps a cinnamon bun?”
“Just coffee.”
Feeling a little let down that he didn’t want to try anything that she’d made fresh that morning—though she didn’t know why—Treva nodded. “All right. You can wait here or over to the side if you’d rather. It’s just me this morning, so everyone has to be patient.”
“Understood.” His lips curved up again. Not to a complete smile but to the hint of one. Enough to make her wish that he didn’t have his sunglasses on.
Before she found herself staring at him any longer, she quickly turned and got to work on his drink. Behind her, the door chimed and more voices filled the space.
“Hiya, Treva!”
Waiting for the man’s milk to heat, she turned around. And wished she hadn’t. “Hi, Mamm.”
As she turned back around, she could feel her mother make her way to the front of the line. “Excuse me. So sorry. Don’t mind me. I’m her mother.”
After a few folks murmured their greetings, her mother moved around the counter. “Honey, I came to see how I could help you.”
“There was no need. I’m doing just fine.” Well, she had been before her eager mother had burst into the room. She loved her mother dearly, she truly did. But Treva was trying to prove to her family that she could run this coffee shop on her own and do a good job of it, too.
She couldn’t do that if her mamm was constantly attempting to help.
“I know you have everything well in hand, but I had a few hours to spare.” Without waiting, she washed her hands, and said, “Did you want anything besides your coffee, young man?”
“No thanks.”
“Are you sure? My daughter makes all of these treats herself. She gets up before dawn so they’re fresh.”
He took off his sunglasses, revealing a set of blue eyes framed with thick eyelashes. “That’s great, but I’m good.”
Her mother seemed immune to his charms. All she did was frown. “Are you sure . . . ?”
Practically feeling the new tension in the air, Treva hurried to pour the hot milk into the espresso.
“It’s impressive that she gets up early to bake, but I’ll just take the latte.”
“I bet if you just tried—”
Treva finally intervened. “Mamm, don’t. He said he didn’t want anything else.”
“I’m just saying that a lot of men prefer the scones,” her mother said. “Or sometimes she makes a breakfast popover with ham and cheese.”
Wariness edged into the man’s blue eyes. And who could blame him? Her tiny mother had become the Doberman of coffee shop workers—never taking no for an answer.
“I’m so sorry about her,” Treva said. “Here’s your coffee.”
“How much is it?”
Feeling embarrassed about her mother’s pushy behavior, she whispered, “It’s your first time here. It’s on the house.”
“I’ll pay.” When she was about to protest, he said in a firm tone, “I insist.”
“All right. In that case, it’s four dollars.” They shared a smile. “I hope you enjoy your latte.”
“Me, too.”
She stared at him. There had been something telling in his tone. As if one simple cup of coffee meant something to him.
“Hey, Treva!”
Turning to the next customer, Treva attempted to regain some of her pep. “Hi, Monica. What can I help you with?”
“Four scones, two of each flavor.”
“I’ll get them, dear,” her mother interrupted. “You can get this handsome man his change.”
This was awful. She was in a terrible, terrible nightmare, where the most perfect man she’d ever seen had wandered into her life and her mother had scared him away.
“How much change do I owe you?”
“I gave her a twenty.”
“So I owe you sixteen back.”
“It would seem so,” he said in a low tone. It sounded serious, though his eyes were lit with interest.
Almost as if he saw something in her that he liked. Which she should probably not care about because she’d sworn off men.
At least she intended to. For the next five years.
“Here you go,” she said. Then, figuring she’d already made a cake of herself, she said, “Are you new here in town or just riding through?”
“I’m new.”
“Where you from?”
“Cleveland.” He shrugged. “Thereabouts.”
“Well, welcome to Walden.”
“Thank you. My name’s Jonny.”
“I’m Treva.”
“And this is your place?”
She couldn’t help but lift her chin. “It is. It’s small and it’s also on my family’s farm, but it’s all mine.”
“Congratulations. I like how you decorated it.”
“Thank you. I like it, too.”
“I reckon owning one’s own business isn’t easy.”
“It isn’t, but then again, neither is working for someone else.”
He grinned. “Point taken.”
“No offense taken, I hope.”
“Not at all. Glad to meet you. I’ll be back.”
“Thanks. I mean, I hope so.” Oh no! She sounded desperate and slightly creepy! “I mean, if you like the coffee, you should come back.”
“I’m sure I will.”
“Next person in line, please,” her mother called out.
Effectively snuffing out any hope of more conversation between her and the mysterious Jonny.
He smiled at her. Thankfully, looking amused instead of horrified. Then, with a slight wave of his hand, he walked back out.
“How may I help you?” Treva asked the woman in line.
“Did he give you his number?” the customer asked.
She blinked. “Pardon me?”
“Come on, Treva. He was staring at you like you were the main attraction in here and not your magical coffee or amazing baked goods. It was something to see.”
She’d thought so, too. Not that she’d ever admitted it, though.
“So . . . did he ask for your number?”
“ Nee .”
“That’s too bad. I was hoping I was witnessing love at first sight or something and that you slipped him your phone number.”
“That didn’t happen. And I’m Amish, jah ? So I’ve got no phone number to give him.”
“Bummer.” She leaned closer. “Well, I hope he comes in again, because man, is he cute. Okay, he’s better than that, right? He’s hot as a wildfire.” She waved her hand like it had just gotten singed.
Treva giggled at the woman’s silliness but couldn’t find it in her heart to disagree. Mainly because she was right. Jonny was truly something more than merely cute. Hot.
Which she definitely should not be thinking about. “What would you like?”
“It’s been a hard decision, but I decided on a large mocha latte with a chocolate scone.”
“Chocolate mood today?”
“Always, but you know how crazy-good those scones are. Seriously, you should box them up and sell them for fifteen dollars for six.”
“That much?”
“It’s not that much. Not for the grated orange zest and that chocolate you like to use. You should give packages of your baked goods a try, Treva.”
“I might.”
“I’ll look for boxes next time I come in.”
“Well, today’s order will be right up. Mamm, get Hailie a chocolate scone.”
“Coming right up. Do you need anything else, dear?” she asked Hailie.
“Thanks, Mrs. Kramer, but I better not.”
“I understand.”
Hailie smiled at her mother the way everyone did except for her. Like she was Betty Crocker and their long-lost favorite aunt all rolled into one. It was as sweet as it was aggravating.
“Thanks, Mamm.” As Treva turned back to the machine, she had to admit that everything really was moving better now that her mother had arrived. Why did she fight her mother’s assistance so much?
Was it because she was trying to prove herself to her clients and her family? Or was it more of a matter of her trying to prove her worth to herself?
Ever since her first small business had failed—right around the time that she and Reuben had broken up—she’d been having a hard time with her confidence. Now even the simplest ideas made her think twice.
So did every future business decision. It was like her regular, comfortable personality had gone walking and in its place was a new, quiet version of herself.
A tentative one. Almost shy.
Treva didn’t know if she liked this new version or not. Sure, she was more thoughtful and spent a lot less money. Those were good things.
So was the fact that her heart was carefully coddled and safe.
But did she miss being a little more impulsive and free-spirited?
She did.
She missed the girl she’d once been. She seemed almost a stranger now. She didn’t know if it was possible to ever get her old self back.
She reckoned it wasn’t. Too much time had passed, and it seemed much healthier to look forward instead of behind.
But sometimes she wished things were different. Or at least she was.