Brewing Love in Pelican Point (Pelican Point #11)

Chapter 1

Wyatt

The bell above the front door chimes, loud and sharp over the rhythmic clatter of coffee beans falling into the hopper of my roaster, cutting through my peaceful silence.

My hand jerks, moving the mouth of the fifty-pound bag I’m holding, and beans scatter across the floor like little green marbles.

I glare toward the entrance, wondering who on earth is waiting in the lobby. Today is roasting day, so nobody should be here. I really need to start locking that door.

"Helllllllloooooooo! Is anyone here?" The woman’s voice has a nasal quality that sets my teeth on edge.

"Gladys, are you sure we have the right place? This doesn't look like a coffee shop. It's way too quiet."

"Of course we do, Joan. She said it was next door, remember? And he's supposed to give us a tasting." A gasp. "Oh, wow! Look over there at all the different coffees. I hope we're trying these today."

I grimace, my mind racing. Tastings? What the hell?

I’ve never held a tasting, and I don’t intend to start today.

Grumbling, I set the bag down and shove through the swinging door to the storefront, already composing my "we’re closed, dammit" speech.

I spot them hovering by my product shelves on the far wall and make my initial assessment: four women, platinum gray-haired, probably in their early eighties, wearing enough spandex and neon to be visible from space.

And they've descended on my carefully arranged coffee display like seagulls on an unattended sandwich.

"Oh, I love this one." The tallest, dressed in head-to-toe bright blue, has my Caribbean blend pressed against her nose. She inhales as if she's trying to absorb it through her sinuses. "It reminds me of a Jamaican sunset. I hope we try this one, too."

Jamaican sunset? I bite back a scoff. Although, I have to admit it’s not a bad marketing slogan.

I fold my arms and brace my legs, taking a moment to wipe the scowl off my face and replace it with my “shopkeeper” neutral mask. The door, after all, was unlocked, and they are elderly women. "Can I help you ladies?"

All four turn in unison, their wide-eyed expressions shifting from browsing mode to something far more unsettling: pure delight. So much for my naturally intimidating presence.

"Oh, my." Neon Pink leans toward Highlighter Orange, a hand raised in the universal gesture of a stage whisper. "She didn't tell us he was so handsome. Why in the world is she fighting with him? I'd be trying to get in his pants."

The other three murmur in agreement like a Greek chorus.

My shoulders tense. I have no fucking clue what they're talking about. I also have no idea why they're eyeballing me like I'm the last cinnamon roll at a buffet.

"Flo, hush!" Lime Green jabs her elbow into Flo's ribs. "We're not supposed to mention her, remember? Don’t forget the mission."

What the fuck? This is getting more suspicious by the second, and my patience is wearing thin.

"Shhhh!" The taller one, aka Blue Raspberry, steps forward waving a piece of paper at me as if it’s a court summons. "We're here for your tasting, young man." She surveys the empty room with obvious satisfaction. "Looks like we hit the jackpot. We’re the first to arrive."

I blink. "I hate to disappoint you, ladies, but you have the wrong place. I don't do tastings." I pause for emphasis, taking a step forward. "Ever."

She purses her pink-stained lips and glances at the flyer. Her eagle-eyed gaze shoots to the sign above my head then zeroes back on me.

"No, we have the right spot." She holds the flyer up so I can read it. "This is the address."

"Let me see that." I snatch it from her hand, my eyes scanning quickly. Sure enough—a coffee tasting and dessert pairing for the first ten customers. Today at three PM. Fuck!

The amateurish design and bad clipart looks like something from 2003, and there are at least three misspellings, including my own damn business name.

"Rectal Roasters" isn't even phonetically close, and if this had been anyone else but me, I’d be laughing my ass off.

The only thing correct is my logo at the top.

"Where did you get this?" I don’t bother smoothing the edges from my voice.

"A little bird told us about it." Blue Raspberry beams. "So we scooted our boots up from Hibiscus Harbor just for this." She glances around expectantly. "Which coffee are we tasting first? Oooh… I hope at least one pairing is with lemon biscuits!"

A little bird, huh? I throw a glare to my left, hoping it reaches the spawn of Satan currently brewing her witches potion on the other side of the brick wall. She probably has a shit-eating grin on her face right now.

This has Merri Gallagher written all over it and clearly her latest volley in the prank war raging since we were kids.

But this one is below the belt, and she knows it.

The woman is aware how much I value my peace and routine, and she will pay dearly for this interruption.

I don't know how yet, but it will be devastating and swift.

"Ladies, I regret to inform you that today's tasting has been canceled.

" I don't regret it at all. "But since you drove all the way from Hibiscus Harbor, I'll let you each grab a bag of coffee on the house.

" I gesture toward the display. "Pick whatever you want, and quickly, please. I have beans to roast."

And unholy vengeance to wreak upon a certain pain in my ass.

Instead of fallen faces as one would expect, they each grin brazenly, not even pretending disappointment.

"Well, that's a darn shame." Neon Pink is already shuffling toward the display, her tone suggesting it is not, in fact, a shame at all. "But I'd love to try this one."

What follows is the longest coffee selection process in recorded history. They sniff. They compare. They consult. One of them puts a bag back, picks it up again, then switches it for a third option. The sound of my teeth grinding can probably be heard in the next town.

Finally, they make their choices, and I herd them out with a wave that probably looks more like a shooing motion. Because it is.

I flip the closed sign behind them and snarl in the direction of The Sassy Siren. A dozen revenge scenarios flash through my mind, each pettier and more satisfying than the last.

Actually, screw planning. That’s for people with patience, and I have none.

I unlock the door and storm out, heading for the brewery’s entrance.

The taproom is dark, warm, and smells of hops and malt.

It’s not unpleasant, I'll admit, though I'd sooner drink motor oil than tell Merri that.

I scan the space, ready to unleash hell, and stop dead in my tracks.

There they are. All four of the Neon Brigade, sitting at the bar with pint glasses in hand, cackling like a coven of witches. And across from them, behind the bar and laughing hardest of all, is Merri Gallagher.

She spots me, and her light green eyes sparkle with glee. "Wyatt! What a lovely surprise. Ladies, you remember my neighbor, don't you?"

"Oh, yes," Blue Raspberry says, raising her glass to me. "Such a charming young man. Very handsome and burly if you ask me. And generous with the free coffee."

A vein pulses in my temple. "You enlisted civilians, Gallagher. That's a new low, even for you."

Merri props her chin on her hand, all innocence and guile.

"I have no idea what you're talking about.

These lovely ladies are part of my Aunt Patty's walking club.

They just happened to be in the area and wanted to check out the local businesses.

" She bats her eyelashes at me. "Is it my fault you advertised a tasting event you couldn't deliver? "

"I didn't—" I clench my jaw so hard I'm surprised my teeth don't crack. "You know damn well I didn't advertise anything."

"Hmm." She taps her finger against her lips that are a lush, soft pink today, not that I'm noticing. "Sounds like quite the mystery. Maybe you should hire a detective to get to the bottom of it."

The ladies titter, and tension coils at the base of my skull.

"This isn't over," I growl, pointing a finger. "You’ve crossed a line. Bringing in outside help violates the rules of engagement."

Merri slides around the bar and saunters toward me. She's wearing khaki shorts that hug her trim curves and highlight those long, toned legs. The Sassy Siren t-shirt she’s sporting is tight enough to be distracting.

She stops about a foot away, tilting her head back to meet my gaze. Even in her work boots, she barely reaches my chin.

"There are no rules, Wyatt the Riot." Her voice is low, meant just for me. "Did you think I wouldn’t figure out who plastered my phone number all over the men’s bathrooms in Pelican Point?

" Her fingernail digs into my chest. "There never have been rules, so don’t pretend you’ve been following any.

Besides, if you can't handle a little creative warfare, maybe you should surrender now. "

I lean down until our faces are inches apart.

I can smell her perfume—something citrusy that has no business smelling that good.

"Marines don't surrender, babe. We adapt and overcome.

" I take another step closer, angling my head. It’s impossible not to notice how easy it would be to reach in for a kiss.

"And Rectal Roasters? Really? That’s low, even for you. "

She presses those lush lips together as if she’s holding back laughter and lifts a shoulder, unconcerned. But I spot the pulse hammering at the base of her neck. She’s not as unbothered as she’d like to seem. Interesting…

"What can I say? It had a nice ring to it." The glint in her eye holds no remorse.

"I’ll remember that for next time. And for the record," A slow smile stretches across my face as I edge even closer, not bothering to keep my voice down. "You just made this very personal, Merri So Hairy."