Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Cam
It’s pouring outside and I watch as a hooded man walks briskly across the street and opens the door.
He shakes his coat a little and pulls the hood back slightly.
And hot damn. He is very attractive. He’s tall and has dark hair and pale blue eyes.
He has thick dark lashes that would make any woman jealous.
He’s muscular but not in a Hutch or a Kasen way.
Why my two friends feel the need to constantly pump iron at the gym is beyond me.
My brain momentarily short-circuits and I imagine this mystery man lifting me up and slamming me into a wall as he devours my mouth.
Pull it together! I chastise myself.
“What can I get you?” I ask.
His hair is a little wet and has a slight curl to it. He pushes it back off his forehead and glances up at the menu behind me.
“I’ll have a medium salted caramel pistachio latte,” he orders. His voice is…well, I want to ask if he narrates spicy romance books because if he doesn’t, he should.
“Sure thing,” I reply as I get to work making it.
I go to say something to him about his audiobook-worthy voice, but the door swings open again and a very drenched Hutch walks inside. He shakes his head like a dog, droplets of water splattering everywhere.
“Hutch!” I admonish.
“For the love of…” he groans and grabs my mop from around the door to the kitchen. He wipes up the water and places it back.
Raspy-deep-voice mystery man watches him. His gaze flickering between us.
“My lady,” Hutch says, bowing slightly.
I roll my eyes. “Usual?” I ask as I hand my new customer his drink. Hutch nods.
“Any luck finding that saltshaker that went missing?” Hutch asks.
I shake my head. My lucky saltshaker has been missing for a week now.
“Bummer,” he replies.
I glance back over at the mystery man. My inner twentysomething-year-old Cam desperately wants to write my number on the cup I’ve handed this man. But somehow, I muster all my maturity and refrain.
“Here you are. Anything else?” I ask as I ring him up.
He shakes his head and taps his card on the reader.
“Thanks,” he mutters as he turns and takes a seat by the window, pulling out his phone and typing away.
With a shrug, I turn my attention back to Hutch.
“So, any luck today?” I ask, nodding toward the park.
“Nope,” he sighs and grabs a napkin, wiping the water off his face.
The door swings open again and Jocelyn, who works at the bookstore across the road, walks inside. She sets her umbrella by the door.
“I didn’t know we had a monsoon season so late in the year,” she grumbles.
Hutch chuckles. “What? You want that to be snow? We’d be stuck inside for days.”
“Still, I’d love to see the sun. It’s been like four straight days of this,” she protests as she motions outside.
“Fair. I hear the day after tomorrow is supposed to be nice,” he says. He’s looking at her intently and I just know they have a crush on each other. I wish they’d just hook up already.
“I hope so,” she answers before turning to me. “Can I get two of the daily specials?” she asks.
“Sure thing,” I reply as I set Hutch’s coffee down.
My gaze darts to the mystery man and I find him watching me. I freeze for a millisecond and then give him a smile and pretend that I’m not completely disarmed by him.
Jocelyn looks over her shoulder and then leans over the counter.
“Uh, who is bachelor number one?” she whispers.
Hutch leans over her. And I mean that literally. He is so tall and she is so short that he leans all the way over her.
“What are we whispering about, ladies? You know I love gossip almost as much as Drew,” he says in a low voice.
Jocelyn giggles and elbows him and then he wraps an arm around her middle and lifts her from the floor as if she’s a feather.
“Cut it out,” she laughs.
He sets her down. “But seriously, what’s the tea?”
My eyes flick back over to the mystery man. He stands and pulls his hood back up and walks out into the now lessening rain.
“Holy shitballs!” Hutch says loudly.
Jocelyn slaps her hand over his mouth and he bites her finger.
“Ewww! Gross,” she mutters as she pulls her hand away.
“What?” I ask, finishing Jocelyn’s drinks and setting them on the counter.
“You don’t know who that is?” he asks as he looks at me.
I shake my head, frowning as I try to place the man.
“That,” he starts and points toward the door, “is Fletcher McDowell.”
I grip the counter because I feel woozy.
There’s no way. Fletcher has to be a troll.
Anyone related to the McDowells must be ugly because that would make sense.
They are literally trying to put me out of business with their new shop across the street.
Fletcher most certainly cannot be that attractive.
Damn it! I just started developing a crush on my mortal enemy.
* * *
“And he just left?” Roxy asks. Roxy, my neighbor who owns the bookstore directly across the street, is waiting on her order and we are gossiping about Fletcher McDowell’s visit a few days ago.
“Yep. He’s a total creeper,” I state as I add the milk to the lattes she ordered for her and Jocelyn. Those two have become my best customers and they always send their customers over to me.
“What are we going to do?” she questions while picking at a lavender, lemon, blueberry glazed muffin.
“I think I need everyone’s advice,” I declare as I hand her the drinks. And by everyone, I mean my whole building. Above Roxy’s bookstore are five more floors of apartments, and their inhabitants have become my closest friends.
“We’ll figure something out,” she says.
“Max suggested some books to read,” I state as I wipe my counter.
She gives me a pointed look. “You’re still talking with him. Why don’t you two just go out? It’s been months.”
I shrug. “I don’t think it’d work out, and plus, I’d hate to lose him as a friend. He’s a jackass about certain things, but he’s a good guy and a great listener.”
She shakes her head at me as she takes the drinks and the bag of muffins with her. She turns her head when she’s at the door. “Don’t forget to have a little fun. You’ve made this place your whole life. Make sure to still enjoy the other parts of your life.”
She’s not wrong. I’ve been putting all my energy into this.
It’s hard work and I’m trying to figure it all out.
My older brother, Winston, and my parents have always babied me.
This place was a way to prove to them that I’m capable all on my own.
But I haven’t left time for anything other than our apartment building’s weekly happy hours and an occasional ladies’ night at my neighbors’ apartment.
So I guess if socializing with women forty years older than me is considered an extracurricular, then I’m living large.
I sigh. Even my oldest neighbors, Margie and Cornelia, date.
“See you later,” Roxy calls out as she opens the door and I watch her cross the street.
“Fuck,” I mutter. I forgot to change my menu by the front door. I like to add new specials every week. I go in the back and print out the latest list of specialty items.
Grabbing the keys to the small glass cabinet that the menus hang in by the door, I go and unlock it. I notice movement to my right. Out of the corner of my eye, I see it’s none other than Fletcher McDowell in the flesh. He’s wearing a suit today and is definitely not here incognito.
“Spying again?” I ask as I change the menu by the door. I don’t bother looking up at him.
I can tell he has stopped walking based on the silence. I finish hanging the menu and glance over and our gazes lock. I glare at him.
Then for reasons that escape me, I decide to ignore him and walk inside and around my counter. He follows me. I start placing baked goods on the counter.
“You want to take these and try to recreate them?” He doesn’t move. “No? Oh, maybe you want my latte recipes?” I walk over to the wall and point to the ingredients under each item.
This time he does move. In three giant strides, he steps in front of me. My eyes stay locked on his, although now my head has to tip up to see him.
I jut my chin out defiantly.
“I’d like to make you an offer,” he states.
Now, I’m aware of all those redhead cliches. The ones that say we have a fiery temper. And I absolutely hate following the stereotype. And I hate this man for making me. But his words turn me into a raging person that may resemble a trapped lion.
“An offer of what?” I say through gritted teeth.
“I’d like to buy your café,” he says in that deep, raspy voice. Only now, I find it grating instead of sexy. Fuck him.
“It’s. Not. For. Sale,” I manage. My temper is barely staying in check. I’m three seconds away from a total epic meltdown that would rival the Hulk.
“Everything is for sale,” he says and then adds, “For the right price.”
“That’s it. Get out. Get the fuck out,” I blurt out, immediately regretting letting this asshat push me to lose my cool.
He raises one eyebrow, as if to say he didn’t think I had it in me, and then he raises one hand in one of those “calm down” motions.
“The offer will stay on the table for thirty days. But know that I have enough money to put you out of business even if I don’t buy your café.”
I hate that his words are true. I hate Fletcher McDowell.
I point to the door.
“You want a war, Mr. McDowell?” I raise an eyebrow to mirror him. “You got one. This neighborhood is loyal and no amount of dirty money will change that. So best of luck.”
His lips twitch slightly. Is this motherfucker laughing at me?
I point to the door again and this time he turns and leaves without looking back.
I shake a little when the door closes. I need a plan and I need one now.
I text Max.
Me: How do you take down a competitor?
Max: Now we’re talking.
Me: I’m serious.
Max: Friends close, enemies closer.
Me: Yeah, yeah. I just…ugh!
Max: Did you read the books I suggested?
Me: I skimmed them.
Max: So, how are you going to find the chink in the armor?
Me: I need to think about it, but I was hoping you had a brilliant idea.
Max: Well, I still think you should keep your enemy close, but if you are completely opposed to that, then figure out a way you can outsmart them and then rebrand yourself in a way they don’t see coming.
Me: (thinking emoji) Not a bad idea.
Max: (smart emoji)
Me: (eye-rolling emoji)