Chapter 7
Chapter 7
THE FOLLOWING DAY WENT much the same as the previous one had at the café: on my feet most of the day, baking, cleaning, washing dishes, serving customers, busy, busy, busy. Only today there had been no broken dishes and no handsome, flirty men distracting me from my new job. Which was a good thing, a very good thing. Or at least, that was what my brain was telling me.
I hadn’t known quite what to do with Marcus’s card, so I’d slipped it into my purse where it now sat, burning a hole in the side. Yes, he was cute and had made it clear he was interested in me, but there was no way I could go there, not since I’d given up on love.
What’s more, I liked him, which was a sure sign as anything he was wrong, wrong, wrong for me.
I’d shrugged my jacket on at the end of my shift and walked out into the empty café to say goodbye to Bailey. My feet were screaming at me, and I was almost cross-eyed with tiredness, having gotten up before any sane person should be out of bed two days running. Bailey was sitting at one of the tables, poring over her laptop.
“Hey, I’m going to head off,” I said.
“What?” She looked up at me, bleary-eyed. “Oh, sorry. I’m trying to work out something on the webpage. It’s doing my head in.”
“Here, let me take a look. I know a bit about html.” I pulled up a chair next to her, dropping my purse on the floor. “What are you trying to do?”
“I heard about this café that gets new customers through coupons. I’m trying to work out how to put that onto the website. It’s not working.”
“What are the coupons for? Free coffee?”
She nodded. “Yup. Just for a limited time, though, to attract new customers. I’m not running a charity here!” She smiled.
“Okay.” I put my hands on her laptop. “Do you mind?”
She leaned back in her seat. “Be my guest. It’s driving me insane.”
I sized up the website. The homepage had the Cozy Cottage’s name in the handwriting style I knew so well, an image of a cup of coffee, and one of the outside of the café. So far so predictable. I clicked on the menu tab and up popped the location of the café and its opening hours. I looked for other tabs, but there were none.
“Is this it? No other pages?”
Bailey nodded. “A friend did it for me last year. What do you think?”
I tried to be positive. “It’s a good . . . start.” I was no expert on web design, but I knew a thing or two about marketing. This website told people the Cozy Cottage was a place where you could get coffee. That was it. Nothing about the food, the character, the charm of the place. It could have been one of those Joe-average chains, for all you could tell.
“Okay,” she replied uncertainly. “What are you saying?”
I turned to face her. “Look, you just asked me to help you upload a coupon. I can do that for you, no problem.”
“You were going to say something else, weren’t you?” She scrunched up her face. “Is it really bad, is that what you think?”
I could have sugarcoated it, I could have told her that her friend had done an amazing job, stood up, and went home. But I cared about Bailey and I cared about the Cozy Cottage—not just because I used to come here to drink coffee and eat cake most days of my working life, but because it was an incredibly special place.
I chose honesty. “It’s not great. This place is unique. It’s not like any other inner-city café. There’s no glitz and glamour, just good food, great coffee, in a place that feels relaxed and welcoming.” I turned the laptop around so she could see the website. “This says none of that.” I held my breath. What was she going to say?
Bailey bit her lip as she looked at the screen. “It doesn’t, does it?” She let out a sigh. “I can’t go back to her and ask her to do it again. She did it as a favor for me.”
“Well, if you’d like, I could have a look at it for you. Try and inject some of the café’s personality into it? As well as upload the coupon, of course,” I suggested cautiously.
“Would you?” she gushed and I smiled. “Oh, Paige, that would be fantastic.”
“It’s the least I could do after you gave me a job this week. Oh, and those broken dishes.”
She laughed. “I think an improved website might be worth a little more than a few broken plates.”
That evening, I sat at the kitchen table, working away on my ideas. I was totally inspired. There were so many things Bailey could be doing to attract more customers. I researched marketing plans for cafés and saw the coupon idea Bailey had talked about. I added it to my growing list of marketing ideas as I perused her competitions’ web and social media pages.
“Are you coming to join me?” Dad called from his usual recliner in front of the TV. “ MasterChef is nearly on.”
“You watch it, Dad. I’ve got work to do.”
“They work you too hard, you know.”
A spasm of guilt clenched my chest. “Nothing to worry about, Dad. Just that deadline I told you about.”
I didn’t know how to tell Dad I’d left AGD and that I was now working as a temporary waitress at my friend’s café. So, I simply hadn’t. I needed to work out what my next step was before I did that, a fait accompli , as the French would say. That way he wouldn’t worry so much about me—and I wouldn’t feel like I was disappointing him so much.
I planned on researching recruiters and looking for another job in marketing, but to be honest, I was loving the mental break from it all. I knew working as a waitress at the Cozy Cottage was only a short-term solution, but I was enjoying it more than I would ever have thought. I had even learned Bailey’s well-guarded recipes for all those delicious treats, although she’d threatened to have me killed if I shared them with anyone else.
Needing a break, I reached into the back cupboard and fished out my secret tub of chocolate chip muffins. I looked at it and blinked. I was sure there were at least two left. Now it was empty but for some stray crumbs.
I walked into the living room, holding the tub. Dad was so engrossed in his show he didn’t notice me until I stood right in front of him, waving the empty tub around, my eyebrows raised in question. “Dad, either we have a mouse who can open Tupperware or you ate the muffins.”
He gave himself away immediately. “Oh, right.”
“Did you eat these, Dad?”
He pressed his lips together, looking up at me. Eventually, he nodded.
“Dad!” I cried in exasperation. “You’re not meant to have them. Remember what the doctor said? Limit your sugar, not devour your daughter’s secret stash of muffins.”
He hung his head. “Sorry, honey. They’re just so delicious, and you’re such a good baker.”
I knew he was hoping flattery would work.
I crouched down next to him, using the remote to pause the cooking show. “Dad, you’ve got to take this seriously. It’s your health at stake here.”
He looked up into my eyes. “I know. I’m sorry.”
I shook my head at him. “That does it. I’m not baking here anymore.” I stopped myself from adding “I’ll do it all at the café” in the nick of time. “It’s too tempting for you, and you obviously know my secret hiding places, too.”
“All right. Is the lecture over?” he asked, taking the remote from me.
I gave an exasperated huff. “It’s not a lecture, Dad. I love you. I want you here, not in some hospital bed, or worse.”
He patted me on the shoulder. “I know. I love you, too. It’s just you and me, huh, kid?”
I let out a sigh, thinking about my decision to give up on love. “Yup. Just you and me, Dad. Just you and me.”
Bailey had other staff scheduled in the café for the next two days, so I told Dad I was working on a special project from home and I set to it, designing the website and social media sites and devising a marketing plan I hoped Bailey would love. I knew I was going outside of the brief, but I figured I had the opportunity to really help my good friend out here. Plus, I was loving the work.
My vision for the café’s online presence required a few photos, so I reached into the depths of my closet and hauled out the old Canon I’d bought secondhand back when I’d fancied myself as a bit of an Annie Leibovitz. I knew exactly what I wanted, and one of them was a photo of a good-looking couple enjoying a cup of coffee at one of the tables.
Some may have thought I had some kind of masochistic streak when I decided to ask Cassie and Will if they could model for me. After all, they fitted the bill perfectly and already loved the Cozy Cottage. They were more than happy to oblige, especially when I told them it was to help Bailey out.
I reached the Cozy Cottage late morning, between the morning coffee and lunch crowds, timed so the place wouldn’t be too full.
“You do know it’s your day off today, don’t you?” Bailey said with a wry grin. She was looking particularly beautiful today with her dark hair piled up on top of her head and a pretty pale pink summer dress under her polka dot apron.
I pulled the lens cap off my camera. “Give me one of those fabulous smiles of yours.”
Bailey did as I requested and I snapped a bunch of photos of her looking like an Italian movie star from the fifties behind the counter, flashing her gorgeous grin.
When I lowered my camera, she asked, “I’m all for being the center of attention, but what’s with the photos?”
“They’re for the website, Facebook, Instagram, that sort of thing. Here.” I pulled out my rough plan for the website landing page and slipped it across the counter to her. Although I’d only worked in the café for a couple of days, it already felt odd being on this side of the counter for a change.
She looked it over. “It seems great, but I’m not sure I want photos of me all over it.”
“Are you crazy? You’re a huge part of the success of this place, Bailey. I think you’re a total asset and we should put you front and center.”
She wrinkled her forehead and cocked her head to the side. “It’s not about me, it’s about the Cozy Cottage.”
“I know, but you’re a massive part of that. In fact, without you, this place would just be any other café.”
She didn’t look convinced.
I scooped my plan back up from the counter. “Trust me, okay? I think you’ll love it.”
Her face broke into her trademark smile once more. “Sure. I’m looking forward to it, only, make me just a small part of it, okay?”
I shook my head. We lived in a culture of endless selfies and self-promotion, and Bailey didn’t want images of her beautiful face to dominate her new website. “Deal.”
“Oh, look it’s Cassie . . . and Will,” she said, her eyes wide. “Cassie and Will . . . here. Together.” She looked back at me as concern clouded her face.
I let out a laugh. “It’s all right, Bailey. I’m meeting them here.”
She blinked at me. “You are?”
“They’re modeling for me. I promised to buy them some coffee and cake in return.” I turned to greet them—and ignored the twist in my belly at the sight of them together.
“Hey, Paige,” Cassie said, giving me a hug. “It’s so weird not to have you at the office anymore. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too. Not the job, though.” I smiled at Will. Giving him a hug felt a step too far just yet. “Hey, Will.”
“Hey, Millsey. Looking good.”
I glanced down at my oversized white linen shirt tucked into a pair of skinny, yellow sixties-inspired cropped pants and slip-on silver flats. “Err, thanks” was all I could manage.
“Paige tells me you’re modeling for the new website today,” Bailey said.
“Sure are. We’re ready for our close-up, Mr. DeMille,” Cassie said, referencing that famous line from Sunset Boulevard . I knew: we’d watched it together. She grinned at me. I noticed Will gave her hand a little squeeze. I chewed the inside of my lip.
“Is it two lattes?” I asked, pasting on a bright smile.
“Yes, please,” Will said.
“And some cake. It wouldn’t be a visit to the Cozy Cottage without cake,” Cassie added solemnly.
Bailey laughed. “True. Your usual, Cassie?” She nodded. “And what about for you, Will?”
“Same for me, thanks, Bailey.”
While Bailey filled their order, I got the happy couple to pose at different spots around the café. I wanted them to look happy, relaxed, and in love. I got all three in spades and it was almost killing me.
Yup, I had definitely entered masochistic territory here. At this rate, I’d may as well have just gone out and found myself a Christian Grey-type billionaire and been done with it—although, I wasn’t sure all that torture room business was quite up my street.
After about twenty minutes, I’d had them sitting outside with their sunglasses on, sitting in the window, sipping their respective coffees, and at a table with Bailey and the counter in the background as they shared a slice of flourless raspberry and chocolate cake. In the end, the pain I’d put myself through was worth it; the photos looked amazing.
“Hey, thanks, you two. That was awesome.”
“Anything for you and Bailey,” Cassie said with a grin.
Once the lovebirds had gone off to feather their nests or eat worms together or whatever the metaphor was, I wandered around the café, taking some more shots. I spotted Helena, walking through the door. I hadn’t seen her since the day I left my job at AGD, and I was genuinely pleased to see her.
“Hey, Paige,” she said. She greeted me with a warm hug as I held my camera out to the side to protect it. “I heard you were working here.”
I grinned at her. “I get to hang out here all day.” I glanced around the café at the tables of happy customers, enjoying Bailey’s and my food, sipping their coffee. Would I choose the Cozy Cottage over staring at my computer screen in my old cubicle at AGD? Every freakin’ day of the year.
She rolled her eyes and let out a puff of air. “That must be so good. You’re so lucky, you know that? We’re all still talking about that Bride move you pulled on her highness. Genius.”
I laughed. I’d forgotten how much Helena hated Portia. Funny, it’d only been a few days and already it felt like some horrible, distant memory.
“You know what she’s gone and done now? Got engaged.” She shook her head. “That poor schmuck. He doesn’t know what he’s got himself into.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Portia’s engaged? Not to Juan Felipe, is it?”
“Ha! She wishes. He’s too much of a hotshot playboy for the likes of her. No, it’s some other guy. My brain goes into automatic shut-down mode when she’s on one of her spiels about how fabulous she is. She drones on about him like he’s Prince William, but I bet he’s just some social-climbing ass.”
“I bet.” In the past, I could have complained about Portia with Helena until the cows came home, but now I really couldn’t have cared less. She could actually be marrying Prince William, for all I cared, although I suspected his current wife may have had a thing or two to say about that.
“Hey, I’ve only got a few minutes. Can we catch up soon?” Helena asked.
“Yes, that’d be fun. Take care.” I gave her a hug and returned my attention to my camera as she walked to the counter to place her order. I was scrolling through my latest crop, happy with the way they had turned out, when I felt someone standing beside me. I looked up from my screen and saw the guy who delivered the coffee beans on my first day.
“Hi, Paige.”
I looked up into his eyes and smiled. “Hey, there . . . you!” I said a little too brightly. What is this guy’s name again? Geoff? John? I searched my brain, came up with nothing .
If he noticed, he didn’t let on. “What’ve you got there?” he asked, peering at my screen.
I quickly flicked the camera off and let it hang back down by my midriff. I wanted the new Cozy Cottage “brand” to remain for Bailey’s and my eyes only until it was ready. “Just a project I’m working on.”
He raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Sounds mysterious.” I noticed a sparkle in his hazel eyes.
I let out a self-conscious laugh. “Not really. It’s for the café website and stuff. I thought it needed some work.”
“Great idea. And between you and me, I have to agree. No offense to Bailey, of course. Last time I was on there, it seemed a little”—his eyes shot up to the ceiling, trying to find the right word—“dull. Not representative of this place, which is not dull in the least. In fact, it’s just about as perfect as a café can be, in my humble opinion.”
I couldn’t help but smile at him. He was right; the Cozy Cottage was special. It had such a welcoming feel, it would be hard not to feel at home the moment you walked through the doors.
“Exactly. Anyway, what are you doing here?” I glanced down at the image on his T-shirt of a smiling coffee bean and read it aloud. “‘Coffee is a state of bean.’” I shook my head and smiled. “Sweet.”
“Yeah, that’s the reaction us single guys are aiming for with women: ‘sweet.’”
I chuckled. “Maybe you should consider trying a different type of shirt, then?”
“And give up my trademark ‘sweetness’? Are you insane ?” He laughed. “In answer to your question, I’m here for the soup. Bailey makes a mean Mexican chicken tortilla.” He leaned in toward me and raised his eyebrows. “Even us coffee delivery guys need to eat lunch, you know.”
Before I had the chance to respond, Bailey greeted him with, “Hey, Josh. Great to see you.”
Josh . I needed to remember that.
He grinned. “Hey, Bailey.” He put his hand on my arm. “See you later, Paige the mysterious photographer.” He turned back to Bailey, and said, “How’s that new blend working out for you? I’ve had a lot of positive feedback from customers so far.”
They peeled away from me, deep in their coffee talk.
“Who was that ?” Helena asked, materializing at my side.
“Who? Oh, that’s Bailey. She runs the place. She’s my boss.” I grinned at the thought.
“No, silly. I meant the hot guy. He’s yummy.” She nodded at the coffee delivery guy— Josh —still deep in conversation with Bailey. “He looks familiar.”
“He does?” I looked at Josh. “Yummy” wasn’t quite the word I’d use to describe him. Probably more “forgettable,” if I was totally honest.
She stared off into space. “Yeah, he does.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I’d better get back. Her royal bitchiness will be looking for me. I’ll need this to give me strength.” She held her takeout cup up. “Great to see you.”
“See you, Helena.” I watched her walk through the door out onto the street. Only one Tarantino reference today. I smiled to myself; she must be in a good mood. I noticed the café was starting to fill up with the lunch crew. I wanted to finish up taking the shots I needed so I could get home to do some more work on the website.
I was standing in the corner, capturing as much of the café as I could in one final shot, when through my lens, I noticed a man walk in the entrance. My heart skipped a beat. It was Marcus. I lowered my camera and watched him. He was on his own this time and appeared to be searching for something—or someone.
Could it have been me?
My mouth went dry at the thought. He had definitely been flirting with me that day in the café, and he had given me his business card, clearly with the intention of me calling him. I thought of it, still burning a hole in the side of my purse. Maybe, since he hadn’t heard from me, he’d decided to track me down again?
I watched as he continued to scan the room until his eyes settled on me. I couldn’t help but look back at him, my tummy flip-flopping as our eyes locked. His handsome face broke into a grin, and he began to walk toward me, past the growing line of lunch customers and through the tables.
I swallowed. Hard. I’ve given up on love, I’ve given up on love. I was literally cornered by this guy, with nowhere to hide. But then, part of me wanted to see him, to stay right where I was. In the end, I had no choice, and he was by my side in seconds.
“Hi, Paige.”
“Hi, ah, Marcus.” My cheeks began to burn, butterflies batting their wings in my belly.
His expression became suddenly serious. “I had thought I might have heard from you by now.”
“Oh . . . I . . .” I didn’t know quite what to say. He was being very direct.
“We take dish abuse very seriously at the Society for Dishes, you know.”
“Society for the Protection of Dishes,” I corrected him, not quite understanding why I was doing so. Why did it matter?
He grinned his gorgeous smile. “I’m glad to hear you were paying attention.”
I let out a nervous laugh.
He glanced down at my camera. “You a photographer, too?”
“I’m just taking some shots for the café’s website.”
“Wow. Beautiful and talented.”
I bit my lip, trying not to blush. Failing, of course. This guy was funny, obviously interested in me, and persistent. He could prove incredibly hard to resist. “Ah, thank you.”
“So, do you think I might be able to get your number? Since you’ve obviously lost my card.”
My tummy flipped and flopped and flipped again. As I looked into his brown eyes, teasing me gently, for the life of me, I couldn’t remember why I ever decided to give up on love. Something to do with the One Last First Date pact and not choosing the right sorts of men. It was all a distant, fuzzy memory right now.
“I . . .” Wow, he was tempting. But I needed to stick to my guns. “Here’s the thing. I’ve sort of made up my mind not to date.”
He raised his eyebrows in question. “You have?”
“Mm-hm.” I nodded, pressing my lips together.
He shook his head. “Why would you go doing something stupid like that?”
Why indeed?
“Well, I’m not very good at choosing the right guys, you see.” The heat in my cheeks turned almost nuclear.
“Is that so?” He tapped two of his fingers against his chin. “Well, if I ask you out, I’m choosing you , not the other way around. Right?”
My heartbeat raced. Part of me screamed, he makes a very good point! And the other part? Well, in that moment, I couldn’t have heard it if it had jumped up, slapped me across the face, and yelled in my ear.
A smile crept across my face. “Okay.”
He smiled back at me. “So, what’s your number, Paige?”
Before I had the chance to change my mind, I gave it to him and watched as he added it to his contacts list, admiring his long, tan fingers as he typed.
He slotted his phone into the back pocket of his pants and looked into my eyes once more. “I hope to see you soon.”
My mouth went dry. “Yes, I’d like that.”
As he turned and walked away, I took several large gulps of air, trying to steady my heart, which seemed to think it was in an attempt to break the land-speed record. Marcus joined the line of customers waiting to order their lunch and smiled at me across the room. I smiled back, swallowing down a rising sense of unease.
What have I done?