Chapter Eleven
ALLURE, COLORADO, HAD a way of pretending nothing ever went wrong. With its brick-paved streets, old-fashioned streetlights, and quaint townhouse storefronts framed by ornate iron fences, it was like the town itself was determined to stay charming no matter what life threw at it.
Birdie climbed the steps to Divine Intervention and caught her reflection in the glass door.
She was rocking her favorite neon-pink patterned leggings, a vintage yellow fringe vest over a white top, and enough turquoise bracelets to weigh down a deep-sea diver.
Her clothes had always been her caffeine and bolstered her confidence.
Normally, an outfit like this would put a swagger in her step and a Let’s go, world in her head.
Today it felt like she’d dressed for a version of herself that hadn’t shown up.
If ever there was a time she could use a little divine intervention, it was now. Her spark wasn’t sparking. Her internal compass was totally off, tilted on an axis of guilt, betrayal, and confusion, and no amount of colorful cheer or cocoa was snapping it back into place.
She squared her shoulders anyway and reached for the door, because no matter what else was wobbling, she and the shop had always held each other upright.
The bell above the doors chimed too cheerfully as she walked in, as if the universe hadn’t noticed she was messed up. Her besties were already there. The day just got a little better.
Quinn was behind the counter, hair and makeup model-perfect, the sleeves of her blouse neatly folded to below her elbows as she leveled trays with military precision.
Carly, one of Birdie’s two business partners, was perched on a stool with her laptop open, blond hair falling over one shoulder as she muttered softly at a spreadsheet.
Carly was an amazing partner, handling the company finances, negotiations, and legal matters, none of which were Birdie’s strong suits.
Or even her weak suits. Birdie was the idea girl, the customer magnet, and the resident expert at social media marketing and strategizing.
Their other partner, Birdie’s aunt Marie, had been the original owner of the shop.
Now she was a silent partner, off adventuring with the love of her life, Luis, and available by phone if they needed her.
Birdie and Carly took pride in the fact that they handled the business without needing to lean on her.
“Good morning, Heartbreak Barbie,” Quinn said.
Birdie had confided in them about her Viking hookup being Crew Hendricks and had told them what had gone down when he showed up at the ranch. They’d done what any good besties would do and had cursed him sideways, built her up, made her favorite truffles, and hadn’t uttered his name since.
“Good morning, Emotional Support Barbie,” Birdie shot back, and glanced at Carly, glad she was home for the winter.
She and her husband, Zev Braden, a treasure hunter, split their time between Colorado and living on a boat off the coast of Silver Island, where they’d discovered a sunken pirate ship several years ago and had been working the site ever since.
“And how’s our Spreadsheet Barbie?” Birdie asked.
“Great.” Carly glanced over and smiled. “You’re looking bright this morning. How are you feeling?”
“Ready to conquer the world,” she lied. No reason to bring them down with her. “I came up with some great ideas for next Monday’s special treats. Is Suck My Dip too raunchy for a chocolate-dipped banana?”
“Birdie,” Carly said with a laugh.
“That’s not a no,” Birdie called out in a singsong voice on her way to the back to hang up her coat and put away her bag.
Later that morning, Birdie was rearranging a display of mugs when the bells above the doors chimed, and a woman trudged in, looking like she’d gotten even less sleep than Birdie had. Birdie instantly clocked her puffy eyes and pained expression as what she’d coined breakup face.
“Hello,” she called out.
“Hi. I need chocolate,” the customer rasped. “Pounds of it. The kind that works like an epidural for the soul.”
“Or to heal a broken heart?” Birdie asked carefully.
The woman’s brow wrinkled. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to professionals.” Birdie had played armchair therapist to many brokenhearted customers over the years. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” the woman said emphatically.
Birdie silently counted down from five, knowing the relief of sharing was coming.
She’d only reached three, when the woman said, “My boyfriend of a year dumped me. He said I was too mired down in the real world because I want to have a family.” Her eyes watered. “I’m thirty-two. Isn’t it time to be invested in my future?”
“Only you can answer that for yourself, but I’m not far behind you, and I’m done dating for the fun of it.
Not that it’s been fun for the past year or two.
It’s been more like tiptoeing across glass, hoping not to be too much or land too hard.
” Except it hadn’t been like that with Ragnar.
She could finally be herself. But she couldn’t go there right now and said, “I’m kind of done dating anyway, because of jerks like your guy, but before I tripped that switch, I was definitely scoping out future baby daddies. ”
“Really? Then I’m not crazy for wanting that?”
“Heck no, and don’t ever let a man make you feel crazy for anything.
That jerk is yesterday’s news.” Birdie grabbed a basket and took the woman by the arm, dragging her toward the boxed chocolate displays.
“You are a literal queen, and he was just a footman meant to remind you how much better you can do.”
“I am?” the woman asked warily.
“Yes, and don’t you ever doubt it. You’re going to get through this, and you’ll be stronger for it.
I know exactly what you need. My super-special self-care package.
” Birdie plucked a box from the display.
“We start with a little sea salt and caramel, or as I like to call them, tear-replenishment treats, to put the salt back where it belongs. In your mouth, not on your cheeks.”
Snagging a box off another display, she said, “Dark chocolate chili truffles are a must for the spice he’s missing out on. The loser.” She put the boxes in the basket.
The woman’s brow wrinkled. “Chili and chocolate? Is that good?”
“It’s incredible. Decadent chocolate with a splash of heat that, unlike most men, hits just right every time.”
The woman grinned as Birdie led her to another shelf.
“This definitely calls for Moving-On Macadamias. They’re hard to crack, like your new VIP, invitation-only heart.
No more jerks for you! And…” She looked around, tapping her finger on her cheek.
“Aha. We can’t forget at least one of these.
” She grabbed an oversized chocolate lollipop.
“For those sucky nights when you miss kissing. It’ll keep your tongue busy. ”
The woman laughed. “You’re good at this.”
“They don’t call me Breakup Birdie for nothing,” she said as they headed up to the register.
Breakup Birdie? Quinn mouthed with amusement.
Birdie rang up the customer, gave her another cheery pep talk, and felt a little better as the woman left looking happier than when she’d walked in.
Quinn leaned across the counter and said, “You know, sometimes people just want sympathy, not a scorched-earth pep rally.”
Birdie waved her off. “I love you, Quinny, but if there’s one thing I know, it’s how to help someone survive that particular dumpster fire.” If only I knew how to help myself.
Quinn sighed. “I’m just saying you should be careful blurting out all that stuff and calling her ex a jerk. You don’t know if that woman is secretly pining for the guy or if she’s going to regret that advice in an hour, or a day, or a week.”
Boy, did that hit home.
Birdie turned away, her bravado slipping as Ragnar’s face barged into her mind, his deep-set eyes looking at her like she was something rare and special.
Asshole.
Hot yoga better work miracles tonight. She needed it to sweat the starch out of her before she lost her mind.
THE DAY MOVED too slowly. Birdie still couldn’t shake the image of the tall, bearded Viking with eyes that lied better than a politician.
She was furious that he was still taking up space in her mind and humiliated that the man who had ghosted her was at her family’s ranch, which meant she could no longer just swing by to scarf a meal without seeing him.
But worst of all, she was irritated that she was still hung up on someone who’d turned out to be her family’s worst nightmare.
When closing time finally came, Birdie flipped the sign to Closed and followed Quinn into the back room. She had a little time before her yoga class. Maybe she’d stop by her friend’s boutique and buy herself a pick-me-up on the way.
“See you tomorrow, Carly,” Quinn called into the office as she grabbed her coat.
Carly appeared in the office doorway and leaned against the frame. “Have a good night, Quinn.”
“I plan to.” Quinn put on her coat. “Cutter’s meeting me at Bar None for dinner. Have fun at yoga, Birdie. Text me if you spiral,” she said teasingly.
“I’m not going to spiral,” Birdie snapped, immediately regretting it. “Sorry, but I’m fine. I haven’t spiraled yet, have I?” At least not publicly.
“No, but at some point, chocolate stops being a coping strategy,” Quinn said as she headed out.
“Hey, Birdie, can we talk for a minute?” Carly asked.
“Sure. Just give me a sec. I had this great idea while I was talking to a customer. I want to dig through the box of retired molds in the morning to see if there’s anything we can bring back into circulation.
” She opened the door to the utility closet where they kept supplies that were no longer in use and squeezed past a box blocking the door.
“What is that?” Carly pointed to the box.
Birdie grabbed the container of molds and squeezed past the box again. “The chocolate fountain.”
“What chocolate fountain?” Carly asked.