Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
CHELSEA
T en Years Ago
I watch my daughter and her best friend as they sit at the corner table, devouring the vanilla cupcakes I deemed unsuitable for the display case. It’s like looking back in time. I remember sitting at the same table with her father. Well, not the same table—since the iconic Sheppard’s Soda Fountain was transformed into Chelsea’s Coffee House soon after my father-in-law gifted me the business.
It was meant to be a college graduation present for Ted and me. But the weekend before graduation, my husband got drunk at a party and drove his car off the side of the mountain, killing himself and my best friend’s husband.
A movement across the street catches my eye, and I glance out the window to see a construction crew hanging a new sign over Thorngrove Diner . I scoff when I see the new sign with TG’s Happy Hour printed on the face of a clock, pointing to two beer bottles at five o’clock. The last thing I want across the street from my shop is a bar.
My irritation fades when a man exits the front door and turns to look at the sign. His long-sleeved t-shirt stretches across broad shoulders and his jeans hug an ass that is much too perfect to be on a man.
The feelings of lust and attraction catch me off guard since this is the first time I’ve felt them in ten years. Even then, it wasn’t like this since Ted and I were friends from childhood. Our love grew from friendship rather than from the attraction of adults.
I reach for one of my laminated menus and fan my face as the man I’m ogling glances both ways before stepping into the street and jogging this way. The cool December air rushes in as the door chimes, finally cooling my overheated skin as he steps up to the counter.
“Welcome to Chelsea’s Coffee House. What can I get you?” My voice is steady—despite my racing heart—as I offer my standard greeting with a smile.
“I’m actually looking for the owner,” he says as his eyes trail down my apron covered body. “I wanted to introduce myself since our businesses are neighbors.”
My irritation returns.
Tony
I came into Chelsea’s Coffee House, hoping to make a good impression with the owner so she would vouch for me with her customers. But now all I can think about is getting to know the petite blond behind the counter. I don’t want her to tell her boss that I’m a creep, but I can’t stop my eyes from dropping down to take in her slight curves as I ask to speak with the owner.
Her flirty smile disappears as she puts her hands on her hips. “I am the owner.”
When Uncle Milton told me that the coffee shop was owned by a widow, I expected an old lady. I came over here, ready to charm her with my good southern boy manners and convince her to help me since I was trying to create something new like she did ten years ago. Then, I walked in and thought it would be nice to start every day with the sexy barista’s smile. Now that I know they are the same woman—and I’ve apparently done something to piss her off—I’m lost.
“Oh,” I say as I try to shake off my sudden nerves. “Well, howdy, neighbor. I’m Tony Grant.” When she rolls her eyes at my offered hand, I drop it and ramble on with my prepared speech. “I bought the Thorngrove Diner from my uncle and decided to transform it into a college hot spot. He said that you did the same thing here. So, I was hoping you would help me convince the local clientele to give TG’s a shot.”
“No.” She crosses her arms and the way they push her tits up makes it hard to keep my eyes on her face.
“Why not?” I ask as my brain catches up with her barked response. “I’m just trying to create something new like you did.”
“No. What you are doing is taking a family establishment and turning it into a place that will cause unnecessary accidents.” She shakes her head admonishingly. “I can’t believe Milton McCrea would have sold you the diner if he knew you were planning to turn it into a dive bar.”
“It’s not a dive bar,” I argue. “We will combine the atmosphere of a college club with a restaurant, serving diner classics along with a contemporary bar menu,” I spit out the verbiage from my bank loan application. “And as for unnecessary accidents…I’ve already signed a contract with the Thorngrove Cab Company to offer half-price fares to anyone that’s purchased two or more alcoholic beverages.”
“Oh,” Chelsea huffs, but I can tell she’s still not swayed.
“Let me show you what I’m offering before you dismiss it,” I say as a new idea forms. “The renovations will be done tomorrow. Come over for dinner and a Margarita. You’re a Margarita girl, right?” I raise a brow, waiting for her answer.
“Once upon a time,” she says with a sadness that I want to erase. “How did you know that?”
“It’s a gift.” I shrug. “I can usually guess someone’s drink of choice. It’s what makes me a great bartender.”
“I can do that too…just with coffee instead of cocktails,” she says as her smile finally returns.
“Oh, yeah?” I stand taller. “What’s my drink?”
“Macchiato,” she says confidently.
I usually just order a dark roast coffee with a splash of cream, but I’m not about to correct her as spins on her heels to make my drink.
Two kids come to stand beside me at the counter and I notice the little girl is a miniature version of the woman behind the counter. I hadn’t given much thought to Chelsea’s age until I remember the story Uncle Milton told me about the widow that started her business… ten years ago.
“Miss Chelsea,” the boy says. “Can Tracey go with me and my folks to the Bears’ football game tomorrow night?”
“Joeyyy,” the girl whines. “I told you I can’t go. You’re gonna get me in trouble for askin’ again.”
Chelsea’s shoulders tense at the sound of their bickering before she turns and slides my fresh Macchiato across the counter.
“That’s perfect,” I say before she can answer the boy’s plea. “You can come check out TG’s while your daughter is at the game.”
I beam with pride when I see the relief in her eyes. Most guys my age would be scared shitless of starting something with an older woman who’s a single mom, but I’m not most guys.