32. Pop-Up Husband
32
POP-UP HUSBAND
Elodie
It’s a spicy kind of evening at Special Edition, since that’s our theme for this weekend.
Gage serves a jalapeno margarita along with a firecracker strawberry daiquiri.
“Oh! What’s bringing the heat?” a woman in rose-gold glasses asks as she takes a drink of the pretty red cocktail with the kick.
“Cayenne pepper,” he says proudly from behind the counter.
“Bring it on,” the woman says, then heads to a table with her friends. As they drink, they snap pictures of their reactions—a lot of hands flapping in front of faces and oh-oh-ohs moaned loudly.
“It’s the universal code for I drank something fiery or I’m feeling really, really good,” I say to Gage, feeling saucy tonight.
I guess good sex every day will do that to you. Every night too. Living with this man just has its perks. But there’s no time to linger in sex memories when I’ve got a line of customers eager for my contributions to our fiery Friday night menu.
I plate some of my cinnamon and cayenne pepper truffles for a pair of couples on a double date, I suspect, telling them, “Enjoy the heat.”
“We will,” one of the women says.
When there’s a brief break in the line, I turn to my… husband . I’m still getting used to that term. Temporary husband , I remind myself.
Like this shop is temporary. A pop-up shop and a pop-up husband. I grin.
Gage swipes a thumb across my bottom lip. “What’s that smile for?” He dips his voice. “You thinking of how I woke you up this morning?”
Electricity sparks down my spine. This man and his appetite. Well, it matches mine.
“Maybe,” I tease, remembering the sun peeking through the window, his arm roped around me, his fingers trailing along my belly. Then, in my still sleepy state, I pushed his hand between my thighs. It was a very good morning, even though we had to hustle out of bed before the kids woke up. “Or maybe I was actually thinking, you’re just like this shop.”
His brow knits in confusion for a few seconds, then understanding. “Thank you. I am spicy,” he says proudly.
I shake my head. “You’re a pop-up husband, I mean.”
I expect him to laugh, but his expression is blank for a moment. Unreadable. Then he offers a smile that feels like a cover-up. “That’s me,” he says, then turns to help an older man at the counter. “What can I help you with, sir?”
I paste on my shop owner smile too, but the vibe between us feels weird now as we wait on a new rush of customers.
Why did I blurt that out? Did I say the wrong thing? I was only trying to make a joke. To keep things light.
My mind clatters with worry for the next twenty minutes as I serve trays of spicy treats and Gage mixes drinks.
But an approving whistle pulls me from my dark thoughts, and I turn to see the face of…a rock star.
In. Our. Store.
Ethan Adair is here, and my mouth is a fish’s. I’m all agape at the sight of the front man for Outrageous Record two feet across from me.
With inked arms and soulful eyes, Ethan’s become a heartthrob, and he has the talent to back it up. His band has skyrocketed to stardom in the last few years. The woman by his side is the drummer for the band, and I’m pretty sure they’re a couple.
“Everything looks good,” he says to her. Tess, I think.
“Because you like it hot,” she teases, nudging his shoulder with hers.
“You know I do,” he says, then flashes warm eyes at me. “Hey there. Couldn’t resist checking out this shop when we heard about it on social.”
“Hi,” I say, a little breathy, eager to profess my adoration. “I love…welcome to Special Edition.”
And fangirling almost got the better of me. But he probably wants to just grab a drink like a normal guy.
Gage shoots me a curious look, maybe wondering what’s up. But now’s not the time for me to whisper there’s a rock star here. Two, actually.
Ethan surveys the menu with the chocolate offerings. “Apricot and chili pepper, enrobed in Aztec chocolate—sounds like my dreams.”
“Chef’s recommendation. You should try it,” I say.
“I’ll have that and the whole flight of chocolate,” he says, then turns to his girlfriend. “And you?”
“Make it a double. And let’s get one of each drink and we can do a taste test,” she says, and quickly, we serve them.
As the cool and beautiful couple take their trays and drinks to a corner table, every single phone in the house lifts and snaps.
Gage tilts his head, whispers out of the side of his mouth, “Who’s that?”
God, he’s cute, not knowing. “The front man for Outrageous Record, and the drummer,” I whisper surreptitiously.
His eyes widen then swing to the couple in leather and ink, then back to me. “Damn. Their songs are good.”
I set a hand on his strong chest, smiling. “I’m relieved you know their music at least.”
“Know them. Love them,” he says, and he’s a little starstruck. And that’s cute too.
I let go of my worries about my pop-up husband comment.
For now.
* * *
After we close, I check my phone and it’s lit up. As I wipe down tables, I read my texts, going to the group chat with the girls first.
Juliet: Why did you not get him to sing “Blown Away” in your shop?
Fable: Or better yet, write you a song! I can hear it now. “You Melt In My Mouth!” “You Make Me Moan!” “You Are My Truffle!”
Rachel: Ladies and gentlemen, Fable has a new career as a songwriter. Watch it, Taylor.
Fable: Please. We’re gonna duet “You Are My Truffle.”
Juliet: And you can debut it tomorrow night at the Outrageous Record concert in town.
Hazel: Wait, wait. What if we all go and beg him to write a song called “Pop-Up Love?”
I’m laughing as Gage cleans the glasses, asking, “What’s going on?”
“Apparently everyone posted that Ethan Adair was here with his girlfriend,” I say, bringing him my phone, showing him some of the pics of the rockers on social, then the texts from the girls.
He reads them quietly, and when he’s done, he says, “That’s cute. Your messages with your friends.”
Huh. I didn’t expect that warm reaction. I thought he was still irked about the pop-up husband comment for some reason. And you know what? If he is, I want to know. I set a hand on his forearm, covering his lotus ink with my palm. “Hey, are you annoyed about the pop-up joke?”
He takes a breath, and for a second I think he’s going to lie. But instead, he says, “I was. But I don’t even know why.” He gives a no idea shrug.
My heart races with worry. This is why relationships are scary. When you start to care, you can start to hurt each other. If he sees the real me, the less than flirty, less than fun, less than bright and bubbly me, will he still like me? But it’s too late for that question. I’m already barreling down the real path. “I’m sorry. I sort of blurted it out without thinking.”
“Don’t be,” he says, exonerating me. “It was short-lived.”
I grab the front of his shirt, tugging him closer. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
He drops a kiss to my nose. “We’re all good. I promise.”
I feel calmer. “Was that like a mini fight?”
His green eyes flicker with dirty thoughts. “No, but we can have make-up sex anyway if you want.”
“You know I do,” I say, and I’m glad we’re good, though I don’t understand why it bothered him.
But this time, I have to let it go for real. I’m his temporary wife, not his real wife. I don’t need to push him.
* * *
The next morning, as I’m sliding my fork through the delicious pancakes Gage made, Eliza clears her throat. “Attention! Today is the monthly beach cleanup with the Oceans Are Cool crew. Are you in or are you in?”
Over a cup of black coffee, Gage gives a decisive nod, then lifts a hand. “In.”
Amanda yawns as she shuffles past me, sniffing the pancakes. “What’s that?”
“Pancakes,” Eliza says matter-of-factly.
“No, I mean the beach thing.”
“It’s a volunteer thing I do. Because plastic sucks, and it’s everywhere, and it hurts the ocean and animals,” Eliza says.
Amanda perks up. “Ooh, I hate plastic too. I’m there.”
That leaves me and it’s a no-brainer. “Count me in.”
Thirty minutes later, we pile into my little car and head to the ocean, passing one of Sebastian’s shops along the way. I spot the half off sign that Gage told me about the other night. “That guy,” I mutter.
“He’s my mortal enemy,” Amanda seethes from the back seat.
I peer into the rearview mirror. “Is that so?”
“His chocolate isn’t even that good. I’ve tried it,” she says.
“It’s not as good as Elodie’s that’s for sure,” Gage seconds and I love their support, from their mouths and their stomachs.
“Nothing is, except for cookies,” Eliza says, and we shift to cookie talk and that’s far better than Sebastian chatter.
* * *
Early that afternoon, the Pacific is crashing gently against the shore and we’ve collected eighty-eight bottles, twenty-two cans, a couple dozen plastic forks, an empty can of chickpeas, an unopened can of chickpeas, a set of rusty fur-lined handcuffs, and a metric ton of takeout containers.
And a used condom.
I found that one next to a rock, gingerly plucking it with my gloves and trying not to gag as I tossed it in the trash bag. When we’re done, Eliza dusts one covered hand over the other then tugs off her racoon gloves. “Good job, team.”
She’s such a cute kind of bossy. Like father, like daughter, I suppose.
“We’re basically a turtle’s best friend now,” Amanda says, then her stomach growls loudly.
I crack up. So does Gage.
Amanda clutches her belly as a sea breeze whips through her blonde hair, making wisps flutter near her face. “I guess beach cleanups make me hungry.”
Gage hums thoughtfully, staring away from the shoreline toward the businesses lining the beach. “There’s a great vegetarian sandwich shop here in the Outer Sunset. We could get a late lunch before Elodie and I have to leave for work.”
My. Heart.
It’s thumping so hard. We’ve had a couple meals together as a foursome and they were accidentally vegetarian—pasta primavera and mushroom risotto. But I’ve only mentioned Amanda’s food preferences once—to his grandmother the first night of the pop-up shop.
And he remembered.
“Say less,” Amanda says, and we’re off for a family lunch.
I mean, a temporary family lunch.
Over sandwiches, Amanda asks about the menu tonight, and we tell her what we’ll be serving. “I wish we could go with you. I like serving chocolate,” she says wistfully, and I flash back to her comments from last week about how she enjoys helping in the store.
“I wish you could too, bug.”
When we’re done, we take them back to Zane’s house, where Gage’s grandma is waiting with cookie supplies and time.
Lucky Grandma.
* * *
That night, Amanda’s comments play on a loop as we work.
I wish we could go with you.
The hotel staff set up tables in the courtyard and we’ve hired some temp workers to help us serve, thanks to the influx of crowds from the chocolate viral video and the rockers’ pics.
It’s another busy night. When we close, we’ve exhausted our supply of extra jalapenos and chocolate, but I haven’t exhausted my brainpower. I’m still thinking about possibilities when Felix raps on the glass door.
Smiling, naturally.
It’s the first time we’ve seen him since the wedding. He’s been out of town for business this past week, though he congratulated us online.
Gage unlocks the door and lets him in.
“The Mr. and Mrs.” Felix beams, and the man couldn’t be happier we’re hitched. You’d think he was a matchmaker or something and we were his prize clients. “You must have really wanted to get married.”
“We sure did,” Gage says, upbeat and telling the truth, though leaving out a crucial detail. We have an enemy who wanted to tell you that we’ve been lying to you.
My stomach twists. The fact that Gage and I legit like each other is irrelevant. We lied, bold and bald-faced, to snag this coveted property.
And we’re raking in the business thanks to trendsetters coming here.
“We did,” I echo but I feel hollow. Guilty. Gage squeezes my waist, maybe a sign for me to perk up.
Felix strokes his beard, his eyes twinkling. “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to add another day. Maybe Sunday?”
I grimace privately, but before we can answer, his phone rings.
“Be right back,” he says.
As Felix steps into the courtyard, I turn to Gage with some hesitation over adding a day.
I’m relieved his expression matches mine.
Uncertainty.
It’s written all over his face.
“I don’t want to take time away from…the girls,” I confess.
“Same here,” he says and I’m so grateful to be on the same page.
“But I have another idea.” It starts as a kernel but quickly, a few minutes later, it’s fully formed.
* * *
The next Sunday, we’re in the shop with the girls in their aprons for the Sunday Special Edition: Hot Cocoa and Grandma’s Chocolate Chip Cookies.
And it’s open to families.