Chapter Thirteen
Annabelle
Chase was lost in whatever he was doing on his laptop.
Customers finished up their board games and brought their empties to the counter, slowly filtering out of the café on their way to whatever they’d planned for the rest of the evening.
He noticed none of it, his eyes intent on the screen, fingers flying over the keyboard.
I liked to watch him like this, when he didn't know I was looking. When he couldn't read too much into it. I loved the focus in his eyes, the way he was so into his work. He'd tried once to explain his new project, but technology wasn't my thing unless it involved an espresso machine.
It was something about coordinating social media posts and viral reach. The café had a Facebook page and I liked to post pictures of my baked goods on Instagram, but that was the extent of my experience with social media. Viral reach sounded like something I didn't want to catch.
It didn't matter; the important thing was that he loved it. It was clear that in the current upheaval of his life, work was his anchor. Work, and it seemed, the café.
He was here almost every day. It had gotten so that I checked the clock around seven thirty every night wondering when he'd show, feeling a little anxious if he hadn't turned up by eight.
I can't explain it. He wasn't my boyfriend.
For so many reasons he wasn't going to be my boyfriend.
But if I was being honest with myself, Chase was more than a friend.
What I felt for him wasn't casual. That leap of my heart, that flutter in my belly when he pushed open the door… They were trouble.
I watched him raise his head and blink as if brushing away the cobwebs, finally realizing the café was empty and we were alone. He looked over at me and, of course, the first thing he said was, "You have beer?"
I tipped the bottle back and took a long sip before I answered. "Not for customers," I said. "I don't have a liquor license."
"I'm not a customer since I haven't paid you for anything."
"Good point," I conceded with a nod at the plate on the table. "Eat your dinner and I'll think about giving you a beer."
"I'm not going to turn down that deal."
I rested my head back on the couch and stared at the ceiling, smiling to myself. Chase picked up his plate and bit into the sandwich, his eyes lighting with pleasure. I pretended not to watch out of the corner of my eye.
I didn't want him to know how much satisfaction I got out of feeding him. I knew he had Abel at Winters House available at all hours to make him whatever he wanted. And still, Chase came here.
I'd made the double chocolate cake with mocha icing for him. Relaxed for the first time in hours, I let my eyes wander around the room. My feet ached and my shoulders burned from hauling trays and supplies, but I was happy all the way to my tired bones.
"What are you smiling about?" Chase asked through a mouthful of turkey, bacon, and avocado sandwich.
I lifted my head off the back of the couch and took another long sip of beer. "I love this place," I said simply. "I love every inch of it. And I don't care that it's a crazy amount of work. I don't care that I don't have a life. Because I made this and it's fucking awesome."
"It is," he agreed.
It was. I'd worked in the café in high-school and college. I'd taken a job there my senior year to pay for my prom dress and I'd fallen in love.
From the moment I tied on my apron, I'd known this was my place. The rich scent of coffee beans, the hiss of the espresso machine. The chatter of satisfied customers and sense of community.
I'd loved the place from the start, but I'd always known it could be something more. I had a vision in my junior year of college and was already imagining starting my own place after I graduated.
I'd paid close attention to all of the details involved in running the business. Ordering, planning, scheduling, budgeting. I made myself indispensable to the owner, and in return she gave me more and more responsibility, allowing me to learn everything I needed to know.
When she'd decided to sell halfway through my senior year all I'd been able to think was finally. Finally, it's going to happen.
That last semester of senior year had been crazed, first putting together the business plan, trying to talk her into waiting while I worked with Aiden to get the money I needed, all while juggling exams and projects, making sure I did well enough to graduate.
All I remember from that period of my life is an overwhelming sense of relief when I had both my diploma in hand and my name on the front of the building.
Annabelle's Café.
The day my name was painted on the plate glass window, I'd started a long-term commitment that meant endless hours, financial risk, and sleepless nights. Sore feet and chapped hands. Early-morning alarms.
I loved it all. The exposed brick walls, the black iron of the tables and chairs. I'd loved painting the pipes overhead and choosing the faux antique tin ceiling panels.
Finding the overstuffed velvet couch I was sitting on. Hunting up Chase's favorite armchair in a consignment shop, purchased at a steal. Every piece of the café was a part of me, and I loved all of it.
Chase followed my eyes around the place as if seeing it for the first time. "Did you do the ceiling or was it here?" he asked, looking up at the vintage style tin squares painted in an antiqued, slightly metallic black. It was a subtle detail, but like most subtle details, it made the difference.
I grinned at my ceiling, then at Chase. He had a good eye.
Most people wouldn't have noticed the ceiling like he had.
"That was me," I said. "It wasn't very budget-friendly.
Aiden and I had words about it. But even he gave in when I convinced him how good it would look.
They look like tin—that's partly the paint—but they're made of an acoustic material that dampens the sound so it's not so echo-ey in here. "
“How long did it take before you turned a profit?” he asked, looking concerned.
“Almost from the beginning," I said and couldn't help smiling to myself.
"I was lucky. I’d worked here since I was seventeen, years before I bought the place.
I knew most of the regulars and they knew me.
I knew what sold and what didn't sell. I knew what people liked.
And I knew what people wanted that the old owner wouldn't do. "
"Like what?"
"Well, better coffee for one. She insisted that people didn't really know the difference and she went cheap.
But people do know the difference, at least some of them, and I got a lot of appreciation when I kicked up the quality.
The baked goods, too. She ordered out. I didn't have time to bake for her back then, and she was not good in the kitchen.
Her sandwiches were okay, but she always used too much salt in her cookies and brownies. "
"How do you use too much salt in brownies?" Chase asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
"I have no idea. But she did. She contracted out for the pastries and baked goods, but the margins were thin, and waste was a problem. She burned through money when she didn't have to. I do a lot better now that I keep the baking in-house."
"You do better because you bake like an angel," Chase said as he devoured the slice of chocolate cake with his eyes. It wouldn't last long once he finished with the sandwich.
I flushed at his compliment. "I've always liked to bake. My mom and I used to do it together. Some of my best recipes are hers, or things we made up together. I love being here early in the morning when no one else is awake and making treats people will enjoy all day long."
Chase smiled at me, a gentle, sweet smile heavy with affection and just enough heat to spark the tummy flutter that made me so nervous. I looked away.
He said, "You had good business from the first day, then."
"I did. Not like it is now, but enough to keep the lights on," I said distractedly.
Things with Chase were sliding off track.
We were friends. We had to stay friends. I already looked forward to seeing him too much. I knew what he wanted. I knew why he was here. And if I wasn't honest with him, we were both going to end up hurting ourselves. And each other.
I didn't want to do that. I loved his affection. I loved his attention. I loved talking to him. Being with him. I wasn't going to risk what we had over sex. I couldn't do it, and he needed to understand that.
I drained the rest of my beer and set it on the coffee table. The easiest way to do something hard is to get it over with. Like ripping off a band-aid. I braced myself for the pain and did what I had to do.
"I'm not going to go out with you," I said quietly. I rested my hands on my knees and stared at the open sign on the front door, turned inward to indicate the café was closed.
I waited for Chase to argue with me. To tell me I was wrong, that he’d talk me into it.
He didn't say anything, just watched me, carefully, confusion and a little irritation in those vibrant blue eyes.
Finally, he said, "Will you tell me why?"
I nodded once and tried to think. It was my fault I'd raised his expectations. I shouldn't have used him as a shield against Tommy, shouldn’t have pretended he was my boyfriend and thrown myself into his arms.
Touching him had been a mistake. I didn’t need to know how good it would feel to lean into him, his strength and heat, the kiss he'd feathered across my temple. His touch left me giddy and lightheaded and it wasn't going to happen again.
I couldn't let it happen again or everything would go to hell and I'd lose him completely.
I chewed on my lower lip, my lip balm long since worn away, and thought about where to start. Finally, I said, "I'm only going to tell you because I don't want to lead you on. I don't want to be unfair to you."
"Why don't you let me worry about what's fair?"
"No. You need to understand. It's not you. I don't really go out with anyone. Especially not customers. Never customers."
"Annabelle, I'm not just a customer. For one thing, customers pay for their food."
I made myself laugh and flinched at the hollow, forced sound. Chase's brows drew together. He knew I was faking and he didn't like it either. I had to get this over with.
"Was he a customer?" Chase asked, interrupting my thoughts. "The guy who messed you up so badly you won't even let me take you out to dinner?"
"Yeah," I spit out. "He was a customer. And then he was my husband."
Chase jerked back as if he'd been punched. I figured he knew I'd been married. It's not like it’s a secret.
His eyes hard in an expression that was both annoyed and territorial, he asked, "Was that him? Earlier?"
I hated that I had to say yes. Unable to force out the word, I nodded.
"How long were you married?" Chase asked, his voice carefully even.
He leaned forward as if he wanted to get up and sit next to me or reach out and take my hand. I dug my fingers into the cushion of the sofa and hoped he'd stay where he was.
"Only two years. We dated for a year and a half before we got married. He used to come in for coffee every morning after the rush. He was charming and sweet. Thoughtful. He started bringing me things. Flowers. A book he thought I'd like.
"He talked me into a date, and then another.
He completely swept me off my feet. Roses, limos, expensive restaurants.
He was in marketing for a huge pharmaceutical company and he made a lot of money.
I didn't like him because of that stuff.
He was a really good guy. We fell head over heels in love.
Whatever happened later when everything went to hell, I really believe that those first few years he was in as deep as I was. "
"What happened?" Chase asked, his words clipped, their edges sharp.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I mean, I can tell you the events that occurred, but I still don't know why.
We were together a year and a half before we got married and we never talked about things changing.
After the wedding, he didn't seem to mind that I kept working so much.
He said he understood that I was running my own business.
"Back then I was still trying to pay back Aiden and buy him out. Tommy was trying for a big promotion and he worked all the time, too. At first, our schedules matched. Then he got the promotion, and everything changed."
I stood up abruptly, needing a second. "Do you want a beer? I want another beer."
Chase nodded and I turned on my heel, escaping to the kitchen. In the two minutes it took me to grab two beers from the fridge and come back I tried to figure out how to tell the rest. I wanted to be honest with Chase, but I couldn't bear to give him the whole truth.
The cruel comments. The way Tommy would pick me apart, leaving me feeling like a failure. Like I was a bad wife and a bad person because I was selfish and self-centered and I didn’t know how to give.
I couldn't bring myself to be that vulnerable, to open up the worst moments of my life for comment and judgment. I still didn't understand how my sweet, charming, loving husband had turned sour and distant and cruel.
I sat back on the couch and opened the beers, handing one to Chase. I wasn't sure IPAs went with double chocolate mocha cake, but the flavor combination didn't seem to bother him.
I was going to stick with the facts. He only needed to know the facts. He didn't need a big sob story about heartbreak and tears.