8. Jules
Jules
“ S o last night was interesting,” I tell Lissette as I’m hauling cans of paint from the back of my car into the new shop. I’ve got my cell phone propped between my ear and my shoulder while I unload.
“Do tell.”
“I met my new neighbor.”
“Oh, really? How’d that go?”
“Turns out, we kind of know him. He’s a firefighter. Came in with those guys a couple of days ago. Sat with Chief Hawkins. The one with the kid.”
“Oh, really? Any potential?” Leave it to Lissette to immediately forgive all the ways we’ve been pranking each other and immediately ship us.
The irony that she’s so quick to jump to a relationship-potential discussion but refuses to read a romance is not lost on me.
Still, I ponder her question, making a mental list of pros and cons.
In the pros column, he’s incredibly handsome.
He seems like a nice guy who’s maybe had a bad run of luck lately.
We had incredible chemistry standing in his kitchen.
I could’ve sworn his gaze was a physical touch as he stalked into my apartment when I’d taken the crying baby from him.
In the cons list, he has a kid. I’ve known him to be cheap, gauging by the way his friends called him out on ditching a tab.
He could possibly be a player. Lord knows he’s got the looks for it.
And that motorcycle parked in the alley screams bad boy.
But the main thing is that he’s got drama and responsibilities that I want no part of.
“Meh, he’s got a kid.”
Lissette hums an affirmative in my ear as I head back out to where I’ve parked my car in the loading zone in front of the shop.
“Morning.” A young woman smiles and waves at me from across the street. I smile and wave back before she walks into a store directly across from me and flips the closed sign to open. A neon sign in swooping lettering comes to life announcing Sticky Sweet Bakery.
“So there’s a bakery across the street,” I tell Lissette as I pull bags of painting supplies out of my trunk, setting them on the sidewalk.
“Oh, you need to go meet her and see about doing some trading,” she says. “Maybe we could come up with some plans for both locations. I’d love to get a new vendor in here.”
I grind my teeth a tad because she’s trying to insert herself into my gig.
But instead of calling her on it, I say, “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to.
I knew the shop was there when I decided on this location.
” I return and haul another load. I know I need to talk to Lissette and create some boundaries.
But there hasn’t been a good opportunity.
“I haven’t had a chance to talk to the owner, but there’s gotta be a way to make this work for both of us. ”
I slam the trunk shut, hoping to move out of this negative spiral about the conversations Lissette and I need to have.
“Morning,” a deep male voice that may or may not have starred in my dreams overnight says.
I pop up and nearly drop the phone. “Hi.”
What I’ve failed to notice before is how rumbly his voice is. Is it always this deep and husky? Or is it only in the morning? And why haven’t I paid attention? “Uh, Lissette, I need to let you go.”
“Is that the neighbor? Girl. That voice…” My best friend is a horndog for a guy with a good voice. But in this case, she’s not wrong.
A thousand dirty things he could say pop into my mind, many of them involving praise and possession.
“I’ll call you back.” I hang up on her before she can say another word.
“Do you need some help?” Charlie is sitting on his hip, looking adorable in a pink romper. Her hair’s a mess, her curls standing up all over her head. She’s got a smudge of something on her forehead, like he tried to wipe her face but lost the battle of sticky fingers.
Cal has the pink backpack on over another white T-shirt and perfectly broken-in jeans.
“I’ve got it,” I say, as he takes the bag from me with his free hand and opens the shop door with a hip.
“Where to?”
“Uh, over there, in the corner.”
If the front view of those jeans was impressive, the back view is even better.
Why, brain? Why, libido ? Why are we sitting up and taking notice this morning?
If he didn’t have so much baggage, I might find an excuse to pay him another visit and explore this attraction, but Cal is a walking complication, and I have too much on my plate already.
“So, did you guys make it through the night?” I ask, propping the door open in order to make the transfers that much easier.
“All was good until the sun came up. And Belle woke up, didn’t you, sweetheart?”
Gah.
“Uh-huh.” She smiles shyly at me.
“That’s good,” I croak and begin sweating. It was the way he smiled at her when he called her sweetheart . I haven’t seen him as tender and doting, and it’s hella attractive.
“Yeah, we’re headed to day care, and after I drop her off”—he tickles her belly and makes her laugh—“I’m shopping. Again. I feel like I’m bleeding money on kid gear right now.”
“That makes two of us. Except I’m bleeding money trying to open this shop.”
He helps me organize a little more and then makes his way off, with Charlie blowing me kisses over his shoulder. I stifle a smile. She’s adorable, even if I hate to admit it.
It’s a pretty morning, and the sidewalk is filled with people going about their day.
I busy myself with supplies until there’s nothing left to organize.
And it’s not even nine a.m. I’m still hoping that the contractor got his days mixed up and that today is the day he meant when he sent the text saying he’d “Be there at eight.”
I place yet another call and head up to my apartment to do more organizing there. By lunch, I’m in a fit. I’ve called him no less than five times an hour. Finally, someone answers.
“Hi. This is Jules Lancaster with the coffee shop in Senoma,” I explain, my voice trembling.
Why am I nervous ? He should know who I am.
He works for me. “You guys are supposed to be working on completing the interior of the shop. The materials have been received, and I need to know when you’ll be starting to work. ”
“We’ve got a problem.” The guy on the other end of the line sounds a lot younger than the project manager I’ve been working with. “Boone isn’t here.”
“What do you mean?”
“He took off with his mistress.” The words are clipped, angry, and all I can focus on is took and off . “Kinda left us all high and dry. Haven’t heard from him in days.”
My heart stops. My stomach drops. And I break out in a cold sweat as it becomes increasingly hard to breathe. I’m opening my mouth, trying to find some kind of response.
“What about my coffee shop?” My response is ridiculous and ineloquent, but it’s all I can manage at the moment. I’m so screwed.
“Lady, with all due respect. I don’t give a shit about your coffee shop. This asshole took off with a half million dollars and my wife.”
“Who are you?”
“That’s not important. I only answered the phone in case it was someone who had an idea of where he went. But since he’s skipped out on you, too, I’m guessing you don’t have any more information than me.”
“What do I do?”
I can’t think. I’m numb.
“Can’t tell you that.” He’s curt and matter of fact like he hasn’t just rocked my world. “All I can say is good luck. Hope you had a contingency plan in place.”
The phone goes dead in my hand.
I want to vomit, cry, rage. All at the same time .
On jelly legs, I head back inside my unfinished dream.
I’ve failed before I’ve even gotten started on this shop.
Tears prick my eyes as the realization that two years of living with my brother, saving every dime I could muster, is lost. A huge knot forms in my throat.
I can’t breathe. The walls begin to close in on me.
I can’t stay here and face this a moment longer.
Can’t face the prospect of failing, at losing the last two years.
I lock up and walk. I don’t know where I’m going—can’t recall what I’m supposed to be doing—but staying still while my dream swirls down the toilet is impossible.
When I hit the end of Main, I turn back and take a look down the quaint street.
There’s a gentle rise; the sidewalks are well paved.
Colorful flower baskets hang from wrought iron light posts.
Storefronts with brick facades and large glass windows boast everything from boutique women’s clothing at the top of the hill, a hardware store across the street, to the bakery opposite my shop at the bottom of the hill.
The park a block further is teeming with moms and kids on the playground, a couple sitting on a white blanket that stands out against the bright green grass, having a picnic.
A food truck is parked at the far corner, with a line of people waiting.
It’s picturesque and perfect. I want more than anything to be a part of it.
I take out my phone but don’t know who to call.
It’s not like I know anyone in construction.
Maybe my brothers can call some of their friends.
And eventually, when I can make a coherent sentence, I’ll tackle calling the police and the Better Business Bureau and anyone else I can think of to report this crime to .
But right now, I can’t get past this awful feeling that everything I’ve been working for is about to crash and burn.
A memory of a time I thought I’d moved on from blasts in my head. My soon-to-be ex-husband yelling at me.
You’ll never be anything.
You can’t do it without me.
And I’m transported back to those days before I walked out on my marriage. To that time after the tornado, when I’d lost so much and my life as I knew it was over.
“Hey, Jules. Are you okay?” A big, warm hand wraps around my arm and tugs me a step backward, out of harm’s way, and out of the memory.
The fog of my situation lifts as I look into warm blue eyes.
Cal, the obnoxious, sexy-voiced bad boy, expert jeans filler, is watching me with such a look of concern written on his face.
I bet he gives the best hugs.
It’s the weirdest thought to ever cross my mind. I don’t know that I like him. He doesn’t seem to like me. We’re barely getting along after one night of a truce.
But as I peer up at him on the picturesque street, he looks like a bonafide hero.
It’s a stupid thought, but right now, all I want is to crumble into that fictional hug and let someone else face this shit show.
“Not really.”