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Nicole
? Only Fooling Myself | Kate Voegele
Liam groans as he takes a bite of the apple fritter I made.
It sends tingles up and down my spine. “Fuck these are delicious,” my work bestie adds in between chews.
“It almost makes up for the fact that Ellen is late. Again.” We’re sitting at a table on the second floor of Triple C with the rest of the staff.
The café is quiet now that it’s closed for the day.
I shrug. “I’m used to it.”
“When do you think she’ll finally show up?” Liam asks. He pulls his hair out of his tightly coiled man bun and scratches his scalp, letting his luscious long golden-brown waves fall over his shoulders. “I want to go home and shower. I smell like coffee.”
“We always smell like coffee.” I tilt my head back to look at him.
Even when we’re sitting, he’s still taller than me.
“We’ll be lucky if she shows up by four-thirty.
” Crossing my arms, I glare over to Angie, one of the other managers and my baking rival.
She responds with a sneer and sets down a plate of scones on the table, right next to my plate of apple fritters.
“Afternoon team, I made us some pumpkin spice scones,” she says with a sneer to her voice. “They’re so cozy and in season.”
“Quick,” I hiss to Liam. “Grab another fritter and brag about it.”
He chuckles. “Like you even have to ask.” He reaches over and grabs a fritter, taking a large bite out of it. “Oh my god,” he says loudly. “These apple fritters are fucking delicious. Apple is the superior fall food.”
I grin.
He swallows and leans in, his breath tickling the skin on my neck. “I’m not lying. You are the better baker.”
Angie glares daggers at us as she sits down. She slaps the back of her hand to the man sitting next to her, Darren, who is scrolling through his phone. “Babe,” she hisses. “Eat a scone and tell everyone how good it is.”
He shrugs and grabs a scone, taking a bite. “It’s fine.”
She tilts her head to the side. “It’s fine? Just fine.”
He shrugs. “What else do you want me to say? It’s fine. I’m not good at this.”
Angie groans and turns the burly guy sitting on the other side of Darren. “Brent? You should have a scone. I made them with love.”
Brent, the third and final manager at Triple C, shakes his head and sets down his half eaten sweet potato. He’s tall, like Liam, with a dark skin and dark eyes. His head is shaven. “Nah, I’m on the Paleo diet and I can’t have anything that wouldn’t have been eaten by a caveman.”
I eye him from across the table. “I didn’t know cavemen ate sweet potatoes.”
“It’s what the website said.” He nods. “It’s got complex carbohydrates and a ton of vitamins and minerals. It’s good for you. I’ve got another one in my pocket if you want it.” He reaches into his pocket and draws out another sweet potato, setting it on the table.
Liam’s eyebrows shoot up into his hair. “Is that sanitary?”
Angie turns her attention to Brent’s twin. “Trent, would you like a pumpkin spice scone?”
He looks up from the sugar packet tower his building. “No thanks. I’m on the Paleo diet in solidarity.”
She raises her eyebrows and turns. “Liam?”
“I’m allergic to pumpkin,” he says with a mouthful of my apple fritter. He winks at me.
Liam and I have been work besties for about nine months.
We trauma bonded during a particularly grueling shift filled with a never-ending barrage of rude customers, including someone who argued with us that Starbucks does their Americano better because they put sugar in it and a child who decided to wander behind the counter and throw Legos at us while the parents sat there scrolling on their phones.
Afterward, we went to Little Bennett’s to blow off some steam and swapped barista horror stories and fawned over pictures of our cats.
Somewhere between orange crush two and three, I developed a crush (pun intended) for Liam Walsh.
Maybe it’s that gorgeous Fabio hair, or the way he smiles with his entire face, not just his mouth, or the way he gives someone his full undivided attention when someone is talking to him.
Maybe it’s because we both love cats and coffee.
Maybe it’s because of the trauma bonding.
Regardless of the why, I am down bad for Liam.
But he’s heartbroken over his fiancée dumping him the day before his perfect winter wedding.
He cried about it after orange crush number four.
And two weeks later over old-fashioned number three.
And again, last month when I dragged him to the Maryland Wine Festival after our fifth tasting.
I’ve been so close to asking him out. After orange crush number three, after the second old-fashioned, and after the fourth wine tasting booth. But then he brings up his ex-fiancée, and all courage leaves me.
Why would he say yes to me when he’s clearly still hung up over her?
Footsteps and a high-pitched laugh herald the entrance of our boss, Ellen de Courtenay.
I glance down at my phone. “Holy shit,” I whisper to Liam. “She’s only five minutes late!” I pause, eyeing the slender woman behind her wearing a power suit and her dark hair pulled up into a tight bun. I whisper to him, “Why is Jazmyn Knowles here?”
“Who?” Liam whispers back.
“My uncle’s lawyer. She’s visited Little Bennett’s before.”
“You owe me twenty bucks, Nicole!” Brent hisses from the other side of the table, grinning. I stick my tongue out at him.
Liam elbows me. “What if we’re all being fired?” He asks. “Back in Utica, there was a warehouse that shut down, and they brought in a lawyer to make sure they were all being fired legally or something. The guitarist in my old band told me all about it.”
I glare at him. “What?”
But he doesn’t get to answer.
“Afternoon, mes cheris,” Ellen exclaims with her smooth and soft lilting French accent and I don’t get to finish my thought.
“What a beautiful day it is. I just love autumn, don’t you?
The leaves. The crisp air.” She kisses her fingers.
“It’s just so lovely to see you all of your beautiful faces.
” She shifts in her seat, settling in. She’s wearing slouchy pants and a gray Henley t-shirt with her long gray hair pulled up into a messy bun. She clutches a blue folder in her hand.
We all greet her with a cheery, “Afternoon,” that’s not quite in sync.
Ellen opens the blue folder. “I’m so glad you all are here. It is such a momentous day.” She claps her hands together. “It is the beginning of a grand new adventure that will take us all in momentous and tantalizing paths.” She pauses and her gaze moves around the table.
“What do you mean?” I ask, expecting her to say something like “Oh the Harvest Festival” or “I’m going on a three-month vacation, again”. Based on the expression of the others, they’re also thinking the same thing.
She rests her hand on Jazmyn’s shoulder. “Do you want to tell them or shall I?”
My neck snaps as I meet Liam’s stare. Oh shit, what if Triple C is closing down and we’re all getting fired?
The horror in his own eyes mirrors my own.
Could I survive getting fired? Yes, absolutely.
I have another job. Several nights a week, I bartend at Little Bennett’s, and I can always pick up more shifts to cover some things.
My Uncle Georgie doesn’t charge me rent and he always brings me food, whether that’s leftovers from the restaurant or new recipes he’s trying.
I won’t go hungry and live on the street.
But it’ll push back my savings goal.
One more delay in the ultimate plan of opening up my own café.
“You can, Ellen,” Jazmyn says. “I think it’s best to come from you. It’s your business and this is your decision.”
“Oh god,” Brent cries. “You’re making Triple C vegan?”
Ellen startles. “What? No, no, no. What makes you think that Michael?”
Trent grumbles. “His name is Brent.”
She waves him off. “I’m not making the café vegan. I’m not doing anything with the menu or changing what we do.” Her mouth widens into a sly grin. “But one of you might.” She pauses and watches are confused expressions for a long minute. “Do you any of have any guess on what I am alluding to?”
Angie picks at her nails. Darren caresses his phone. Trent scratches his head. Brent takes a bite out of his sweet potato. Liam’s fingers drum against the wooden table. I shift uncomfortably in my chair.
Spit it out, Ellen. We’re not mind readers.
Jazmyn rests a hand on Ellen’s. “I don’t think they know. You’re going to have to tell them.”
Ellen frowns. “Very well.” She pauses and sucks in a breath.
“I’ve decided that I’m going to go travelling.
” She squeezes Jazmyn’s hand. “Mon amie and I have been planning this for a while and we’re finally taking that leap.
We’re going to have a beautiful wedding this fall and then we’re going to spend the winter in Nice. ”
“Congratulations,” I say sincerely and cross my arms. “So, how does that affect us? You’ve traveled before and the café has survived.” I don’t mention that she spent the winter in Mexico last year, and the winter two years before.
“I’m selling Triple C,” she says in a matter-of-fact voice.
My heartbeat increases and sweat pools on my palms. I rub them against my pants to keep them dry.
I’ve wanted to open a café for the longest time, specifically a cat café.
It’s been my goal ever since I started working here in high school almost twenty years ago.
I work two jobs and live as cheaply as possible so that I can save as much as possible.
I’ve always thought that I would have to start from scratch and build a café from the ground up, but this could be my chance, my opportunity to get into the business with an established place.
Triple C already has a bunch of regulars, and there’s a room upstairs that I could easily turn into the cat area without compromising the rest of the space.
I take in a steadying breath and resolve solidifies in my stomach.
I’m going to put in an offer.
“Wait, seriously?” Angie gawks. “You’re selling Triple C?”
I snort. She doesn’t have enough money. I’ve frequently seen her ask Darren to spot her when they have their dates at Little Bennett’s.
Brent swallows a bite of his sweet potato. He’s on his second one now. “Do you have a buyer yet?”
I have no idea if he’ll have enough money. Or if he and Trent are interested.
“No,” Ellen says with a low voice. “I would like to sell the business to one of you.” She gestures to us.
“I don’t want to let my life’s work go to some businessman who is going to profit this masterpiece into the ground.
” She gestures to the wall of the café. “Or someone who is going to turn this place into an insurance office.” She leans forward in her chair.
“I have no children. This café and you are my children. If none of you are interested, then I’ll sell to someone else.
But I’m going to get all of you first right of acceptance or whatever it is. ” She palms the table.
“It’s called right of refusal,” Jazmyn grits out. “And it doesn’t apply to this situation.”
Ellen shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. I want all bids turned in by the end of September. I’m not looking so much at your financial abilities, but what you plan to do with this space. I will choose my buyer based on love, not on silly numbers.”
Jazmyn scowls. “We are looking at your financial situation.”
I dip my head and try to hide my grin.
I’m going to buy Triple C. Should I keep the name or change it?
Liam leans over and whispers in my ear. “We should put in a bid together.”
I freeze and turn to face him. My mouth drops open.
He’s looking at me with those wide blue eyes of his and I’m tempted to say yes.
But my answer dies on my lips.
Do I really want to own a café with the guy I’m crazy about, but can never have?