Chapter 21
Chapter 21
I sit at a small table at Jimmy’s Café and wait, feeling about as comfortable and at home as a Kardashian in a library. Although I’ve walked past Jimmy’s on my way to the Cozy Cottage more times than I can remember, I’ve never been inside. I look at all the black and white photos of who I can only assume is Jimmy himself, with various B, C, and D local celebrities adorning the walls.
I’m here for my Initial Contact with Cameron. It’s not that he’s late. I got here early, hoping I’d have time to compose myself before he got here—by which I mean get Jason out of my head so I can concentrate on the guy I’m supposed to be interested in. The guy who’s actually interested in me.
I don’t have to wait long. I spot Cameron as he steps into the café and scans the room. I raise my hand to give a small wave and am rewarded with a beaming smile that tells me he’s happy to see me.
In a few short strides, he’s by my table. “Hi, Sophie. You look beautiful.”
I feel heat rise in my cheeks as I stand to give him a quick hug. “You look good, too. I’m glad we’re doing this.” I sit back down, and he takes the seat opposite me.
“I’ve wanted to talk to you for ages.”
“You have?”
He nods. “You know, I work about a fifteen-minute drive from the Cozy Cottage Café, but I go there several times a week for my coffee.”
“We do good coffee.”
He gives me a smile. “That’s true, but there’s another reason. I kinda like the barista.”
I blink at him in disbelief. “You drive fifteen minutes for your daily fix so you can see me?”
“Crazy, right?”
“No, not at all,” I gush. “It’s sweet and romantic and, well, it’s not something I thought anyone would do for me.”
He crinkles his forehead. “Why not?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m just a regular girl.”
“Well, you’re a regular girl I’ve wanted to get to know for a while now.”
I lift my eyes to the heavens. Seriously? You’re offering me a hot guy who’s so totally into me he goes to great lengths to see me now? Now? Where was Cameron before Oliver, before Mr. Merman?
Before my feelings changed for Jason?
He pulls a face. “I sound like a stalker, don’t I?”
I look up into his gorgeous blue eyes, set in his handsome superhero face. “No! You sound . . . perfect.”
“Perfect?” He laughs. “I’ve been called many things in my life, but one thing I’ve not been called is perfect.”
“What are some of the things you’ve been called?”
“Let’s see. There was ‘Cam the Man’ for a time in high school when I was on the rugby team. That’s one of my personal favorites.”
“For obvious reasons.”
“Then there was my nickname when I was at the Cyclones: Tarzan.”
“Let me guess. Was it because you had long hair and ran around the jungle in a loincloth talking to the animals?” I tease.
His laugh is low and rumbles through me. “How did you know? I think it was more to do with the hair. I used to wear it longer when I was young. Oh, there was this other one I got from a girlfriend. She used to call me Superman. Can you believe it?”
I clear my throat. “Really? Superman, huh? How weird.”
“I know, right? I think it’s because of the glasses. They give me a Clark Kent vibe, she used to say.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Yeah, I guess I can see that.”
“How about you? Any nicknames?”
My mind instantly darts to “McCarthy,” the name Jason calls me. “My last name doesn’t count, right?”
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Okay. Well, my older brother used to call me ‘baby.’”
“When you were an actual baby?”
“Right up to when I was, I don’t know, twenty-five?”
He laughs once more. “Are you twenty-five right now?”
“I am. But seriously, he hasn’t called me that for days,” I reply with a grin.
We continue our light and flirty banter over coffee until we reach the business end of the date: the part when I’ve got to tell him about the next step in the No More Bad Dates Pact Vetting Process.
Despite the absence of butterflies or belly flips, I want this to work with Cameron. Maybe those butterflies are late? Maybe they’ll arrive with reinforcements shortly and I’ll barely be able to look at him without swooning?
“Hold up. You’re telling me that this isn’t a first date, that it’s in fact . . . a what did you call it?”
“An Initial Meeting. I know, it sounds crazy, but we figured we need to see if we have a rapport with the guy before we put him through the next step.”
“This doesn’t sound good.”
“No, it’s fine. Really. All you’ve got to do is meet my friends before we go on our first official date. If you want to, I mean,” I add hurriedly.
“Just meet your friends? No tying me to a chair and shining a bright light in my eyes as you drip water onto my forehead?”
I laugh. “We could do that if you wanted. Usually, it’s just having a chat over a drink. They’ll ask you some questions about honesty and conflict. That kind of thing.”
His eyes are soft when he says, “Being vetted by your friends doesn’t sound too grisly. I have a feeling you’re worth it, Sophie McCarthy. Just name the place and I’ll be there.”
“Is Jojo’s Karaoke Bar this Saturday night at seven okay with you?”
“I love that place! I’m not the best singer in the world, but karaoke is totally fun. I’ve been a few times with a bunch of friends.”
I beam at him. Superman loves karaoke. Who knew?
With our Initial Contact done and dusted, I say goodbye to Cameron and begin my walk down the street for a meeting with my two bosses at the Cozy Cottage. Today’s the day I’m presenting my ideas for High Tea, and I feel certain I’ve found the missing piece in the formula that will lift those all-important customer numbers.
With every step I take, I feel more and more positive about Cameron. Maybe Darcy is totally right? All I needed was another target for those attraction energies to hone in on. Cameron Lewis, with his good looks and gentle charm, is the perfect choice. I pick up my pace at the prospect, almost breaking into a skip.
I’m Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy in that nineties version of Pride and Prejudice : I can conquer this. I can. Like Mr. Darcy does for Elizabeth Bennett, I can beat my feelings for Jason, and come out the other side, ready to fall for Cameron.
I slow my gait as my mind races to the finish line. Mr. Darcy doesn’t beat his feelings for Lizzie. He tries and he fails. In fact, he falls helplessly and completely in love with her, then marries her in a pretty cheesy double wedding with Lizzie’s sister and his best buddy, and they live happily ever after.
Together.
Okay, bad analogy.
I slump my shoulders and come to a complete stop in the middle of the sidewalk. Some old guy grumbles about inconsiderate youth as he narrowly misses me, but I’m barely paying any attention.
I wrack my brain for another famous example and come up with nada . I’m not deterred. Even though I can’t think of a single example, I know I’m like . . . someone else who conquered their feelings and moved on. That’s what I’m like. Someone who killed the feelings off like bad guys in a video game, well and truly blew them into smithereens. That’s me, the conquering blower upper of feelings, who successfully redirected them to the right guy, and lived to tell the tale, triumphant and free!
Only, I’ve got no freaking idea how I’m ever going to do it.
I stand in the empty High Tea as Bailey and Paige look up at me in expectation. It’s a quiet time of the day and Alex is “manning” the café, as he chose to put it. I’ve got my laptop hooked up to an overhead projector, which is currently beaming the title of my presentation onto the plain white wall.
“First up, thank you both for trusting me to come up with a proposal for High Tea. You both know how much this place means to me, and I really want to help you make it a major success.”
“We’re excited to see what you’ve come up with, Sophie. Aren’t we, Bailey?” Paige says.
Bailey nods. “Oh, absolutely.”
There’s a note in her voice that pricks my ears up. Bailey’s usually so enthusiastic and positive, and right now her words don’t reflect her tone.
I push it from my mind. I’m hoping the solution I’ve come up with will mean we can get High Tea back on track—and I can keep my Weekend Manager’s job.
I click my mouse to change the slide. I point at the figures beamed onto the wall. “I did a profit and loss to show you where things are at right now. Customer numbers are down on this time last year, our costs are static, but our profits are in decline.” I study my bosses’ faces. Their mouths form thin lines as they study the wall. “It’s grim reading, but we need to see where we’re starting from so we can get a baseline. Compare that to the café.” I click my mouse again, and a fresh set of much more impressive numbers are beamed onto the wall. “You can see that High Tea is being carried by its much more profitable neighbor.”
“You’re great with numbers, Sophie. That all makes sense to me,” Paige says.
“It might make sense, but it’s not pretty reading,” Bailey comments.
“I know it doesn’t look good for High Tea, but I have an idea.” I click on my mouse once more and up pops a new image with a big red heart, front and center. “As you know, I’ve been doing some research. The customers I spoke to here said they loved High Tea. Always nice to hear, but so far, so not useful.” I shoot them a rueful smile as I click to the next slide. “Then, I visited a bunch of high tea places around the city. All of them had delicious food at a similar price point to us, they were all open every day, and every single one of them had fancy, classy surrounds, like in the image.” I point at the photo of Operatic, with its chandeliers, soft chairs, and romantic interior. “Yes, they look luxurious and inviting, and yes they look higher-end than Cozy Cottage High Tea. That’s part of their appeal, and where we’re falling short. The people I spoke to said they see going out for high tea as an indulgence, whereas I think we market it as an extension of the café experience.”
“I hope you’re going somewhere with this because right now, I’m feeling pretty depressed,” Bailey says.
“Next image,” I reply with a smile. I click on the mouse to show an image of Operatic with a big red cross. “Every single one of those places was super quiet and refined. People talked in hushed voices, and the servers were all very calm and polite. Now, I’m not suggesting we get rude servers. What I am suggesting is we bring some more of the fun from the café into High Tea.”
Paige knits her brows together. “Maybe I’m being dense or maybe I’ve got pregnancy brain, if that’s really a thing, but I’m not following you.”
“Let me back up, then. What do people love about the Cozy Cottage? It’s the warmth, the feeling of being in the comfort of home, only with much better food and coffee. We offer them that in a casual, relaxed atmosphere in the café.”
“That’s the thing that brought me here as a customer, before I worked here,” Paige adds.
“Exactly. Then there’s our Friday Night Jam, which is super popular for a very good reason: people love to get together for a drink and a bite to eat with their friends and listen to some good music.” I move to the next image. It’s of the Friday Night Jam. “What I’m suggesting is we bring music and that special Cozy Cottage atmosphere to High Tea, only make it fancier, so people know it’s a treat.”
“Music? We haven’t thought of that,” Bailey says.
“That’s because no other high tea place does it other than soft, background muzac. We can get local performers, like we do for the Jams, and extend the liquor license to serve drinks in here. That’s the other thing the high tea places do that we don’t: liquor.”
“You’re telling us we need to be less like our competition? Oh, I like that idea,” Paige says.
“Yes! That’s exactly what I’m saying. We need to capitalize on our U.S.P.: our warmth, our sense of fun. That’s how I see us turning High Tea’s profits around.” I hold my breath, my hands clenched at my sides as I await their verdict.
They share a look I can’t quite see before Bailey turns back to me and says, “You sure have given us something to think about, Sophie.”
“Well, I love it,” Paige announces. “Totally love it. Cozy Cottage is our heart and our soul. The way you suggest bringing more of it in here is so darn logical! What made you think of music?”
“Someone pointed out to me that the Cozy Cottage has something special,” I reply.
“Well, whoever that someone is, you need to kiss them because this is fantastic,” Paige says.
I press my lips together and do my best to ignore the way the butterflies in my belly start a dance party at the prospect of kissing Jason. A slow, sexy, tender kiss as he runs his fingers up my neck and buries them deep in my hair . . .
Okay, so expelling Jason from my consciousness is clearly a work in progress. But I am working on it.
Paige pushes herself up from her chair. “Thanks, Sophie. We’re going to talk about this, aren’t we, Bailey? But right now, I’ve got to pee. Again. I love these babies, really I do, but they take up so much room!”
My relief comes out as a laugh as Paige waddles past me and gives me a pat on the arm. “Good work, Sophie.”
As I close my laptop and flick the lights on, Bailey says, “It seems so obvious now that you’ve presented it to us. Why did we not ‘Cozy Cottage’ the crap out of this place before? All we did was use the same décor and serve some of the same food. We could have done so much more.”
I lift my shoulders in a shrug. “Sometimes we can’t see things that are staring us in the face.”
“I guess not. Sophie, thank you so much for going to this extra effort for us. You are amazing, and we’re so lucky to have you.”
Warmth spreads across my chest at Bailey’s compliment. “I’ve got a selfish reason for doing it, too. I want to keep my Weekend Manager’s role.”
Bailey’s smile is tense, and I wonder whether my proposal is too little and too late. “Paige and I will talk about it and come back to you.”
As I unhook the projector from my laptop, a seed of doubt begins to grow inside me, and my belly forms a tight knot. The numbers show a bleak truth, and right now, my ideas are only that: ideas.
Could it be that it’s already too late to save High Tea?