So Much More (Made for Love #3) (2 page)

Then again, maybe it's not the men I choose. Maybe it's just me. A crippling thought, considering I can't be anyone else.

“Okay—either you start talking, or I’m going to find the sexiest guy in here to come over and stick his ass in that lap of yours. If I can’t find someone single, Jack will have to do, and that could just get awkward. So, take your pick. Truth or lap dance?”

I hesitate and she arches an eyebrow at me before she stands to survey the room.

“Fine, fine!” I concede, knowing full well that she’ll follow through with her threat.

She sits, folds her hands in her lap, and looks at me expectantly.

“I—”

That's as far as I get before my head is flooded with the most painful memories that span over the past few weeks. I think of Luke. Micah. My classroom. Those little desks I love so much. The smiling faces that I
won’t
be seeing next year. I seal my eyes shut, willing my tears to stay away from my cheeks. I can’t cry right now. If I start, it’ll be like a torrential downpour I won’t be able to control. I’ve been saving up my tears for the last few days, promising myself a good cry when my maid of honor duties are complete. They aren’t complete, yet. I can’t cry now. Right now, I have to smile.

Claire reaches over and gently takes my hand. I draw in a shuddered breath. “Okay,” she says calmly. “Not here. I get it.”

I nod my thanks as I swallow the knot in my throat.

“You know, you’re making it very hard for me to want to get on a plane tomorrow morning. You’re also making it incredibly difficult to keep from slapping you. I can’t believe you’ve been carrying around something this big for the last three days without saying anything. I’m half tempted to pack you in my suitcase and bring you home with me until I’ve heard every last hairy detail.”

“I’d go with you if I knew I’d fit,” I quip, opening my eyes. “Unfortunately, I know how many shoes you packed.”

“Wait, you’d really come? What am I talking about? You’re a teacher! You have the next month and a half off. Of course you could come. You
should
come! At least for a week or two. You don’t have anything planned, do you? If you do, cancel it. This trip will be so much better.”

I was only kidding before. Sure, the idea of running away from my problems seems incredibly alluring. Stupid, irresponsible, and reckless—but those are the adjectives best used to describe most of my decisions lately. At least this one would leave me in the company of good friends.

“I’m serious, Sarah. Jack and I would still have work, but we can take a couple long weekends. Besides, some Georgia sun might do you some good. I know I don’t know what’s happening in your life, but I want to—and I can’t call myself a friend if I leave you in this state. So will you come?”

I think rationally for two seconds. I have enough money saved up to last me until the end of the summer. I have no idea where I'm going to go in the fall or what I’m going to do for work, but I don’t have the energy to think about that right now. Right now, I can barely manage a smile. Right now, I want to run.

“Jack wouldn’t mind if I crashed on your couch for a while?”

“Babe—there’s a queen size bed in our guest room that has your name scribbled all over it.”

“Okay,” I murmur, a genuine smile tugging at my lips. “I’ll buy my ticket tonight.”

I
STAND BACK AND
watch as they slowly pull away the tape, leaving behind the new cafe logo across the front window. It’s a larger version of the one that I watched them adhere to the front door. It’s not as if I don’t trust that they’ll do a decent job, it’s just that I can’t believe this is finally happening. I’m afraid if I don’t watch, it won’t actually be real.

It’s been two months since my dream has become a reality. I’ve been here almost every day as the coffee shop has transformed right before my eyes. I’m sure once it all really sinks in, all the hard work I’ve put in will take its toll and I’ll need to sleep for a week. For now, I just stand back and enjoy the view. The place still has the same eclectic, forever-young, coffee-lover, small-town feel; but with the help of the design team, it’s also got this sleek, modern flare. Not to mention the totally new, state of the art,
kick ass
kitchen in the back. It’s a shoebox back there, but it’s all the space I need. Suffice it to say, I’m in love. Eddalyn’s interior has been amazing, and the shop that feels as though it’s been my second home for years—it’s finally starting to feel like it’s mine.

It is. Mine. I still have to remind myself every morning.

“Little Bird Cafe, Home of Brandon’s Bakery.”

I turn at the sound of her voice and smile as I watch her approach.
Daphne
. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun, which, amusingly, looks not too much different than mine. She’s in a graphic t-shirt that’s too big and yet drapes off of her thin shoulder in a way that works for her. Her scrawny legs are clad in a pair of cut-off denim shorts and I shake my head at the sight. It’s hard to believe that the four-month-old little girl she pushes in that stroller came out of that tiny little body.

“Hey,” I say with a grin. “What are you doing here? It’s Saturday.”

Daphne used to work at LB with me. We were shift buddies for two years. We always loved working together and we threw a fit whenever Lori, our former boss, tried to schedule us separately. Lucky for us, it didn’t happen often. Daphne resigned from her post a few weeks before Caroline was born; now she spends her days writing when she can and claiming the title of Care’s mom and Trevor’s wife. Trevor is co-owner of a tattoo parlor here in town; he’s also the guy who redesigned LB’s logo.

Since Daphne’s been busy acclimating to life with a newborn, we hardly ever see each other. In the last couple of months, she’s made it a point to stop in at least once a week. There’s a bookclub, made up of seven women in their fifties and sixties, that meets regularly every Monday. Since she no longer has to work through their meetings, they’ve adopted Daphne and baby Care into their group. She usually shows up a few minutes early so we can catch up a bit and I can see her pride and joy—who, I swear, looks different every time I see her. Different and always far too adorable for her own good. She has the power to bring a grown man to his knees.

“My bestie told me that your new sign was being installed today. I wanted to be here first thing to see it.”

Logan, a design associate at Eddalyn’s interior and the lead on the Little Bird project, has been Daphne’s best friend for as long as I’ve known them. A couple months ago, they became sisters-in-law. She’s got a great eye and I respect her immensely for the work she’s put in here. It doesn’t surprise me that she told Daphne about the final touch of the redesign happening as we speak. Knowing Daphne, I understand why she thought it important to be here. She knows what this means to me.

I learned to bake when I was nine. My dad taught me. Sounds backwards, I know, but
backwards
is about the only way for me to describe my parents. My mom is incredibly career driven. She works in real-estate and she’s great at what she does. Always has been. My whole life, she’s been the first one in the office and the last one out. My dad—he was never like that. He made his living under the hoods of cars. While he worked hard, home was where his heart was. To this day, I don’t know how they managed to find each other, but they did. The
backwards
nature of their relationship is what made their marriage work.

My dad had a passion for three things—cars, baseball, and baking. He taught me everything he knew about all three. I was pretty decent at playing ball. I played from the age of five all the way up until I graduated high school. I wasn’t an all star or anything, but I know he liked to see me out there anyway. I was better with cars than a bat. When I was ten, he bought a beat-up, red, ’68 Camaro and every weekend we’d work on it together. I always felt like more of a man than a boy when I crawled underneath that car with him.

But in the kitchen—in the kitchen we found our sweet spot. Literally. Figuratively. I liked the instant gratification of getting to mix ingredients together, getting to
make
something, and then taste the fruits of my labor a short while after. He taught me to be bold and brave when it came to creating something for my tastebuds. We would experiment all the time, making up shit just to see how it turned out. Mom would always get mad when she’d find us, laughing hysterically over a botched recipe—every countertop covered in traces of our failure.

He died when I was fourteen. Brain aneurysm. It happened so friggin’ fast. Worst day of my life. It still tears me up to think about it. Everything went to shit without him.
Home
became this cold and desolate place. It was like dad was the glue that held our little family together. Without him, we are broken. To this day, my mom and I barely speak. After we lost dad, she buried herself in work even more. I was surprised to learn that was even possible, but that’s how she got through it. Me? I was saved by an obsession with creating the perfect scone. It was the last experiment he and I endeavored to conquer together. It took me years before I was able to craft a whole wheat, blueberry scone recipe that was delicious enough to call my own—and I picked up more than a few tricks along the way.

The kitchen is the place where I miss my dad the most, but it’s also where I feel closest to him. By the time I was eighteen, I knew what I wanted to do. I wanted my own coffee shop/bakery—a bakery that specialized in unique and original breakfast pastries. I had no clue how I was going to make it all come together. I didn’t really have any money. I didn’t want my mom’s. I wanted to make it on my own, and I wouldn’t let my lack of know-how stop me.

It’s been eight years since I left home. For a while, I worked odd jobs, saving every spare dollar. I stuck around the Fort Collins area because here is where I’ll always belong and I didn’t have the heart to leave. I took a few college courses here and there, when I could afford them, and managed to get as far as an associates degree. When I started working for Lori full-time, I knew I had found a place where I could gain some real hands-on experience. Little Bird was her baby and she ran it well and taught me all kinds of things about owning a small business. I never, in my wildest dreams, imagined that it would one day be mine.

The coffee shop might have been her baby, but photography is her passion. When she was offered the opportunity to take two years to travel the world, snapping pictures of anything and everything, collaborating with a videographer she met on a random trip, she couldn’t say no. She’s a nomad at heart, which is why she trained me so well in the first place—so she could leave someone she trusted at the shop while she pursued her art. Even when she was here, we’d only ever see her a couple times a week. When she decided to leave Little Bird, she told me that
I
was the reason she was willing and ready to say goodbye.

Even though I’ve been saving up for years, I didn’t have enough money to buy the establishment from her outright. I got a business loan as well, but that still wasn't enough. She wasn’t deterred. She told me to spend the money I had on the necessary renovation and we struck a deal for me to buy it from her in monthly installments. It’ll take me a few years, but we agreed on the terms and now—now I’m standing in front of
Little Bird Cafe. Home of Brandon’s Bakery.

“Hey,” Daphne murmurs, gently squeezing my elbow to catch my attention. “How about a latte? And whatever pastry you have on special this morning.”

“You bet. Come on in,” I say, opening the door for her.

Rachael is my barista behind the counter this morning. Sage will be in a little later. As I rattle off Daphne’s usual for her to prepare, I reach into the pastry case for the fresh citrus loaf I made this morning. I’m getting used to the early starts, my days beginning at four a.m., but that doesn’t stop me from pouring myself a black coffee of my own to suck down while I sit with Daphne for a minute.

“So, how goes the hunt for replacing me?” she asks, a smile in her eyes as she sips at her beverage.

I shake my head. “You joke, but it’s not funny. I’m dying for some dependable full-time help. Someone I can trust.” I’ve got a pretty decent staff of about five people—but all of them are college kids, save one, and they all work part-time. Seeing as how we’re a hot spot for CSU students, I can’t say I’m surprised. Plus, I’ve been here long enough to know what the turnover rate is with the kids that come and go. I’ve had a few people interested in the position, but I’m hesitant to give it to just anyone.