B is for Barista (The ABCs of Love Book 2)

by Brenna Jacobs

  She stayed at the table until she heard the door signal his departure. Before she stood, she gathered in a deep breath. She hoped no other Hollis family members were on their way into the shop today.

  She didn’t know if she could take it.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Bentley knew better than to keep up an argument with Lex. She’d cleaned up his mess. She had arranged everything. The least he could do was go along with her decisions. The shop where he’d finish out his contract was far from Ivy’s home, far from Centennial Glen, and—if Lex got her way, as usual—unlikely a place as any for Bentley to accidentally run into Ivy.

  He opened the door and walked into the Lincoln Street Velvet Undergrounds shop and looked around. It looked exactly like every other Velvet Undergrounds, which was, he reminded himself, the point. Walking up to the counter, he felt the same glimmer of uncertainty he’d felt the first day he ordered a drink from Ivy.

  Stop it, he told himself. Thinking about Ivy wasn’t productive. Or helpful. But somehow he couldn’t stop.

  Ivy hadn’t returned any of his calls. She’d left his texts unread. He’d stopped short of showing up on her doorstep, but only because Lex told him that would be stalker-ish and desperate. And that he wasn’t allowed to by reason of legal decisions.

  The barista who welcomed him was nearly seven feet tall with an impressive man-bun. His name tag said Hugh. More like Huge, Bentley thought. “Hi, there. What can I get you?” he asked.

  “Hi. I’m Ben.” He stopped himself before saying the rest. He didn’t want anyone in this shop to know he was a Hollis. Hiding that would be easier if he was just Ben. “I’ve been working in a different location for a bit, and corporate issued a transfer.” Why did he feel so nervous and uncomfortable saying that? It was all true.

  Maybe because he hated that it was all true.

  “Right on,” the guy said. “I’m Hugh. Glad you’re here.” He held out his hand across the counter and Bentley shook it, reminded of his favorite Roald Dahl book from second grade. This guy was definitely a big friendly giant.

  Pointing to the touchpad, Hugh said, “Here’s the sign-in.” Bentley put his hand on the pad, and the computer read his prints. He knew that the system was automatically connecting his personnel file to his timecard. It was a pretty slick system, he knew, and made it simple for people to transfer from one shop to another. “So, you know how things work around here?” Hugh asked, and Bentley nodded. Hugh tossed him an apron. Bentley tied it around his waist and got to work.

  He was certain that at least four hours had passed when he next checked his watch. Thirty-seven minutes? Impossible. Or at least improbable. Working in the shop with Ivy, time always flew by. Even when she made him clean the bathrooms and carry out sour-smelling laundry bags, the days passed more quickly.

  Now, he thought, it must be time to clock out and go. He checked his watch again. No way.

  “You in a hurry?” Hugh didn’t sound annoyed, just curious. He piled a stack of go-cups higher. Bentley wouldn’t be able to reach the top if he kept that going.

  “Not in a hurry. Just getting used to the rhythm of a new place.” Bentley untied and retied his apron string. “Do you have a busy time of the day?”

  Hugh nodded. “Before eight in the morning is madness. All morning Saturdays and Sundays. There’s usually a lunchtime rush. Afternoons are quiet here.” Bentley didn’t much care about the busy hours. It didn’t matter to him if the time flied or crawled. He would spend it all thinking about Ivy.

  Hugh gave a sympathetic nod, as if he knew what Bentley was thinking. “When it gets slow, we pretty much watch each other clean things and try to guess what the odd ones are going to do next. You, for instance, have replaced Len, who you’ll be sorry to have missed.” Hugh leaned against the counter, settling in as if for a long chat. “I didn’t see his name on the schedule for this week or next, so maybe he got a better job.”

  He shook his head as if to erase part of that thought. “Not that there’s anything wrong with this job. It was just never quite what Len was hoping for. See, Len is a classic example of what happens when every day holds vast, unlimited possibility and then reality parks on the front lawn. Opportunity ends in the regret. Every morning there was a new story about the chance of a lifetime that barely slipped out of his reach, and every afternoon held the possibility for a fast million after work.”

  Hugh ran a white cloth along the edge of the counter beside him, his reach impressive, lifting whatever got in the way and setting it back down. “He thought working here would make him Titus Cameron.” He laughed. “Len thought he could get rich by association. Can you imagine? Titus Cameron working in a place like this?”

  Bentley knew it was a rhetorical question, but he couldn’t help himself. “Everyone has to start somewhere, I guess.” He turned to hide a blush—the same one that covered his cheeks these days whenever he thought about Ivy’s reaction to Titus. It made him worry about everyone’s reaction.

  Nodding, Hugh tossed the cloth into the bin. “Absolutely. Maybe one of us is an undercover billionaire. Every shop has its hidden secrets, right? There’s always some intrigue going on. Someone who you’re pretty sure is selling homemade shoes made from recycled car tires in the alley behind the shop, or breeding kittens in her bathroom, or foraging for dandelion greens for salads in the city park. So why not a hidden billionaire?” Hugh did an exaggerated double take. “Wait.”

  Bentley felt his breath catch. Did Hugh know? Had he somehow figured out who Bentley was? Who Titus was?

  Hugh went on. “Were you the crazy guy at the store you used to work at?” He made his eyes open wide, like the surprise of uncovering Bentley’s secret had shaken him.

  The laugh that followed that was real. True relief. “Not even close. I’m the most normal person you’ve ever seen.” As soon as he’d said it, he wondered if pretending, on orders of the board running the company that you own, to be an hourly wage worker is, in fact, crazy. “No, I’m not the crazy one. Her name is Ivy.” He felt himself smiling. Words began to fall out of him in a rush. “She has a punk-rock vibe that matches the store’s, with purpleish-blackish hair falling over the most gorgeous green eyes and sometimes hiding (but usually exposing) a large number of metal ear cuffs. She knows all the regulars’ orders.”

  Bentley knew he was rambling, but Hugh wasn’t stopping him. “She has this thing she does with her eyebrow. It looks like her whole face is asking you if you want an adventure.” He stopped talking when he realized he had forgotten to breathe.

  Hugh nodded. “She sounds great. You sound smitten.” He picked up a bin of mugs to wash and walked away, not giving Bentley time to give him an answer. Bentley knew that the answer wasn’t the point. He sounded smitten because he was. Deeply smitten. And he’d known it since the day he met her.

  He thought of the Ivy he’d just described and the Ivy who showed him the Centennial Glen care center. Ivy-at-the-coffee-shop was different than Ivy-at-the-rest-home, but not too different. Every piece of Ivy that seemed inconsistent actually worked together to form a woman who could read her surroundings and fit inside them for the purpose of making everyone around her feel like they belonged there. She invited, she welcomed, and she included. Making people feel comfortable in their own skin. She’d made Bentley feel like he was home. And he’d messed it up.

  He wondered if the whole thing had disintegrated beyond repair.

  Even if it had, he thought, things that couldn’t be repaired could be rebuilt.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Ivy paid little attention to her hair, her makeup, and her clothes these days. A little swab of blush hid the fact that she could really use some natural daylight on her face. A quick swipe of mascara, as opposed to the heavy punk eyeliner she used to wear, made the transition from Velvet Undergrounds to Centennial Glen a bit simpler. Jeans and a T-shirt for the coffee shop, scrubs for the Glen; it didn’t really matter much.

  Nobody would notice.

&n
bsp; Nobody except Lucille, who noticed everything.

  Ivy winced at the screeching sound the front door of Centennial Glen. She waved at Roxie and walked back to Lucille’s room. Out of uniform and off shift, she looked like any other visitor. But Ivy wouldn’t dare walk into a patient room. It would have been an invasion. She knocked gently. “Lucille? It’s Ivy,” she said.

  “Come on in,” Lucille’s voice sang.

  As she turned the doorknob, Ivy closed her eyes for a second and breathed in confidence. Power. Independence.

  She squared her shoulders and entered Lucille’s room.

  “Oh, sweetie,” Lucille said. “You look awful.”

  So much for confident, powerful independence. Ivy flopped onto the recliner. “Thanks.”

  Lucille patted her hand. “You know what I mean. You’re sad. You’re lonely.”

  “I am not. I’m happy to be here with you. No place else I’d rather spend an hour.” Ivy meant every word, but she couldn’t force any enthusiasm into her voice. She put her head against the back of the chair, sending her gaze almost to the ceiling. This was definitely better. “I think I’m just going to sit here and look into the air vent for a while if that’s all right with you. How about you tell me a story.”

  Lucille began telling Ivy about a neighbor she’d had a few decades ago who used to work as a bookie. She played with her kids and entertained gamblers and kept track of everyone’s bets all while making macaroni and cheese and serving popsicles on the back porch. After a few minutes, the chatter cheered Ivy up, as they both knew it would.

  “Your friend Ben came by here the other day,” Lucille said, inspecting her fingernails. Her efforts at nonchalance were hilarious, but now Ivy didn’t feel like laughing.

  “Here? He came here?” It wasn’t a shriek, exactly, but she was aware that her question came out more shrill than it should have.

  Lucille glanced at her from the side of her eye. “This is where I live,” she said, as if Ivy needed the reminder.

  “For about a minute longer,” Ivy muttered. And she couldn’t exactly be reminded of that without being reminded who was at fault for all of it.

  She felt the crease forming between her eyebrows and she knew she must have the look on her face that said All is Not Well. At least that was what Lucille said that look meant. Other people used different descriptions.

  She shook her head to physically change the face. Forcing a smile, or as close to a smile as she was able to produce, Ivy said, “Sorry. I’m glad he came to see you.” That was true, wasn’t it? She allowed herself a moment to think about that as she took a quiet breath in and out. Sure, it was true. Even if it wasn’t the entire truth.

  She wasn’t going to hold it back from Lucille. “Mostly I’m glad he came to see you when I wasn’t here. How am I supposed to get over him if he shows up in my places?” And there it was again. The reminder. The discouragement. The sadness. She slumped lower into the cushions.

  Lucille pumped some lotion from a bottle on the small table and started rubbing it into Ivy’s hand. “Who says you have to get over him?” Every time she asked this, Ivy had to lie. She was sure “his team of overpaid lawyers won’t let me” would lead to far too many questions. “It just wasn’t right between us,” Ivy said, letting her hand relax under Lucille’s touch. “We’re too different.”

  Not taking the hint, Lucille kept pushing. “You don’t seem so different to me. You’re both young, fun, generous, caring, talented, beautiful, thoughtful people. What differences can’t overcome those connections?”

  Ivy was pretty sure that wasn’t a question she was allowed to answer. Instead she changed the subject. “Have you been looking through the list of new places I sent you?”

  Lucille’s shrug told her that she hadn’t.

  “You can’t wait forever, Lu. We’ve got to find you someplace that you’ll love. It’s the perfect time to check all the boxes. Find a place that gives all the amenities you’ve ever wanted. Somewhere with better light coming in your windows. And maybe a view of something other than a deserted parking lot.”

  “In the back yard, there should definitely be a drive-in movie screen.” Lucille didn’t have a car. She was just being silly. Ivy decided to play along.

  “And a golf course.” It was Phoenix, after all. There were golf courses everywhere.

  “Hot tubs at the end of every hallway,” Lucille grinned. “You should see me in my swimsuit.”

  Ivy raised her eyebrows in challenge, and Lucille did a little shoulder shimmy. They both laughed.

  “How about a 24-hour pizza restaurant?” Ivy asked.

  “And an equestrian park where we can exercise and take in the peaceful city air.”

  “A French chef?” Ivy added.

  “I’d settle for one of those tiny fridges in my room.”

  Ivy nodded. “I actually think I can make that happen.”

  “Cars and drivers for my trips into the city. Maybe a few handsome men on staff to accompany me when I need a date.”

  “You mean like an escort service? Scandalous.” Ivy pretended to write it down.

  “Yes. Exactly. And an Olympic-sized swimming pool. For all those of us who are training to swim in the Olympics.” Ivy knew Lucille had never learned to swim. Never up until now, that is. New possibilities seemed endless. Well, maybe not endless.

  “Sure. And a massage therapist on staff. Or two. Or three.”

  Lucille nodded. “That sounds sufficient. Oh, wait. A pond. With a boathouse.”

  Pretty soon they were laughing, and Ivy felt marginally better. As she always did during a visit with Lucille. But she felt responsible to help Lucille make the next step. “We’ve got a great list of possibilities going. Will you let me show you a few websites? Look at a couple of pictures? Cut the options down to a short list?”

  Lucille patted her hand. “We’re being taken care of, sweetheart. The company is arranging another place for us.”

  What? She had heard nothing about that. Then again, maybe she had. Was that in one of the emails that Geoffrey Vandenburg had sent that she’d deleted without reading? That was very possible. She knew better than to delete messages, of course. But these days, sometimes it was better not to know what people wanted to tell her. Her heart could only take so much, and the world seemed to be dishing up disappointments in every shape and size lately. It was simpler to assume that the worst had already happened. She could protect her heart better that way.

  She knew, though, that it wasn’t merely her heart that was on the line. She needed to protect Lucille as well. And now, thanks to Cameron Enterprises’ generous purchase of her silence, she would be able to do a better job of taking care of this woman who was so dear to her.

  “What if this new place is not a great situation?” Ivy didn’t want to say it, but her fear was real. Cameron Enterprises could waltz in here and slag these lovely people off into a different place that was falling into ruin. She could see it: moving Lucille and the few boxes holding all her life memories into a different dark, musty hallway. Giving her another room with mildewed corners and rippling linoleum on the floors. Each person in this facility would get the same treatment, and it was as unfair for any of them as for Ivy’s favorite. Wouldn’t anyone give them the dignity they deserved?

  Lucille could sense Ivy’s anxiety. She rested her gnarled fingers on Ivy’s hand. “It will be a perfectly reasonable situation, I’m sure of it. At least I’ll find it reasonable if it has that roller coaster and the skating rink I’ve demanded.” Lucille grinned at her. “Come on. Let’s not talk about it anymore. I don’t want to dwell in the future so much. When you’re my age, you’ll realize the joy of living in the moment. Let’s play a game.”

  She pulled a deck of cards out of the end-table drawer, unpackaging them and shuffling with practiced fingers. “Hearts?”

  “I don’t remember how to play hearts,” Ivy muttered. To tell the truth, she didn’t want to think about anything to do with hearts, or the ga
mble she’d taken on Bentley, or the ease with which she’d lost the game of love.

  Lucille rolled her eyes. “You have forgotten the rules of the game? Since you were here with your fella?”

  Ivy shook her head. “Not my fella. And I think I know the rules, but I keep losing anyway.” She looked at the ceiling to keep a tear from escaping down her face.

  “Are we even talking about card games anymore?” Lucille executed a perfect shuffle, knocked the sides of the cards against the table, and set the pile down. “I’m sorry, baby. I really am. But I still think you’re reading all of this wrong.”

  Ivy nodded, as if in agreement. “I know you do. I know that it must look easy to you, all of this being young and falling into… whatever.” Ivy couldn’t bring herself to say “love.” Not anymore. Not in the past tense.

  She took a deep breath. “But you can trust me on this one. It’s very, very over. As officially as the laws of the land can make it. And I believe it’s best for everyone.” Ivy heard the tone of her voice sink. She couldn’t even convince herself that last part was true.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Bentley couldn’t believe his sixty days were over. This was his last shift as a barista. Next week, he’d take over majority control of his board. He thought back over the two months. How many cups of coffee he’d made (and how many he’d spilled). How many pastries he’d served, how many T-shirts he’d handed across the counter. How many days he’d worked in Ivy’s company. And how many he’d had to endure without her.

  If he had to say what he’d come to understand, he wasn’t sure how much of it had to do with working at a food-service establishment. But he’d learned about communication. And desire. And the kind of work that people did to engage customers, to make them feel welcome, and to help them decide what they wanted. He’d found that a few people did that very well, but none as well as Ivy did.