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

by Brenna Jacobs

  “It only requires you to keep quiet about the secret that I let slip.” He had the courtesy to look ashamed. “I’m sorry about that.”

  “About telling me? Or about making me keep a secret?” Her voice gave nothing away.

  His hand reached across the table, but he obviously thought again and pulled back. “I’m sorry about all of it.” Then he shook his head. “Not all of it. Actually, not much of it. I only regret the way it ended. Ivy, I miss you.”

  She didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer. Something was growing in her throat that made it difficult to breathe and impossible to look away from him.

  “Nothing I’ve accomplished, nothing I’ve created matters much when I hold it up against what I’m afraid I’ve lost.”

  She wasn’t sure she was hearing him correctly. She shook her head.

  He reached across the table again, and this time his hand found hers. She did not pull away. She was not sure she’d have been able to pull away if she’d wanted to.

  She didn’t want to.

  He looked into her eyes and said, “Is there any possibility that you’d give me another chance? I promise I’ll listen better this time.” He reached into his pocket. “Here,” he said, handing her a smaller envelope. “This might help you believe that I listen when you have good ideas.” She slipped the sealed envelope into her apron pocket.

  He sat up a bit taller at the table. “My coming to work in this location was no accident.”

  “I know,” she said. “Your dad put you in here because he likes me so much.” She said it with a grin. “I’m only kidding,” she added.

  He grinned back but shook his head. “No kidding. That is absolutely true,” he said. “And he was right. This was the perfect place for me to learn some important things.” He shifted their hands and stroked her thumb with his.

  She found that the room was growing warm, and it was a bit more difficult to breathe. “Like what?” she said, barely a whisper.

  “I was great at big picture decisions. Sustainability. Identity. But you reminded me that our community and the people in it matter, too.”

  She looked down at their clasped hands.

  “Ivy, nothing I’ve created matters to me like you matter to me. You are everything. And next week,” he dropped his voice to a bare whisper, “when we reveal that I’m Titus,” he glanced around like a character in a spy comedy, “I wish you’d stand beside me.” He squeezed her hand and then used the other to reach into his bag again. “And I hope you’ll let me wear this again,” he said, pulling out the beanie she’d put on his head on his first day as a barista.

  She got up and walked around the table to stand beside him. Holding the beanie close to her heart, she said “I thought you’d lost it.” She smiled up at him. “I’m really glad you didn’t.”

  “I hope I haven’t lost you,” he said, standing still, tall and straight in his button-up shirt.

  She reached up and unfastened the button at his neck, but only as an excuse to then reach her arms around his neck. “Bentley Hollis, Titus Cameron, and anyone else who may be lurking in there,” she said with a laugh, “there’s nothing left to worry about. I’m all yours.”

  Epilogue

  “Welcome to the Velvet Undergrounds.” A huge banner hanging over the door fluttered in a welcome early-morning breeze. Ivy unlocked the door and slipped inside, closing it carefully behind her. She stepped over the threshold and was greeted by the scents of fresh pastry, perking coffee, new paint, and something else, something she couldn’t quite define. She thought it was the smell of possibility.

  She walked through the apparel, trailing her hands along displays of T-shirts, hats, and hoodies. Mugs of every shape and size. Vintage and retro band posters. Her favorite item, though, was the Velvet Undergrounds apron. It made her laugh to think that people would want to buy the same apron she put on every day for work.

  Walking from one department to the next, Ivy was amazed that this beautiful place was hers to manage. In half an hour, doors would open to the public—the public that was already lined up for half a block.

  Everything looked perfect. She checked the time again—there was plenty. She slipped behind the counter and nodded to the guy who was placing fresh cinnamon rolls and scones in the glass case. She filled a to-go cup with hot water and a raspberry tea bag.

  She walked out the back door and across the courtyard. Pulling open the door to The Villas at Centennial Glen, she felt a rush of pride, gratitude, and—dare she name it?—love. Love for this stunning new facility, fresh and bright. Love for the staff and for Lucille and all the other residents. And, sure, she could admit it. Love for the corporation that made it possible.

  Cameron Enterprises.

  The new building looked even better than the brochures promised. That day in the coffee shop, when Bentley had handed her a sealed envelope, she couldn’t have imagined that the advertisement inside would become such a beautiful reality.

  Stepping inside the door and feeling a breath of cold, comfortable air, she realized that she didn’t miss the shriek of metal grating the lumpy sidewalk. She didn’t miss the musty scents of decades of disrepair. She didn’t miss the dark, dank entry way.

  It was all gone now, replaced with an elegant, comfortable, and gracious space, filled with small resident apartments for those who were fairly independent; the other wing held wide, bright patient rooms for those who needed more specialized care.

  Ivy walked past the recreation room, currently hosting an art lesson with the best supplies Titus Cameron could buy. Lucille caught her eye and winked in the most unsubtle Lucille way. She waved her paintbrush and turned back to her canvas. Ivy had made sure that the small things would never again be overlooked.

  Bentley had agreed completely. He had a tendency to do that, lately.

  She grinned as she thought of it and made her way to the front desk. She set the tea next to Roxie’s fancy new monitor.

  “Morning, Ivy. Good luck with the new store today,” Roxie said without looking up from her game.

  “Thanks.” There was something comfortable about knowing that some things never change. “Come by when your shift is over and check it out.”

  “Count on it,” Roxie said, her fingers clicking on her mouse at light speed, her eyes never leaving her monitor. “Looks like someone’s here for you.”

  How did she do that?

  Ivy turned to see Bentley walking in the front door. His smile widened when she met his eyes.

  He stepped close and kissed her cheek. “I figured when I didn’t see you in the shop, you’d be here.”

  “Don’t worry, boss. I’ll be there when it’s time to open the doors.”

  “I’m not worried,” he said. “I just like to know where you are.” He smiled at her.

  She reached for his arms and wrapped them around herself. “I’m here,” she said, snuggling against him. “Right where I belong.”

  She looked up at him, saw the adoration in his gaze. “Know what you want?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice.

  He leaned down and kissed her mouth, an expression of love still as beautiful as it was the first time.

  “Finally,” he said, “I can say that I know exactly what I want,” he said. “It’s you. Forever.”

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  for release info on her new series,

  The ABCs of Love

  Released titles include:

  A is for Author

  B is for Barista

  Coming Soon:

  C is for Cowboy

  D is for Doctor

  Read Chapter One of the next book in the ABCs of Love series,

  C is for Cowboy

  Available Exclusively on Amazon

  CHAPTER ONE

  For the second time in two days, Tag gassed up his truck to make the trip from Spring Creek to Bozeman. The thing tourists like these L.A. girls, didn’t—no, couldn’t—understand was just how big Montana was. Driving back a
nd forth to the airport was an all-day affair, not the equivalent of a quick trip to a convenience store. There was no such thing as a “quick trip” from Spring Creek to anywhere, let alone an airport. But the tourists who came to Rocking M to escape the big city for a week or two had no concept of “remote” until the lights of Bozeman were in the rear-view mirror and there weren’t any more lights ahead for as far as the eye could see.

  And no Targets either. That was always the real shocker for them.

  “Madison Keller,” he said under his breath, not for the first time. She’d be blonde and tan, of course, perfect teeth and hair, and she’d be wearing some wannabe cowgirl get up. He’d met more than his fair share of California girls since his dad had sold the ranch to a developer who’d turned it into a resort for rich city folks looking to play cowboy.

  Tag topped off his gas then climbed back into the cab of his truck and adjusted his hat. He had a three-hour trip ahead of him, but at least he had the latest Nicholas Sparks book to keep him company. The other guys at the ranch gave him a hard time for listening to “girly” books, but he didn’t care. A good story was a good story, no matter who wrote it.

  And usually a good story would make the drive go faster but not on a day when he had to miss out on breaking some of the new horses in order to pick up some ditzy blonde who’d missed her flight the first time around. By the time he pulled into the airport parking lot, all he wanted was a good stretch and a nap. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time for a nap, but he would get in a leg-stretching since he’d have to meet Miss Keller in baggage.

  She’d missed her original flight, and any woman who couldn’t find her way onto a plane before it took off might not be able to make it out of the airport on her own. At least that’s what Mr. Early told him. Tag knew the truth though. Any time a wealthier-than-usual client showed up, Mr. Early liked to give them the special treatment, which meant sending a member of the original ranch family to the airport for pick up. People liked to hear the story of how Tag’s family settled the remote area way back in the 1890s and grew the ranch into one of the biggest around, with generations of the Murdocks living nearby or working on the ranch.

  He always left out the part about his dad selling it to pay off his gambling debts. And the part about Tag was only biding his time because Mr. Early was paying him enough that he’d be able to buy his own place within the next year. Mr. Early didn’t know that was Tag’s plan, but Tag didn’t care. He was socking away every penny he could to start a new life. He didn’t care where that place was, as long as it was somewhere in Montana.

  Luckily, there was still plenty of Montana to go around. Just as long as all the Californians only came to visit, not to stay.

  Tag crossed the street from the parking lot to baggage claim, tipping his hat to the woman in the truck who’d stopped for him. According to Miss Keller’s flight info, her plane had landed a few minutes before. He picked up his pace in order to make it to the bottom of the escalator before she did. She was expecting to meet him, and while he didn’t think she’d be there right away—given her track record with timeliness—he didn’t want to take a chance that he’d miss her.

  He got to their planned meeting spot just as a group of people came down the escalator. Most of them were wearing cowboy hats, but Tag nodded to the one guy wearing a cowboy’s hat. It looked like it had been stomped by more than one bronc, and the cowboy did too. Every time Tag saw a bow-legged cowboy with a smashed up nose or a scar running like barbed wire across his face, he had to laugh at the romantic notion some women had of what they thought cowboys looked like.

  He sometimes wished his own jagged scar was somewhere more obvious than his thigh. Might keep more of the ranch guests out of his way. Too many of the women who paid big money to play cowgirl for the week took one look at him and decided his dark hair, blue eyes and three-day stubble fit their cowboy fantasy. But he’d made the mistake of getting involved with a city girl once before. He wasn’t making that mistake again.

  The crowd on the escalator thinned, and he saw a woman standing at the top. She wore a pair of shorts so short he wasn’t sure they could be called shorts anymore. Her cowboy boots looked like they’d just come out of the box—one with a big price tag—and her flannel had so many buttons undone, he wondered if they were missing. Maybe they’d spontaneously popped off on the plane.

  Two long, blonde braids hung across her shoulders, and perched atop her head was a bright pink cowboy hat. He’d seen rodeo queens with more subtle hats than this girl was wearing. As soon as he saw the hat, Tag was one hundred percent sure it adorned the head of the exact woman he was looking for: Madison Keller.

  She stepped on the escalator, swinging her big bag across her body, nearly knocking down the poor guy in front of her. It was one of those bags with the LV’s all over it. Rich ladies always seemed to like those ugly bags.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she said, her voice carrying across the high lodge-pole pine ceiling. “Are you okay?”

  The guy looked ready to tear into her, especially after she put her hand on his shoulder, but then he looked back at her. Tag couldn’t see the guy’s reaction, but he could see his head move from the woman’s face down to her . . . everything else.

  “I’m such a klutz. Every time I take this bag anywhere, I nearly knock someone down with it. I don’t know why I even carry it around.” She was close enough now that Tag could see her eyelashes hit her cheeks as she fluttered them. He’d seen horses with shorter lashes than hers.

  “That’s alright, ma’am,” the man replied and touched his well-worn hat. “Looks like it holds a lot of stuff.”

  “Too much stuff,” she exclaimed then held it open just long enough for the guy to get a look. “Who needs all this junk? Nobody, that’s who.” She flashed him a perfectly white smile topped off with a dimple on each side, before stepping off the escalator behind him.

  “Nice meeting you,” she said to him then stuck out her hand for him to shake. “I guess I’d better find my ride.”

  Her eyes landed on Tag standing less than ten feet away. She flashed her smile again, and Tag had a momentary lapse in judgment. He smiled back without thinking. Not his you-can-look-but-don’t-touch smile. His real smile. “Are you looking for me?” she asked him, but without waiting for an answer, she stuck out her hand like she had with the guy who was currently waving good-bye to her. ‘I’m Madison Keller. You’re a superhero to come all the way back here to pick me up.”

  “Wasn’t a problem.” He shook her hand, making sure to keep his eyes up, despite the open buttons just below his line of sight. He wasn’t that kind of guy, he reminded himself before taking a step back and moving his eyes to anything above her head he could find to look at, which happened to be her obnoxious hat, so he stared at that.

  “This is the absolute cutest airport I have ever seen.” Madison stared at the ceiling while walking toward the baggage carousels, forcing people to make a wide berth for her. She would have walked right into a post if he hadn’t steered her around it. “I love all this pine. It’s like I’ve flown right into the lodge. I could just stay here for two weeks.”

  “Except there’s no horses here.” Tag cleared his throat and pointed to the last carousel where luggage was dropping. One oversized bright pink suitcase slipped down the ramp followed by a matching one, only smaller, then a third even smaller one.

  He pointed at them as they circled to the other side of the carousel. “Those your bags?” He’d bet the ranch they were.

  “Yeah. How’d you know?” Madison didn’t wait for an answer but took the lead and walked toward the carousel. “I’m sorry there’s so many of them. I always pack too much.”

  “It’s no problem, ma’am.” He hoped she’d saved room in one of her suitcases for some real pants, otherwise she was in for one heck of a rash if she planned on participating in any of the promised Adventures on Horseback.

  Madison skirted between two men to stand in front of the carousel, breat
hing a “pardon me” so sweet they couldn’t help but clear a path for her.

  She reached for a bag, but before she touched it, one of the men stepped up. “Let me get that for you, sweetheart.” Tag didn’t trust the guy’s wandering eyes, and the sudden stiffness in Madison’s spine told Tag she didn’t much care for the path the man’s eyes were taking either.

  “That’s o—.”

  “—I’ve got them. She’s with me.” Tag slipped between the man and Madison, and the man let go of the bag before he could pull it off the conveyor belt.

  Unfortunately, Tag wasn’t quick enough to grab it, so Madison did, yanking so hard she nearly fell over before dropping it on his foot.

  His boots should have protected him. The suitcase was large, but how heavy could booty shorts and flannels be?

  Really heavy.

  That’s how heavy.

  He’d once dropped a brick on his bare big toe. That had hurt less than Madison’s bag did.

  “Ouch!” he yelped then hopped up and down on his remaining good foot. “What have you got in that thing?”

  “Oh! I’m so sorry!” She rushed to him but tripped over her smallest suitcase and knocked him backward.

  For a millisecond he didn’t know what had hit him. He saw arms flailing, then realized they were his own. He bounced off the suitcases behind him and landed on his back before Madison toppled onto him.

  Her eyes were a blue that reminded him of some of the hot springs in Yellowstone. He’d stood on the banks a million times, tempted every time to jump in even knowing they could cook a man.

  “I am so sorry.” Madison’s red cheeks made her eyes even bluer. She pushed herself off Tag and stood. “Are you okay?” she asked Tag holding her hand out to help him.

  He was definitely not okay as long as she was leaning over him with that many buttons being undone. “I’m fine.” He looked away from her and pushed himself up. “I’ve taken a lot harder falls than that.”