Wes stiffens beside me as Alina sets her phone down to look at us.
I don’t know why it bothers me that she’s so much more attractive than I am, or why I care that he notices. We’re not even dating. It’s fake. It’s only for a week.
Still, when Wesley rolled over and looked at me in the dim light of the bedroom last night, I felt like I was the only woman in the world. I felt like he could see me, and he liked what he saw.
Now, I’m standing beside his modelesque ex-fiancée and I remember that I’m not in her league, Birkin bag or not. Wearing this purse was a stupid idea. I should have sold the damn thing years ago.
“Simone,” Alina says, her face splitting into a wide smile. Her eyes take me in from head to toe, judging. They linger for just a moment on the bag before flicking up to my face. “How did you two lovebirds sleep?”
She says lovebirds like a jab, and I wonder if she can tell we’re not actually together.
Wesley grunts something, his body leaning away from me, as if he, too, wants to confirm that we’re not an item. It hurts, even though I know it shouldn’t. I stuff that feeling away, too, along with all the others that have sparked since last night.
“Slept great, thanks.” I force a smile. “You?” I slide my hand over Wesley’s bicep, hating that I crave the feel of his muscles under my fingers. It’s a possessive move, and by the gleam in Alina’s eyes, she noticed. She can tell their history bothers me.
I’m a grown woman, damn it. I shouldn’t care about Alina or Wesley or how much money his family has. This is a simple business exchange. Five grand and the café lease for a week as his girlfriend. I should be ecstatic. It’s a great deal for me.
I walked away from this lifestyle when I divorced Nate, and my life has only improved since then. Sure, I have fewer luxuries, but I’m happier. I’m independent. I do what I want, when I want.
But there’s a certain female part of me that would love to be wanted by a man like Wesley. Everything about him makes my core ignite. Every time he’s near, I can feel the heat of his body. I can sense his movements, no matter how slight, as if I’m tuned to his exact frequency.
It’s not how I ever felt with Nate. With my ex-husband, it was fresh and exciting at first, and then it felt like we were going through the motions. He proposed after dating for a year, and we got married a year later. We bought a house, tried for kids, and did all the things we were supposed to do. But the sex was mechanical—even more so as the years went on. When I saw him in L.A. a couple months ago, it was honestly some of the worst sex of my life, but it scratched an itch and reminded me that I don’t want to be with him. If there was any hope of igniting some fresh flame after all these years, our last romp together confirmed that it’s well and truly dead.
In all honesty, I think our relationship was over when I had a miscarriage at thirty-two. Nate never looked at me the same after that.
But with Wes… Oh, I don’t know. I feel more alive when he’s around, even if he drives me crazy. I like seeing his frustration bubble over when I say something he doesn’t like. I like the surprise in his eyes when I’m not what he expects.
I can’t compete with women like Alina, though. I can’t be the trophy wife.
“Slept like a rock,” Wes growls, sliding his hand across my back. His touch sends sparks dancing across my skin. I lean into him, freezing when his mouth dips down toward me. He brushes his lips over my cheek, his breath warm and minty. If I turned my head a fraction of an inch, I could kiss him.
Wes pulls away, holding my gaze for a moment. “I’ll be right back. Bathroom.” He turns around, but it’s not until he turns the corner that I realize both Alina and I were watching him walk away.
I take a seat, smiling awkwardly at Wes’s ex-fiancée.
Six more days. I can do six days.
“He’s such a dear, isn’t he? He’s always been a sweetheart.” Alina braids her fingers over her crossed legs. Her eyes flash, and I hear the unspoken words: I had him first. I know him better than you do. You can’t compete with the memory of me.
My smile feels like a grimace. “He sure is.”
Agnes’s face looks like thunder. “Get your dirty paws off my books, you hag.”
Dorothy rears back, her hand on her chest. “I’m trying to buy one of them, Agnes. Last time I checked, they were for sale. Isn’t that the whole reason you have a display next to the cash register?”
Agnes pulls herself up to all her four-foot-nine glory. “I wasn’t aware you could even read, Dorothy.”
“Ha-ha.” Dorothy rolls her eyes. “Just let me buy the damn book, you troglodyte.”
“Huh. That’s a big word. Maybe you can read after all.” She turns to her grandson. “Did you know Dorothy knew words with more than one syllable?”
Rudy bites his lip. He glances beside him at Candice, whose face is in her hands. Her hip is leaning against a tall banner with the bookstore’s logo and address on it. They must have been setting up the new display. That was quick.
Rudy reaches over to put a hand on Candice’s shoulder. There’s softness in the movement—but before I can examine it further, a growl makes me turn back to the feuding women.
Dorothy’s face grows nearly scarlet. “Are you going to stand there all day scaring customers away? How have you managed to run the bookstore for so long without driving it into the ground?”
Dorothy’s dress is an explosion of floral print. Her hair is wrapped in a polka-dot headscarf, and her chunky jewelry swings with every movement of her head. Agnes, in head-to-toe brown, looks like she’s about to explode.
Uh-oh. I need to stop this before they come to blows.
I wave my hands toward a table, and Wesley leads his uncle and ex-fiancée over to it. Sven, our barista, is cringing behind the counter looking shell-shocked. Allie and Clancy are wiping down a table on the other end of the café, making no secret that they’ve been watching the whole thing without any intention of intervening.
Guess it’s down to me. Simone McMaster, human fire extinguisher. Specialties include averting interpersonal disasters and pacifying all types of feuds. Family, neighbor, retiree…
“Ladies!” I paint a smile on my face. “Good morning.”
“This colorblind witch is tampering with my book display,” Agnes says, whirling on me.
“Colorblind witch?” Dorothy’s lips pinch together. Oh, no. That’s the expression she makes right before things start flying across the room. Shoes, books, coffee mugs—we could have projectiles in moments.
“Look at the way you’re dressed, Dorothy. You’re either colorblind or you’re in denial about it. Have they taken your driver’s license away yet? I might need to make a phone call to the DMV.”
I take a deep breath. Defusing this situation will require delicate diplomacy. Both ladies have egos the size of a football stadium and enough righteous anger to fill every seat. I glance over my shoulder for a moment to see Wesley watching me, a smile playing over his full lips. Clearly, he has no intention of helping. Jerk.
Okay, be diplomatic. Nice and easy, keep everyone happy.
“One more word out of either of you and you’ll be barred from the café for life,” I snap. There. Diplomatic.
Agnes and Dorothy whirl to look at me, looking offended and furious—the full weight of their anger directed right at me.
“Excuse me?” Agnes plants a hand on her hip. Her body is short and squat, but I’ve seen her move. She’s fast. I bend my knees sightly, ready to dart out of the way if she chooses to take a swing at me. “Did you just threaten to throw us out?”
“We were just discussing the latest bestsellers, Simone. No need to be rude.” Dorothy smooths her hands over her hips.
“Discussing the latest bestsellers?” I arch my brows. That’s one way of describing the potential war that was brewing a moment ago.
Agnes picks up a book from the display. “This is ridiculous. Where’s my coffee?”
“Here,” Clancy says, an an
gelic smile on her face. “I put an extra sleeve on it so you wouldn’t burn your fingers.”
“You’re a sweetheart.” Agnes chucks Clancy’s cheek. “At least someone in here has some manners.”
Allie gives Dorothy her drink, and the two old ladies grumble some more as they make their way out of the café. Agnes exits, then Eli appears in the doorway.
Dorothy startles back, looking the silver-haired driver up and down. He clears his throat, bows—a real one this time, not the piddly half-bow Wes and I earned—and steps out of the way. The two of them exchange a lingering glance as Dorothy walks out the door. There’s an extra swish in her hips as she turns toward the hotel, and Eli definitely notices.
I shake my head. This is too much for me so early in the morning.
Clancy’s eyes shine as they meet mine. “You should become a mediator, Simone. You have a talent for it.”
“Quiet, you.”
Clancy giggles. She exchanges a glance with Allie, then takes a step toward me. Her eyes gleam with teenage mischief. “Alec’s party is tonight. The way I look at it, you owe me a favor for getting Agnes out of here when she wanted to rip your head off.”
I hold up a hand. “I’m going to stop you right there. Not going to happen.”
Clancy pouts, jerking her head toward the back room, and the two of them scamper away.
I take a deep breath, letting my shoulders drop.
My nerves are frayed. Between pretending to be Wesley’s girlfriend, managing the café’s social media, trying to keep my online marketing clients happy, fielding blackmail attempts by a fifteen-year-old, and stepping into vicious town feuds, I’m not sure I’ll survive the next week. Next thing, my ex-husband will walk through the door and beg me to give him another shot. With my luck, he’ll drop to his knees and let everyone know we slept together a few months ago, and my charade with Wesley will be ruined.
The bell above the café door jingles and I whip my head around, then let out a sigh when a woman in her thirties walks through with two kids in tow. Not El Bastardo. Thank goodness.
“You look like you need a long, hot bath and a massage just to get through the rest of the day,” Wesley’s voice says next to my ear.
I spin around to see him standing there in all his muscled glory, light playing in his green eyes. I cross my arms, popping a brow. “Are you offering your services?”
His lips tug, those pesky dimples making an appearance. My knees feel weak. Just what I need now—a sexy man turning his charm up to the max when I’m vulnerable. This isn’t going to end well.
“Let me buy you breakfast first.” His voice is a low growl that makes something tighten in my gut. His eyes linger on mine, then drop down to my lips for a brief moment.
He needs to stop doing that. Every time he looks at my mouth, my whole body is bathed in flames. I won’t be able to make it through the week if I have to change my underwear every five minutes.
I let out a breath. “Fine. Breakfast and a very large…coffee.” I almost said penis. I literally almost said penis right then. What the hell is wrong with me?
He moves to the counter and orders our food and drinks. He grabs a number for the table and turns to look at me, winking. He winks. Broody McGrumperson has smiled and winked at me today. The world has gone mad.
Just when Wes and I turn to our table, a deafening crash sounds from the back of the café, and I know I won’t be able to enjoy my breakfast and coffee after all.
8
Wesley
Simone looks like she’s about to snap. I put my hand on her lower back again. I can’t help touching her. “I’ll go check it out,” I tell her, my breath ruffling a strand of her hair. “Grant sent me a text this morning, it’s probably him back there messing with the roof.”
She lets out a long breath. “You’re just trying to avoid your uncle and Alina. Even Eli’s sitting at a different table.”
I grin—been doing a lot of that lately—and shrug. “So what if I am?”
“Fine. Go.” She leans into me slightly, and for a moment I think she’s going to kiss me.
We both freeze and take a step away from each other. A flush creeps over Simone’s cheeks as she shakes her head, mumbling something I don’t quite catch. Maybe this pretending is going to our heads. It’s too easy to feel like it’s real.
Without another word, I stalk to the back of the café. Even though I didn’t want to lease this space to anyone, it feels good to be here again. My parents loved this place. They poured their everything into it and made it someplace special for the whole town.
I thought letting other people set up shop in here would feel like a betrayal, but it’s the opposite. I think my parents would be happy that the space is being used. It’s honoring their memory by continuing the business they started all those years ago.
Plus, it feels like home. I walk down the narrow hallway toward the back room and notice an old photo of my parents and me when the place first opened. They kept the old photos up. My heart squeezes, and it takes me a moment to pull myself together. I push open a door marked Staff Only.
Grant looks up at me from his spot on the floor, boxes and bags of coffee strewn around him, a wire shelf tipped over beside him. He grimaces. “Oops.”
I extend a hand and help him to his feet. “What happened?”
“I was trying to clear this space out so we can get to work on the roof. The shelf wasn’t secured to the wall and when I grabbed a box off the top shelf, it fell over. Missed crushing my leg by a hair.”
“Maybe Candice is right. This place is cursed.” I grin. “My parents might be haunting it.”
“Don’t tell her that. She’s superstitious enough as it is.”
I laugh, grabbing a few big bags of coffee beans off the floor. When I follow Grant outside, I see a temporary shed set up at the back of the building. Grant hauls a few boxes from the storage room into the shed and I follow, making quick work of the mess. Within minutes, the storage room is clear, the shelf righted, and both of us sweaty and covered in dust and coffee particles.
Glancing up at the patch of plywood covering the hole, I let out a grunt. “Simone told me you had a few quotes to discuss with me?”
“You got time to jump on the roof for a second? I know your family’s in town…”
“Sure.” Any excuse not to go back out there and sit across from Alina and my uncle. A twinge of guilt hits me in the chest, but it’s not because I’m not spending time with my family—it’s because I’m leaving Simone to deal with them on her own.
Grant grabs a ladder out of the shed and props it against the back of the café building. He goes up first, and I follow. The pitch of the roof is fairly gentle, so we’re able to stand around the damaged section to survey the damage. Grant lifts the plywood off the hole and slides it across the shingles before straightening up next to me.
“A few purlins have quite a bit of dry rot. We might be able to fix them by laminating them with healthy wood, but it looks like at least one of them will have to be completely replaced. The major support beams and columns for the building are intact, and it looks like localized damage. Must have been a dip in the roof that collected water in this area.”
“How long and how much?”
Grant grins. “No bullshit with you, huh.” He tells me he’s talking to roofing companies. They’re all busy right now, but he’s confident it’ll get done within four weeks—and definitely before Christmas.
I nod. “Fine. It’s got to be fixed, so I don’t have much of a choice.”
“The joys of being a landlord.”
I snort, taking one last look at the hole. I take a step toward it—I’m not even sure why. Walking on rotten roof supports is a very dumb idea. As soon as I do, I regret it. My foot goes straight through a portion of the roof and my body jerks downward. I yell in shock and pain. My heart jumps to my throat as my stomach bottoms out. I slide down to my chest, head and arms poking above the roof, legs dangling below.
&n
bsp; The whole thing takes half a second, then I’m stuck. I’ve just made a second hole in the roof. Great. “Shit.”
Grant holds out his hand and tries to pull me out.
I grunt and stop him, watching a bit of blood soak through my shirt. “Something’s poking me.”
Understatement of the year. It feels like my entire torso has been scratched to shit.
“What the hell is going on here?” A voice comes through the original hole in the roof. A second later, Simone’s red hair comes into view.
I give her a smile and a wave. “Hey, babe.”
Grant gives me a knowing grin. Huh.
Simone points in my direction. “Your feet are dangling through the roof.”
“Are they? Wow. Go figure.”
“Your lack of concern is disconcerting.” She crosses her arms, lips pinched together. Her eyes are wide though, betraying worry. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth, the movement catching my eye. Even as I dangle stuck halfway through a rotten roof, I still can’t help but notice her lips. Not good.
“I’m going to get a ladder. Is the roof strong enough for you to pull yourself out if your legs are supported?” She frowns, glancing at my lower body. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine.”
“I’ll stay up here to help pull him out. The ladder’s out here,” Grant calls out, staying far away from the hole in the roof. Smart man.
A second later, the ladder moves from the edge of the roof. I wince, a piece of wood jabbing my side. Swinging my legs slightly, I try to reduce some of the pressure on the wound. There’s a large piece of wood poking my side. I’m going to be sore as hell after this. Not to mention the mountain of teasing Simone will shovel my way. I’ll never hear the end of it.
I struggle again, trying to relieve some of the pressure on my side. The rotten wood of the roof is in bad shape, though—much worse than I realized. When I push against it to relieve some pressure on my wound, a chunk comes off in my hand. I don’t have time to react as wood and shingles crumble around me, the world rushes past me again, and I fall through.
Dirty Little Midlife Mess: A Fake Relationship Romantic Comedy (Heart’s Cove Hotties Book 2) Page 8
