Waterfall Effect

by K. K. Allen

  It’s two o’clock when I show up at Creek Café for my first training shift. The events of this morning weigh heavy on my mind, and guilt obstructs my thoughts. Claire is busy fixing a coffee for a customer while three more wait their turn. I hover nearby for a minute, completely useless with zero coffee-making skills under my belt, looking around at the café filled with customers.

  Huh. I guess I understand the reason for the rush. Everyone’s fitted in their hiking getups, complete with boots, backpacks, and rolled-up sleeping bags. From the looks of their matching yellow shirts adorned with logos, my guess is they’re a team of some sort.

  Claire tosses me an apron, gesturing for me to come around. “There she is!” She greets me with a distracted smile. “Wash your hands. You can work the glass case while I make the drinks. You’ll learn the register, too.”

  By the glass case, I’m assuming she means the pastries. That, I can do. I tie the apron at my waist over the Creek Café tank top that Claire gave me last night, the fresh cut on my arm hidden under a bandage.

  “Were you expecting this crowd?” I’m toasting a bagel and reaching for the cream cheese in the mini fridge when I get another look at the line, which is now stretching to the door. Every seat and window ledge is spoken for.

  She shakes her head, her smile never leaving her face. “Nope. Sometimes we don’t know when these big crowds are going to blow in, but I sure am grateful for them.” She nods at the group of hikers closest to us. “This group is an independent tour. They don’t book through our city, and a lot of their hikes take place off the paths. We warn them away from it, but like I’m always trying to tell Danny, it’s the mountains. Once upon a time, there were no trails. Anyway…” She winks as she places two drinks on the counter and shouts out a name. “Glad you’re here.”

  I’m about to respond when a flash of blonde hair crosses my line of sight. The door to the back room is still closing when the girl gives Claire a quick wave and a smile. “See you tomorrow, boss.”

  Claire waves back without looking up from the register. “Bye, Amber.”

  When the girl’s eyes fall on me, there’s a moment of pause and a flicker of curiosity, but it’s replaced with a brighter smile in the blink of an eye.

  “That’s Amber, the other barista I was telling you about,” Claire tells me as she rings up another order. “I’ll introduce you another time when this place isn’t slammed.”

  Two hours go by before the crowd finally dies down and there are only a handful of customers lingering about. Claire doesn’t waste a second to start showing me how everything works. I’ve been watching her on the register, so that doesn’t take much training, but the coffee preparation does. It’s not easy to remember how many espresso shots for each size drink, which machine to use for what, what ingredients can be substituted.

  And here I thought life was simpler in the mountains.

  Claire tells me we’ll be getting another rush tonight, this one planned, so we spend the next hour stocking up on supplies. I’ve just taken inventory of the needs for the glass case when she entrusts me with the café for the first time and runs off to Meg’s bakery. Almost as soon as the door dings on her exit, it dings again to signal a new customer.

  Panic sets in immediately at the sound. If they ask me to make anything, I’m screwed.

  My hand is full of a cleaning rag as I make circles around the surface of a table, scrubbing something sticky from the dark wood. Maple? Caramel? I can’t be sure. But damn it, I need to acknowledge this customer. I may be new to baristaing, but customer service is a no-brainer.

  Feeling the heat above my brow, I move the back of my hand across the beads forming on my forehead. I plaster a smile on my face and open my mouth to greet whoever just walked in.

  The air freezes in my throat when I see a handsome, bearded man with smoky eyes and broad shoulders approaching—fully clothed this time, with a brooding frown etched on his face. Somehow, Jaxon manages to get better looking every time I see him, even though right now he’s covering his beautiful curls with a burgundy knit cap.

  My surprise at seeing him walk through the door morphs into mortification as a vivid image of his bare ass flashes through my mind. He didn’t see me. He couldn’t possibly know I was the object of Lacey’s rampage from earlier. Or could he? Maybe he was storing up for a big ol’ laugh later because that is something Jaxon would do. He’s great at hiding his true feelings until he can’t possibly stand it anymore, as I learned quite well when I was seventeen, when he eagerly peeled my clothes from my skin in his parent’s basement and pushed into me for the very first time, greedy and rough, our bodies colliding just as our hearts already had.

  What I would give to be beneath Jaxon during his loss of patience again.

  I shiver. The way he’s staring me down, his hard-set jaw, and the gleam in his eyes speak volumes. I could dig a hole right here and bury myself in it for eternity. He knows I was there today.

  “Hello again,” he greets me, eyeing the rag in my hands. His brows turn down in the middle, confusion transparent.

  Again? He means last week, right? Not today, when I saw him fully—Jesus.

  Giving up on the sticky substance, I swipe the rag from the table before moving away from him to stand behind the counter. Thank God there’s a barrier between us now—anything to stop the stampede in my chest.

  “What can I get you?” That’s right. Straight to business, Aurora.

  “I’m sorry.” He steps forward, pressing his palms on the counter across from me as he leans in, bunching his shoulders. “Since when did you start working here?”

  I consider his questions, also contemplating if I should quit right now. He must be a regular here, which means I’ve just encroached on his space. I’m not here to cause Jaxon any more grief than what I left him with. Suddenly, my new job at the café isn’t as exciting a prospect as it once was.

  “Since today,” I respond with a swallow.

  “Claire hired you?”

  Why does it feel like we’re playing tug-of-war? I fight to mask my anxiety, tugging the rope in my direction as I speak. “Yup,” I say with more confidence than I’m feeling. “Is there something I can get you?”

  He peers up at me through long lashes, the blues and grays of his eyes becoming my favorite hue of marble-magic as a ray of light hits them. My hold on the rope loosens.

  “Let me think about it.” He sounds irritated, and his brows are still pinched together as if he’s deep in thought. It’s enough to make my insides furl.

  “Take your time.” I swallow, doing my best to deflate some of the tension. My eyes dart from him to the espresso machine behind me before I clear my throat. “I can make pretty much anything, but I’m still training, so anything might suck.” I blush at my confession. “And I don’t know your preferences, so I probably won’t be memorizing your drink anytime soon like Claire. But I promise to do my best.”

  He just nods, his frown deepening before peering up at the menu again.

  “I’m sorry, do you have a problem with me working here? It’s obvious you do. You might as well just come out and say what you’re thinking. Let’s get it out of the way.”

  There’s a tick of his jaw and a tightening of his knuckles against the counter’s edge. “I don’t think you want to hear what I’m thinking.”

  I lean forward, my palm slapping the counter. “Yes. I do.”

  His head snaps forward, eyes locking on mine and pinning me there with his glare. I tug my gaze away from his face and move down his strong neck, landing on the cream v-neck shirt he’s wearing beneath a plaid button down with rolled sleeves. I swallow at his intensity as heat rolls off him in waves.

  “Alright, fine. I’ll just say it,” he grumbles. “Claire needs someone she can count on. Not someone who will be in and out of town before she knows it.”

  The force of my own words getting tossed back at me is a hard slap in the face. I let out a shaky brea
th. “Feel better now?” I’m still standing tall, but I can feel my insides crumbling. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Claire is fully aware of my situation.” Now it’s my turn to pin him with my glare. “So, now that we got that out of the way, what can I get you?”

  He blows out a breath then looks around the room. “Where is she, anyway?”

  My cheeks heat again at the thought of him and Meg. “She went to your girlfriend’s bakery to prepare for the rush she says we’re getting tonight. Meg, right?” Could I be any more obvious? He’s going to see right through me.

  His expression twists into confusion. “What did you just say?”

  I swallow hard, pushing the lump down my throat. Is he going to be angry with me forever? Geez. I’m just here to make some damn coffee. “Meg is your girlfriend, right? Claire said she’s in love with—”

  My eyes lock on his as I speak, and then something happens. The stale air sparks, and Jaxon laughs. A good-natured chuckle that relieves some of the tension built up between us. At that moment, everything I’d envisioned about Jaxon and Meg vanishes, and reality takes its place. He doesn’t need to confirm that my assumption was wrong. That while Meg may be in love with him, the feelings aren’t mutual. Nerves pop off in my chest.

  “No, Aurora.” Jaxon’s tone is filled with exasperation. “Claire thinks she’s everyone’s cupid, but aside from her own love life, she’s clueless.”

  “That’s harsh.”

  “It’s true.” His eyes narrow in my direction. “Not that it matters to you, but Tanner is in love with Meg.”

  I ignore the first part of his sentence with an internal cringe. “Deputy Tanner?” There’s only one Tanner in town. And I’m not sure why I’m referring to him as Deputy Tanner either. Even wearing a badge, I still picture him as the troublemaker from our youth.

  Jaxon nods, a slow nod that forces me to turn my annoyance into a blush.

  “Oh.” Suddenly, everything begins to click into place. The guilt I had been feeling all day for my unlawful attraction dissolves completely, and I’m left feeling raw. Opened and dissected for all to examine. Jaxon is very much single and very much as forbidden as he ever was, given our history. I squirm under my skin, and I know he sees it.

  “Ah. Well,” he says standing upright. “Looks like I’m making my own drink today.”

  “Wait, what?”

  My jaw drops as he presses one palm against the counter and then swings his feet over in one hop. A second later he’s standing directly in front of me. I gasp as his palms land on my shoulders and his fingertips press into my skin. He turns me toward the espresso machine, his touch burning through me just the way I remember, lighting me up from within. My breath hitches in my throat.

  “I’ll show you how.”

  I swivel to face him, causing him to release his grip. I look up to meet his eyes. Jaxon towers over me by more than a foot, his six foot three frame to my five foot one. I used to love it. The way he peered down at me like somehow I was the one with all the power. The way his strong arms would wrap around my waist and lift me to steal one sweet, lingering kiss—at least that was the intention. But my legs always managed to wrap around his hips to pull him closer, resulting in him pressing my back into the nearest wall.

  “You’re not supposed to be back here.” My voice feels small. I take a shaky a breath to start again. “It’s my first day.” That’s better. Another breath. You can do this. “You’ll get me fired.” I place my hands on his chest and push, but he doesn’t budge. He simply looks down at my hands with an unreadable expression.

  “Please.” It’s my final plea, but his eyes snap to mine before he seems to consider my words—I mean, really consider my words as his gaze traces from my hands down the length of my arm, stopping briefly on my bandage before landing back on my face. They linger for only a second before he nods and backs away. “Okay, miss independent. Knock yourself out. Large coffee. Black.”

  He retreats slowly, just like Lacey did this morning, only his eyes carry a twinkle of amusement now. Such a strange contrast to moments before.

  Letting out a relieved breath, I set a to-go cup beneath the nozzle and push the button to grind a fresh batch of beans. Black coffee isn’t something I could possibly get wrong. If I’m being honest, I’m slightly disappointed. I could have benefited from a challenging order before Claire unleashes me.

  I set his coffee in front of him and start pushing buttons at the register. “It’ll be two-fifty.”

  He slides a five-dollar bill toward me. “No change.”

  Nodding, I complete the sale, purposely not returning his burning stare. I can feel him watching as I slip the tip money into a jar on the counter and turn away, busying myself by shaking the milk containers to see if they’re empty enough to be disposed of. I would literally do anything to avoid having to make small talk with Jaxon. That was never our style. It was either all or nothing. Deep and meaningful or complete silence.

  He hasn’t moved. I can feel his eyes practically digging into me as I accidently dump the unused grounds into the trash. “Shit,” I swear under my breath the moment I realize what I’ve done. Rolling my eyes, I shut the lid to the machine and exhale heavily.

  “How long will you be in town?”

  His question has a prickling effect on my exposed skin. I look up, my eyes flitting away as soon as contact is made. “I’m not sure yet.”

  “So you’re here just, what—taking a vacation with your fiancé? Selling Henry’s place? What’s the deal, Aurora?”

  I stop distracting myself with odd jobs behind the counter and face him. I owe him that much. I owe him everything, but right now, all I can give him is the truth—at least part of it.

  “There’s no fiancé.” I can’t read his expression, and he doesn’t offer any words. “Tanner was giving me a hard time about being back, and it just came out.”

  “It just came out that you had a fiancé when you don’t?”

  When he asks like that, it makes me sound delusional. I don’t want to explain Scott to Jaxon, so I shrug and skip the explanation all together. “Anyway, the timing was perfect. I wanted to leave Durham. Even before my dad died I was feeling…unsettled, I guess. I’m not really sure. I needed a place to stay for a while—a change of scenery—so I came here.” I pause, looking around for something else to do.

  In my periphery, I see him lean forward into the counter again.

  “I’m sorry about your dad…passing.” His voice holds its usual gruffness, but it’s softer now. I’m not sure how to respond.

  No one has been sorry about my father’s death. It’s like they all assumed I would be okay with it because of what he did and because it was he who ended his own life. It’s the assumptions that have been the hardest thing about all of this. I’m presumed to hate him. The attempted murderer, the monster, the crazy man. I’m presumed to have banished him from my heart like my love for him was ever a choice. Even with all that happened, I loved the man who raised me. The man who wanted to care for me even though he was struggling with his mental health. He was determined. He was loving. But at some point, something went wrong.

  Luckily, the ding of the door ends our conversation. I look up to find Claire grinning, her hands filled with packages that almost reach her chin.

  “Wow. You got the motherlode,” Jaxon teases as he takes the bags from her and deposits them on the counter.

  “You keep selling out, I’ll keep the supplies up,” Claire quips.

  What are they talking about? Selling out? Of what? They’re speaking a language I don’t understand as she winks at him and then turns to me with a grin. “How’d it go? Did we get any customers?”

  I look at Jaxon, who’s now emptying the bakery contents into the glass case. Confused, I nod my head and point. “Just him.”

  Claire’s laughter floats, light and airy, across the room. “I hope you made him pay.”

  “She did.” He grins, and Clai
re’s laughter grows louder.

  “For future reference, Jax doesn’t need to pay. He’s kind of the owner, but we don’t like to give him too much credit for that.”

  Again, mortification weaves through me. Owner?

  “Part owner,” he corrects her with a slap and squeeze of her shoulder. “Which reminds me, I thought we were supposed to talk about all potential hires before we commit to new baristas.”

  I know he’s teasing by the quirk of his lip, but my cheeks still heat with embarrassment.

  Claire waves a hand in the air, dismissing him. “You worry about your half of the business and I’ll worry about mine.”

  He chuckles and shakes his head. “Fine with me.” He points to the boxes of unopened pastries. “Looks like you two can figure this out.” He winks. “I better start setting up the studio, anyway. See you girls soon.”

  Half of the business? Studio?

  Jaxon crosses the room, leaving me with one final glance before he reaches a set of double doors I hadn’t noticed before. In shock, I watch as he props each French door open and walks into the next room—into the canvas shop with the Sold Out sign painted in the front window.

  I look over at Claire, who’s taken over for Jaxon sorting items onto the shelves in the glass case. “What is he setting up?” I ask, my heart beating way too fast.

  “Huh?” she asks before registering my question. “Oh. Jax owns the art studio, Creek Canvas, next door. Hence the whole co-owner thing.”

  “Really? The Canvas and Wine shop?”

  Claire’s eyes shine with pride. Apparently, this place is so much more than I originally thought. “Exactly. So you’re familiar with it?” she asks.

  “Well, yeah. It’s where people drink wine and paint.” I think that’s what the brochure mentioned.

  “Yup. The art is tailored to Balsam Grove. It’s easy and so much fun, and they can order wine and food from us. Our job tonight is to make sure his customers are fed and happy. And then they get to walk out of here with masterpieces of their own making.” She giggles. “And the ladies love Jaxon Mills. He’s practically a celebrity around here. I wouldn’t be surprised if they talk about him in Durham.”