Lovesick (Coffee Shop Series Book 2)

by Katie Cross

  “You’re lying,” I said.

  “I swear it.”

  “What happened?”

  “Not my story to tell. Romance? Dating? That stuff just doesn’t reach him anymore.”

  “Then what does?”

  “Climbing.”

  Mark’s enthusiasm for the topic would be borderline comical if my heart wasn’t the punchline. My nose wrinkled as I comprehended his subtext. Mark was warning me.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  I startled him by meaning it. He glanced at me twice for only quick flashes, keeping his attention on the road.

  “Sure.”

  “Think he noticed?” I looked out the window as he pulled onto the canyon road.

  “No.” He blew a bubble with his gum. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  I groaned. A satisfied grin overtook his face.

  Well, what a great plot twist that made.

  Didn’t matter, anyway. JJ wasn’t the picket-fence type. He was almost a decade older than me and wanted to branch out to grasp at the unlimited freedom of untethered bachelorhood. Live life on his own terms. At least, that’s how it had sounded.

  We fell into silence for the rest of the trip back to the Frolicking Moose.

  8

  JJ

  After Lizbeth left, I shuffled through my gear half-heartedly, my mind far away. A yellow notepad lay next to me. Quiet reigned over the office, but it wasn’t as deeply refreshing as usual. Normally, I yearned for some distance from Mark’s prattle. He was always making some kind of noise, as if he couldn’t stand the quiet.

  I pulled a pen out of my hair and scribbled a few notes. Thoughts of Lizbeth and her deep loyalty to romance kept intruding on my thoughts.

  Who seriously believed that?

  And owned it?

  Maybe she just equated safety with romance. I’d bet half my ropes that the moment she had any experience with heartbreak, her mind would change. Anyone with real-world know-how would be far more jaded. Or at least less . . .

  Idealistic.

  With a growl, I pitched the pen to the floor. It landed on the notepad with a thud. I leaned back, let out a long breath, and rubbed my hands over my eyes. This shouldn’t bother me so much, but it did. The thought of her figuring out the dark side of romance—like I had—set my teeth on edge. I didn’t even know her, not really, but I still didn’t want that for her. She deserved better.

  Crimson hair, soft as silk, flashed through my mind.

  Why couldn’t I just focus?

  Daylight waned outside. My stomach growled, reminding me that I’d forgotten to eat lunch. There were a lot of things I hadn’t done yet. Boredom had a way of doing that. The utter lack of direction in my life used to be thrilling. When we had ten different countries to hike through and no return ticket.

  But now?

  Now, I couldn’t peg it. Something restless had awoken inside me. Like a slow gnaw from the inside out.

  My brain wandered back to Lizbeth’s declaration. A thousand romance books. Who had the time for that?

  Or the space?

  “Bro!” Mark barked up the ladder. “I stopped by the bank. I think we could make this spa idea happen.”

  A deep sigh rippled through me. That didn’t feel any more exciting, of course. Another business. Another tangled mess. Another volley of ideas. Even that was better than staring at the ceiling, trying not to catalogue all the ways Lizbeth was wrong about romance. Why did I have to prove it to her, anyway?

  Why couldn’t I just let her believe it?

  “Coming!” I stood up. Because it was time to forget Lizbeth and let her live her life. Maybe she would find her romance and live happily ever after.

  I wished her luck.

  9

  Lizbeth

  The Frolicking Moose had never looked more like home.

  The moment Mark pulled into the parking lot, I wanted to throw myself into the arms of a latte, a new romance novel, and fresh pastries. Once inside, I closed my eyes and inhaled the aroma of vanilla and coffee beans.

  “Devin, if you squirt that Cool Whip in your mouth straight from the container, and I have to go buy another one again, I will have your head,” Ellie threatened.

  Ah, home.

  While the winter wonderland with JJ had been idyllic, returning to the shop and my sisters filled me with a happy buzz. Also, a new phone awaited very soon in my future. Couldn’t deny myself that joy.

  The door closed at my back, and Ellie’s emerald eyes shot to me in relief. No customers in the shop, only Ellie and Devin behind the counter. The gleam in Devin’s eyes faded when he saw me.

  “Hey, Lizbeth!” He rushed around the counter and crushed me in a hug with his thick football arms. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

  Ellie ran up behind him, and they wrapped me in their not-so-casual love. I melted into them. Devin had thickened up and grown taller in the last couple of years. Right into the beloved star of the town as high school quarterback.

  “Dev,” Ellie finally gasped. “Lay off.”

  He released us enough to allow a quick gasp for breath, gave one last vise-grip squeeze, then stepped back.

  Ellie grabbed my arm. “Mav told us everything. That scared me,” she whispered. “Please never do that again. You’re okay, right?”

  “Yes, I’m okay. And it scared me too.”

  “You’re good?” Devin asked.

  “Good.”

  Ellie didn’t look convinced. She leaned back against a table, the essence of casualness in her leggings and knockoff Uggs. An oversized sweatshirt of Maverick’s, rolled to her elbows, completed the relaxed ensemble. Like usual, she’d thrown her black hair into a loose knot at the top of her head.

  “The fate of the car is . . .” she drawled.

  “An icy grave?” Nonchalance came more easily now that I wasn’t dangling precariously over the edge. “I have no idea. Maverick texted me that we’d deal with it later. JJ isn’t sure they can tow it from that far down.”

  “May it rest in peace,” Devin said through a half bite of what appeared to be an egg sandwich.

  Ellie rolled her eyes. “Stop eating! That’s your fourth one this shift.”

  He said something unintelligible through his last bite, pushing a hand toward her face. She deftly dodged. The buttery, warm smell of croissants caught me by surprise.

  “Croissants?” I asked.

  Ellie gestured toward the display. “Le Grand Boulangerie sent them with the order this weekend. Said they had some extras. They’ve been selling like crazy so far.”

  My absence for even a few days left me feeling disoriented. The Frolicking Moose had been under my sole care for so many months it felt like mine. Would I feel like this when I left for the Pinnable job? If I got it, of course.

  My stomach growled, so I dismissed those thoughts. JJ’s breakfast seemed ages ago. I stepped behind the counter, already reaching for a coffee mug.

  “Talked to Bethie a bit ago,” Ellie said. “Mav said they’ll come home tonight. The canyon was mostly plowed, so it should be safe. Dev and I cleaned the house yesterday. It’s all ready to go.”

  “Thank you.”

  Unlike Ellie, I’d never been able to bluff my way through things. She trained her piercing glare on me.

  “Are you really okay, Lizbeth?”

  I nodded, but I was so far from it. Being home made it all seem so much scarier. Almost died. Saved by the man I’ve adored for months. Saw a new side of him. Fell even harder. Don’t have a chance.

  As sweet as JJ had been, I felt like a tightly wound braid ready to loosen. Coffee warmed my cup with radiant heat. I grabbed creamer and syrup. Coffee was just a vehicle for all the other delicious stuff.

  “Oh, Dev and I are touring State University next weekend,” Ellie said. “Can we swap shifts?”

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks. I’ll put it on the calendar.”

  “You excited?” I asked.

  Ellie nodded emphatically.
Devin’s expression dimmed for half a second but then recovered. Had I imagined it?

  Probably.

  “Oh, and some mail came for you.” Ellie motioned upstairs with a flick of her wrist. “I tossed it on your bed.”

  The blood in my body froze all at once. “Anything interesting?” I asked.

  She sent me a look that suggested I’d failed at seeming casual. “Not a big white envelope from Pinnable, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Dang.”

  The bell on the door rang, admitting a group of brawny high schoolers. A scowl leapt to Ellie’s face, and a grin to Devin’s. She was a year younger in school and decidedly less extroverted, particularly with his football friends.

  Or with anyone but Devin, in fact.

  Fortunately, his rampant extroversion had no fear of her extreme dislike of people and crowds. Somehow, those two oddballs made their strange friendship work.

  I cast a knowing smirk at Ellie. “Have fun,” I mouthed, slipping past Devin with my coffee. By the time I disappeared around the counter, she’d already made herself scarce in her catlike way.

  The attic room where I lived above the Frolicking Moose had a steep, sloping roof. My bed—a four-poster wrought iron beast swathed with gauzy fabric—took up most of the space. On the other side of the attic was a small bathroom with a shower, toilet, and sink so closely packed together I could barely spin around.

  The most important part of all greeted me: my books.

  Maverick had built in an entire wall of bookshelves. He’d even trimmed them around the windows. I’d crammed all 957 novels into every spare spot and then some. The cacophony of titles, colors, and paper gave me a physical thrill every time I saw it.

  Today was no exception.

  Right now, all I wanted was to dive into one of those romance-affirming books and prove JJ wrong. Romance was real. More importantly, it was a force for good in this world.

  I snuggled into a pair of bright-red flannel pants, a long white snowman T-shirt that said Frosty is my jam, and a pair of monster slippers. Sunshine trickled into the room through the frozen windowpanes. A pair of soft, glowing lights wrapped around my canopy bed. The gentle smell of evergreen mingled with coffee felt like a warm embrace.

  With my thoughts churning like a winter storm, I set my coffee down on a small table and reached for my laptop. It wasn’t there. That, too, had been lost in the crash. I let out a frustrated breath.

  A nap would work wonders. With a shake of my head, I closed my curtains, crawled under my covers, and lay on my cool pillow. JJ lingered in the back of my mind like he’d taken up residence, even though I tried to evict him countless times. Thoughts of him intruded until I sighed in frustration.

  Did he really not believe in romance?

  Or know about Pinnable?

  The man had been hiding for far too long. From what, though? Did it matter to me? No. Not necessarily. Except I hadn’t exactly gotten the most romantic ending to our time together. It was clear what should have happened.

  The lovely, grief-stricken woman would be in dire circumstances that the love interest selflessly battled out with her, despite his own problems. After waiting out the storm and sparking undeniable chemistry with literal zips of electricity that skated through their blood, they just couldn’t bear to part, even if they didn’t understand it.

  Even if it had only been five hours since they first met.

  Obviously.

  And that was so far from what had happened.

  JJ had some serious lessons to learn about romance, and I intended to teach him. In fact, I knew exactly how to do it. JJ was a man invested in logic, facts, and science. There was no woman who straddled those lines as well as me. Computer programmer obsessed with romance?

  Oh, I would so give him all the data on romance.

  With that promise ringing in my head, I shoved JJ far from my mind and dropped into a welcome sleep.

  My eyelids drooped from exhaustion all the next day. After my nap, I’d spent time with Shane until midnight while Bethany slept. I just couldn’t let go of his downy skin and perfect little breaths. Totally worth it.

  Thick piles of snow boxed in Main Street after the massive storm. Rafi, the middle-aged man who plowed every winter, had just scraped out our parking lot. Cars drove by every now and then, tires hissing on the icy street.

  The temptation to turn on Christmas music nearly overwhelmed me, but Ellie and Devin would relieve me soon. Ellie, the perpetual scrooge, would glare me to pieces, then put on something dramatic like polka just to make a point.

  My third cup of coffee steamed into my face as I peered over it at my friend, Leslie. She had frizzy blonde hair with dark roots, and a pair of wide-brim glasses. With her sophisticated, long black coat, she cut an impressive figure in the quaint little shop. Four kids and a husband kept her busy. We’d first connected when Bethany and I started the Frolicking Moose Book Club years ago.

  “What genre is book club this month?” she asked, nose wrinkled.

  I waggled my eyebrows. “Romance.”

  She fake-gagged.

  “Sounds like you need to get a little pizzazz back into your marriage, Les,” I said. “You always hate romance month.”

  She stared at me as if I’d grown another head. One dark brow quirked. “You’re kidding.”

  “What?” I cried. “Romance spices up everything. You’ve been down in the dumps for a while.”

  “I’d rather buy a new garbage disposal.”

  I laughed.

  “I’m serious,” she deadpanned. “My sink keeps clogging. It’s driving me crazy. Have you ever had to plunge your sink with the same plunger you use in your bathroom because it’s the middle of the night? It’s not pretty.”

  “Why were you doing dishes in the middle of the night?”

  “Because that’s when I have time.”

  “C’mon. Romance helps you remember why you got married in the first place. No?”

  “Not true.”

  “Really?” I drawled. My hand fell on top of an unmarked binder. “Please, tell me more.”

  Her eyes tapered at my tone. “What are you up to, Lizbeth?”

  “Nothing.”

  “A lie. You have a new binder, which is scary in itself. And it’s a pink binder with glitter hearts. Oh, heavens, you aren’t writing a romance novel about me, are you?”

  My eyes flew open. “No, but that’s the best idea ever!” I grabbed a pen, flipped the binder open to the first page, and scribbled a note.

  “Most boring romance ever.”

  “You just need to spice things up.”

  “What is that, Lizbeth?”

  “It’s . . . a social experiment.”

  “From the computer coder?”

  “Don’t stereotype me.” I nudged my coffee cup so I had room to sprawl the binder out. “I love people, and I love to code.”

  “Fair enough. So, spill.”

  “It’s a love binder.”

  She blinked at me.

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s not weird, so don’t even say it. And it’s not that kind of love binder. I’m trying to define romance and love and prove they’re real through scientific data. So, I’ve written down quasi-romantic experiences, created a rubric by which to grade them, and put it on graph paper so I can score it in different capacities. Part of my research involves hearing from other people—not just women—on what they think is romantic.”

  She shook her head. “Your brain makes mine shrivel every time we interact. Why are you doing this?”

  “Let’s just say I’m trying to turn a skeptic.”

  “Oookay.”

  “The first step is to define romance, and then define love.”

  “That’s easy.”

  “Oh, really?” I drawled. “Go for it. Give me a one-line definition of romance, right now.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, paused, then closed it again. The skin between her brows wrinkled. “Well . . . maybe it’s not easy.”r />
  “Ha!”

  “Romance is . . . you know . . . it makes you feel special, I guess?”

  “That was a question, not a statement.”

  She shrugged. “I honestly haven’t thought of romance in like eight years. I have four children. Romance just doesn’t rank.”

  “So?” I cried. “All the more reason to get some more of it in your life.”

  Leslie tilted her head, a comical expression on her face that basically screamed, You have no idea what you’re talking about.

  I leaned forward. “Look, I get it. I’ve never had kids. I don’t know what it’s like to be up all night and all day with screaming children. Or to share that much of yourself. So much of yourself that you aren’t sure there’s enough left over for your husband.”

  Her gaze slowly softened. This was too easy. I’d read enough second-chance romances to be a professional at this.

  Leslie looked down at her hands. “Yeah. I guess it does feel like that sometimes. But that doesn’t mean I’m dying for romance. I’d really just rather he run the vacuum without me having to ask him to do it. Can the man just do a chore without me initiating it?”

  “So, let’s break this down.” I straightened, pen at the ready. Ink spilled frantically across the page titled Leslie while I wrote. “Your idea of romance is doing chores?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t not say it.”

  “Don’t double-negative me.”

  “Then tell me what you think is romantic.”

  She threw her hands in the air. “I have no idea, Lizbeth!”

  “How do chocolates sound?”

  Her nose wrinkled.

  I crossed that off. “Okay, not that. How about flowers?”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s just something else to keep alive and feed.”

  “Definitely not that.” Crossed it off. “How about dinner and dancing?”

  “He’d trip and fall on top of me, and we’d both break an ankle. Then my mother-in-law would have to live with us and we’d get divorced. No thanks.”

  “Do you watch rom-coms?”