Lovesick (Coffee Shop Series Book 2)

by Katie Cross

  Her brows rose. “That’s not what I expected. You’re one of the most self-aware and articulate people I’ve ever met. C’mon, JJ. You have to know you feel something for her. I can see it in the two of you. In the way you look at her.”

  “It’s not . . . I just . . . I really don’t know. We’re friends. I . . . what do you want me to say?”

  “That you’ll fall in love, have babies, and not move away ever again.”

  I shot her a glare.

  She shrugged. “You asked.”

  “It doesn’t feel right to move on it.”

  “You mean ask her out.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, why not?”

  “That’s what I don’t know.”

  She frowned. “Something to do with me and your father, maybe? Afraid to fail like we did?”

  That was Mom. Blunt to a fault. My hands rested on the counter because I didn’t know how to respond. Maybe she was right, maybe she wasn’t. It hadn’t been my first thought. Mark popped into my head, but I didn’t know why. Mark was pushing me to make a move on Lizbeth too.

  “I don’t know.”

  She put a hand on my shoulder. “Your father and I are different people, JJ. Our fate isn’t entwined with yours.”

  “I know that.”

  “But do you really?”

  No. Not really.

  Which might have been why I asked the next question. The question that had been burning on my tongue for the last five months. My ribs expanded as I took a deep breath. I tried to force all my frustration out with it so it didn’t leak into my voice. With everything going on at work, Mom didn’t need more stress.

  “You told Mark about the problems you and Dad were facing when your marriage was crumbling,” I said. “He knew that divorce was a very strong possibility.”

  Her hand fell away from my shoulder. She drew back a little bit. “Yes.”

  I straightened to see her better. “There were big problems between the two of you when you separated. You confided in Mark and in Megan at different points. I had my suspicions that things had turned a corner, of course, but I had no idea just how much of a corner. Later I found out that they knew and I didn’t. I was . . . boxed out. Why?”

  It felt like something white-hot inside me had just been plucked. Now it vibrated, hissed, filled my chest with its ricochet.

  “That’s . . . that’s not what we meant, JJ.”

  “I know.”

  “We love you.”

  “I know that too.”

  This was the first time I’d ever asked her. The first time I’d aired the words that had rubbed under my skin like salt for months. Her complexion had gone a little pale.

  “Are you angry with us?” she whispered.

  I took a moment to think the question through. “I’m hurt.”

  “JJ, I promise that wasn’t the intent,” she rushed to say. “At least, not mine. I can’t speak for your father anymore.”

  An edge of bitterness cut through those last words. Also nothing new, but it still made me flinch.

  Was this what relationships came to? It had certainly been true of Stacey and me. With a shake of my head to clear those thoughts, I asked, “How did you meet Dad?”

  “How did I meet him?”

  “Yeah.”

  Disoriented by the quick change of subject, she took a few seconds to respond. Her frown deepened. “Through a friend in high school. She introduced us at a football game after-party. He was quiet and calm and not like most of the other guys I’d dated. I liked that about him. At the time,” she tacked on.

  The same quiet and calm that eventually drove them apart, no doubt. Even I remembered that Dad had peeled farther and farther away from home life. A dozen memories swamped me. Their fights when I was in high school. Mom screaming. Dad ignoring her. The silence after.

  Maybe Mark and I had been running away from home all those years.

  “Was it romantic?” I asked.

  “Romantic?”

  “When you met.”

  “Incredibly. At the beginning, anyway. He stood up to some bullies for me. Cared for me. Bought me things. There was nothing we didn’t do together. At the time, I was young and impressionable and thought that romance meant he was everything. And he was.”

  I studied her. The last year had aged her, leaving new lines near her eyes and on her forehead. Though she was noticeably brighter now that she wasn’t living in the oppressive shadow of Dad’s silence, she seemed like a different person. Lost. Wandering. Uncertain, though happy.

  Was this the first time in my life I’d actually felt like Mom and I understood each other?

  She’d always been closer to Mark. They had the same restless energy. The same burning desire to achieve, to be the center of attention. Only she had calmed over the years.

  I took a page from Dad, the quiet brooder. Held my thoughts in until I couldn’t. A flash of confusion—maybe regret—whispered through me. This felt like an ambush, only I was the one doing it.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not angry with you, Mom. I’m confused. Trying to sort things out.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “You shouldn’t be sorry. It’s time Dad and I face the legacy of the choices we made. I didn’t relish the divorce, but I should have done it years ago instead of putting all of you through this. Maybe it would have been easier. Although,” she added in a soft voice, “I don’t think this kind of thing is ever easy.”

  “You’re doing great, Mom.”

  I reached over, pulled her into a warm hug, and rubbed her back as she cried.

  JJ: Sorry if this wakes you up, but I wanted to let you know that I actually read some of those books that you saw in the kitchen tonight and am working through the rest.

  Lizbeth: I’m not sure how to read that.

  JJ: Factual.

  Lizbeth: This is horrible over text because I can’t see your body language.

  JJ: You’re always welcome inside.

  Lizbeth: It’s 11:00 at night! Too cold. Just tell it to me straight. Did you love the romance books or hate them?

  JJ: I didn’t hate them.

  Lizbeth: Do you secretly love them but you don’t know how to tell me without breaking your tough-guy exterior?

  JJ: Not that. My tough-guy exterior is built on actual strength.

  Lizbeth: Then what?

  JJ: It was pretty much all unrealistic.

  Lizbeth: And?

  JJ: And I get the appeal. It’s the same thing that drives people to binge Netflix or whatever. Or sends me climbing rocks. But that still doesn’t make romantic love real.

  Lizbeth: Romantic love is more than that. It isn’t just an escape.

  JJ: Then what is it?

  Lizbeth: It’s . . . hope.

  JJ: That a Viking warrior is going to sweep you off your feet and to your own castle full of really fun dresses?

  Lizbeth: Well, sort of. Yes. Obviously that probably won’t happen in this day and age, right? Castles are at a premium. But books help me remember that that option isn’t TOTALLY gone. Maybe it won’t happen to me now, but I can pretend it will.

  JJ: Do you want a Viking warrior to sweep you off your feet? They raped and pillaged and murdered like crazy people.

  Lizbeth: Not the ones I like! There were gallant ones, I’m sure.

  JJ: Gallant Vikings. Riiiiight. I mean, living in the Middle Ages?

  Lizbeth: Yeah, I would have sucked at that.

  JJ: Would not have been pretty.

  Lizbeth: Maybe that’s what romance does. It takes undesirable circumstances and makes them a little more . . . doable.

  JJ: That’s your best argument so far.

  21

  Lizbeth

  “Mark, I created some design boards for you to look at on Pinnable. They give some color schemes and a feel for what we can do with Adventura’s website,” I said the next day.

  His head popped up from where he was sitting on the couch, pouring over some documents I’d
eventually have to file. I leaned forward to put push Mark into this century on my list.

  “Are you already working on the website?” he asked.

  “Soon. I’m just prepping for it in between scanning these documents and losing all my brain cells. There’s only two boxes left.”

  He grinned roguishly and stood up to skim through what was there. I angled my laptop to go through some of my ideas, but before I could explain, he nodded. “Looks good, Lizbeth.”

  “But you haven’t even looked at it.”

  “I have. I read ahead of you. I can already tell you have a vision for it that aligns with mine. The colors are earth tones, I like the landing page on the left you have pinned there, and you already have the URL that reflects the company name. Looks good.”

  “You said part of the reason you wanted me to stay here was so you could help design the website. This could easily be done remotely.”

  “Yeah, but that was before I implicitly trusted you.”

  “Oh.”

  “Looks good to me. Go for what you think is best.” He turned back to his work without another word.

  I sat there for a second, simultaneously flattered and stumped. Mark was a classic laissez-faire leader. He hated details and just wanted to guide the general direction, which made it easy for me to work with what I knew. But I hated the lack of guidance because it left more decisions for me. Still, this would help the résumé because I could create a stunning website. The back-end work was always fun.

  And I really wanted to make him proud.

  “Okay,” I drawled slowly. “I can do that.”

  A few more hefty stacks of paper needed to be scanned and organized onto his new cloud storage. In between waiting for the internet to upload each file, I updated my spreadsheets and my to-do list and regarded the love binder, which I’d hidden underneath the desk.

  Among my general theories on romance, I’d included the point that romance may have been defined differently in the medieval period, but surely it had existed. The Lais of Marie de France and all its courtly upheaval and romantic affairs proved it.

  My task list outside of work included reading other historical texts that could prove romance had always existed, which would debunk any argument that romance was a modern construct created to sell products—a debate I’d certainly won with other people before.

  But not with JJ.

  Before my thoughts could spiral too far down that rabbit hole, JJ walked inside. The cold had pinked his cheeks in an adorable way. My pulse beat faster.

  “Hey, Lizbeth, you busy this afternoon?” he asked as he peeled off his parka.

  “Just working.”

  “Think you’d be interested in taking a few hours off?”

  Something intriguing sparkled in his eyes when they met mine. If the afternoon involved him in any way, shape, or form, I was definitely interested. Unless it included strenuous physical activity—then I was out.

  “What did you have in mind?” I asked.

  “A movie. Maybe some lunch afterward.”

  My heart literally pitter-pattered. Was he asking me on a date? I forced myself to act casual. “Ooh,” I said. “Which movie?”

  “The Heiress.”

  An excited little squeal popped out of me before I could stop it. I’d been drooling over that movie—and the gorgeous, Victorian-esque wardrobe—for weeks now. “Really?” I cried. Then my enthusiasm died. “Wait, that’s a romance.”

  “I know.”

  My gaze tapered. “Then why do you want to go?”

  “Call it curiosity,” he said. “It’s been at least eight years since I’ve seen one. I’d like to try it again.”

  “And then debate with me?”

  He grinned. “You got it.”

  Unfortunately, I couldn’t resist those mossy eyes or that bright smile. Watching a romance movie with JJ? Heck yes. I’d always been a sucker for hearty banter, and we had it in spades.

  Mark waved a hand. “Go for it if you want,” he said before I could check with him. “I need a little peace and quiet around here.”

  JJ held out a hand with his usual smile. “Let’s go. Next showing starts in an hour.”

  “Number one rule,” I whispered as we sat down in the cool, dark theater. “You have to be honest. No softening it.”

  He made an X over his heart. “Promise.”

  “Great. I’ll give you a summary.”

  “Doesn’t that ruin the movie?”

  “Not for a romance! When you start a romance, you always know how it ends. The Heiress is about a princess named Elody who inherits the crown unexpectedly. Her older brother was always slated for the position, but he dies, along with her parents, in a plane crash. Not only is Elody devastated, but she now has to lead her country.”

  “Naturally.”

  I shot him a glare that made him grin. He gestured for me to continue. On the towering screen, the opening credits began to roll, with a little splash of violin in the background.

  “Her parents’ adviser, a severe man named D’artagnan, is tasked with helping her transition into the position. Foibles ensue as she attempts to ascend to a role that was never supposed to be hers to begin with.”

  “Did you just say foibles?” he asked.

  “My vocabulary is extensive.”

  “I can see that,” he said seriously. “It sounds like you memorized the trailer pitch.”

  “D’artagnan,” I said, stressing the word to draw his attention back to what was most important—imminent romance, “is the only guide who really helps her through all the light and dark moments, because no one else believes in her. Partly because she’s female. Except Elody and D’artagnan hate each other from the beginning, and she doesn’t know if she can trust him.”

  “That sounds bleak.”

  “I know!” I squealed. “I love it. It’s called the enemies-to-lovers plotline, and it’s my favorite. There’s drama and tension built in. I mean, you can’t ask for any better challenge than dragging two people who hate each other into the depths of love, right?”

  “Disagree.”

  “Then what’s your favorite challenge?”

  “Free-climbing El Capitan.”

  I laughed as the movie started. “Fair enough.”

  “You know they get together in the end, though,” he whispered as the lights dimmed. He’d leaned in closer, the sweet and salty smell of kettle corn on his breath. “How can you really enjoy it if you already know the ending?”

  “It’s precisely why I love it. I know it’ll happen, but I don’t know how. I don’t know what moments will bring them together. What tension will build? It’s really all about how they connect, not if they connect. The enjoyment is in the imagining.”

  He made a noise in his throat as the camera panned over a view of a castle, and I silenced another internal squeal. I’d been waiting forever to watch this movie. Having him, of all people, right next to me couldn’t have been any better.

  Or so I hoped.

  If he tried to ruin this for me, I’d throw popcorn on him and take the Zombie Mobile so he could hitchhike home.

  Thankfully, he fell into it as quickly as I did. The biggest challenge was focusing on the screen, and not on the way his arm pressed against mine because neither of us lifted the armrest. Or on the occasional hint of forest that lingered in the air when he shifted. Halfway through the movie, an old man behind us coughed.

  I leaned closer to JJ. “We should invite him to sit with us.”

  He sent me a confused look.

  “He’s all by himself,” I whispered.

  “Yeah, probably because he wants to be.”

  “Maybe not?”

  “It’ll distract from the movie.”

  I’d mostly been teasing, so I sent him a rueful smile and turned my attention back to the screen, but he remained leaning closer to me than ever. I almost missed the epic first-kiss scene inside a waterfall.

  “It’s so Last of the Mohicans,” I whispered
in delight. “Well done, screenwriter.”

  JJ outright laughed.

  When the movie ended and I blinked back tears from an utterly perfect proposal, JJ let out a long breath. The lights slowly brightened, flooding the room. Behind us, the old man trundled to the end of his row to quietly head down the stairs. I didn’t want to leave.

  “Well?” I asked. “You had so little to say.”

  “Surprisingly.” JJ blinked. “It’s . . . interesting. I see why you like it.”

  Then why did he look so confused?

  I’d already given up hope that JJ would see romance the way I did. Now, I just wanted his acknowledgment that romance was real. I better earn a point of concession out of this date, I thought.

  “Rate it out of ten,” I said. “With one being you hated it and will never give romance another chance and ten being it’s the best movie you’ve ever seen.”

  “A five.”

  “Respectable!” I cried. “And far better than I thought.”

  He offered a relaxed grin. His gaze had softened through the movie, losing its edge of intensity. My heart beat like a drum under my rib cage when he reached back, pulled his hair out of its bun, and let it fall to his shoulders. He normally wore it up, but now it rested around his face and cast shadows on the hollows of his cheeks. I could only stare at his sculpted face as something warm ignited in my belly.

  His arms flexed as he ran his fingers through his hair, then pulled it back out of his face and turned to me again. When he looked at me, his expression had reverted to his usual careful amusement.

  I swallowed hard.

  But I thought that he, too, had some sort of uncertainty in his gaze. An uncertainty that, like mine, could mean he had some feelings for me. That my obsession wasn’t totally one-sided.

  Maybe.

  “Thank you for coming with me,” I whispered instead of shouting, Holy palm trees, kiss me right now! “I’ve been waiting for the movie to come out so I could rent it and watch with Bethie.”

  His gaze dropped to my lips for half a second before they returned to mine. “Was this better?” he asked.

  “Definitely.”

  “My pleasure.” He smiled softly. “Really. Are you interested in some lunch before we head back?”