Lovesick (Coffee Shop Series Book 2)

by Katie Cross

  At least I didn’t have to stare at the burned-out shell of the Frolicking Moose. Even though I’d broken the ice on my grief at the bookstore, I still wasn’t ready to face it. Then I’d have to admit how much I missed the twinkle lights around my bed. The smell of coffee. Not having to herd Mark.

  Actually, that wasn’t so bad. He’d come up with some amazing ideas today after sitting in a vegetative state on the couch for an hour.

  Weird, but effective.

  While I thought about the soft touch of JJ’s hand on my knee during the ride up and the feeling of his fingertips against my back when we walked out to the truck, Ellie dropped into the seat across from me. A flurry of cold air and snow yanked me from my thoughts.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  “You’re not late.”

  Her keys jingled as she set them on the table and pulled off her parka. Beneath it she wore a fitted aquamarine athletic shirt that made her eyes bright. Two men sitting nearby perked up. She trained her cold glare on them in seconds, and they shrank away.

  She wrapped her hand around a mug of hot chocolate I’d ordered for her. Snowflakes sprinkled from her hair and melted on her shoulders.

  “It’s good to see you,” she said around a sip. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Same. Thanks for coming.”

  “Anytime.”

  “So, tell me everything I’ve missed,” I said.

  She cracked a smile. “We just talked yesterday.”

  “Yeah, but it’s different in person! How’s school? Did Mav finish the new shelves in the garage? What’s going on with Devin’s college admissions?” I asked. “Are the two of you still looking at State University?”

  Her forehead wrinkled. “Not sure. He hasn’t said much about them, which is weird because he seemed all excited for a while. Then he spoke to some recruiters, and now he’s quiet.”

  “Think he’ll go into the military?”

  She shook her head. “No way. He promised me State University so we can go together. I’m graduating early next year so I can get in sooner. He’s going to work, save up, and wait for me. There’s no way Mac and Millie can afford to send him anywhere else, anyway. He needs the money in the worst way.”

  “Where is he now?”

  Ellie glanced outside, as if her answers lay there. The grooves between her eyes deepened. “Dunno. We were going to do homework earlier and he had to leave all of a sudden.”

  For any other pair of humans, that would seem totally normal. For Ellie and Devin? Strange. Something was brewing, but I could tell she didn’t want to talk about it.

  Ellie eyed me. “You have something on your mind, don’t you?”

  With a half laugh and a shrug, I said, “I think Mama’s haunting me.”

  One fine black eyebrow quirked. I nodded. What other explanation could there be for the memories that were always surfacing? The whisper of Mama’s voice in my mind at the weirdest times? She seemed everywhere to me now.

  “Do tell,” she murmured.

  A thousand pictures played back through my head, racing on the heels of the others, Mama’s voice in the background.

  “There’s always one man out there who will love you, understand you, and keep you safe. Make sure you settle with that one. You’ll know it if he brings the romance, Lizzy.”

  “If the romance isn’t there, then neither is the ring. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Make him swoon you a bit, sweetheart.”

  Her advice had been in direct opposition to the way she’d lived her life. Mama had met Dad, sensed that he wouldn’t let her go but also wouldn’t ask her to stay, and held on. Then she’d sought love elsewhere. She wouldn’t let Dad go, but she wouldn’t love him, either. Like she despised him for being the person she relied on the most.

  Meanwhile, she wove magic around romance every time she gave me advice.

  “You know who your father is, don’t you?” I asked instead of diving back into Mama. First, I needed answers.

  Ellie froze, then reluctantly nodded.

  “How did you find out?”

  “Watched Mama. Followed her over to his house a few times in the middle of the night when I was six or seven.” She set her mug down. “Most of the time she stayed until just before Jim returned from . . . wherever he went at night.”

  “The bar, probably.”

  Ellie nodded.

  “How old were you when you found out he was your father?”

  “Six.”

  “How?” I asked with a shake of my head. “How did you know?”

  “Mama caught me following her over there one day. I dug into a hay bale to stay warm and waited until she came back early in the morning. Mama told me everything then. Besides, she hated Jim and I looked nothing like him. Then I saw Trevor and it confirmed it for me. I have his eyes.” Her expression softened slightly.

  Trevor. She’d never told me his name before, and Mama had never said it. Ellie knew our neighbors and land better than anyone else. She often slept outside in the summer to be closer to the cats and horses. Something about animals reassured her. She always had one in her arms, even now.

  “Does Trevor know the truth about you?” I asked.

  “Mama never told him.”

  “Why?”

  “She said it would ruin the romance.”

  My heart sank all the way into my nauseated stomach. What kind of a mama said that to her daughter? A mama totally obsessed with something that wasn’t real. For the first time, I began to notice a sense of familiarity around Mama’s love of romance. A familiarity that made me want to vomit.

  I shoved that aside.

  “Did you ever talk to Trevor?”

  “Only once.”

  I waited for more, but Ellie stopped talking. She’d already given more than I’d expected. It didn’t feel right to push her farther.

  “Thanks,” I said. “All that information, it . . . it helps.”

  Her gaze tapered. “What’s going on?”

  My fingers fidgeted with my cloth napkin in an unsuccessful attempt to smooth out nonexistent wrinkles. The past couple of days with JJ had been . . . lovely. Perfect. A balance between surreality and hope. Days that I wouldn’t give away or change for anything.

  Yet Mama plagued me.

  I’d asked Ellie here because I needed validation. Did I remember Mama correctly? The memories hovered on the surface of my mind in bright flashes, almost as if she were standing right in front of me. Obsessed with a specific vision of love that she’d chased her whole life and never found. Had I made some of this up? It seemed too wild to be real.

  Would I end up just like her?

  “What do you remember about her?” I asked instead of answering her question.

  Ellie frowned. “That’s not a fair question. I was so little.”

  “You loved her more than anyone. Maybe you remember something different than me or Bethie.”

  She growled, “I’m not doing a walk down memory lane unless you tell me what’s going on.”

  “How about I tell you what I remember?” I said quickly. “I remember makeup. Tight dresses. Big heels. I remember her smiling most of the time, unless she wasn’t. There wasn’t neutral on Mama, just . . . happy or angry. I remember Dad being jealous when he was drunk and Mama slapping him for it seconds before she took his paycheck to the bank.”

  Ellie’s expression soured, but she hadn’t left, so I knew she’d stick with it. After a long pause, she said, “I remember love songs.”

  “Love songs?”

  “Mama always played love songs. Cheesy ones. Ridiculous ones.” She rolled her eyes. “The kind you could buy off of a commercial for $9.99. She’d sing them at the top of her lungs while she danced around the house.”

  That stirred vague memories. Ellie twiddled her fingers, as if to flick it away.

  “She did it mostly when you were at school. Said she didn’t want it to distract you from studying. That your mind wa
s going to take you places. That you wouldn’t need a man to save you like she did.”

  My nostrils flared. “She never said that to me.”

  “I know.”

  Ellie’s calm expression sent a bolt of fire through me, but it faded.

  “What else didn’t she say to me?” I asked.

  “A lot of things.” Ellie looked down at her hands. “Mostly about Trevor.”

  “Did she love him?”

  “She said she did.” Ellie’s brow rose halfway to her hairline. “Could Mama really love anyone but herself?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then why didn’t she leave Jim?” Ellie countered. “Why torture him and us? No, Mama didn’t know anything about love. Didn’t understand love. What she thought was love was addiction. Desperation.”

  I had no answer to that. Ellie and I had gone to therapy for over a year after Bethany got custody of us. I’d continued intermittently through college. Ellie had stopped the moment Bethany let her, but her insights always impressed me anyway.

  “What else did Mama say?” I asked.

  Her expression darkened. “Nothing.”

  “She—”

  “What’s going on?” Ellie demanded. “Tell me, Lizbeth. You have me all freaked out. We haven’t talked about Mama in years.”

  The reply stalled in my throat. Because I’m afraid I’ll end up just like her.

  “I care about JJ,” I whispered.

  Ellie didn’t seem fazed, and that frightened me. Was I so transparent? Did he see it? He must—why else would he show me such lovely affection?

  Would it be a bad thing if he knew?

  The waitress handed me another warm mug of tea and turned to Ellie, who shook her head and waved her off. It bought me a few seconds to pull my scattered heartstrings back together.

  “And?” Ellie asked.

  “And I . . . I don’t want to end up like Mama.”

  “You’re afraid that if you commit to someone you’ll end up like her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “JJ doesn’t believe in romance.”

  She stared at me in puzzlement, then her eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open.

  Before she could argue, I held up a hand. “Hold on. Don’t jump to conclusions. I wouldn’t say no to JJ just because he doesn’t believe in romance like I do. I know that romance isn’t everything, it’s just . . .”

  Unsure of how to finish that thought, I let it trail away.

  Ellie leaned back, the pad of her thumb running over the top of her mug. She regarded me, then asked, “And has it been romantic with JJ?”

  “Well . . . no. And definitely yes.”

  Her brow furrowed. “What?”

  I threw my hands in the air. “I don’t know, Ellie! I’m so confused. All the things that were supposed to be romantic didn’t really feel that romantic. There are moments I care so much about him I could choke, but they’re never the times I expect.”

  “So?”

  “So?” I cried. “So what if I fall for him even harder? What if we get into a relationship and the romance fades and it all falls apart and I turn into Mama? Or worse—what if I turn JJ into Dad?”

  Ellie blinked twice. “Just because Mama was a mess over romance doesn’t mean you’re going to live her life.”

  “I’m a mess over romance, Ellie! I remember her obsession with romance. She read books as fast as I did. Watched the movies with me. Convinced me that romance was the only way to be safe.”

  “And it’s not?”

  “No! Maybe. I don’t know. Real life is different. It’s not what she told me it would be. While parts of my time with him are wonderful, some of it isn’t. It frightens me because I’m not sure what to believe anymore. What’s real?”

  “Your feelings for him must be real.”

  “They are, and I care for him.” Maybe love him. I tucked the traitorous thought away for later. “Maybe Mama felt that way about Dad at first. About Bethany’s father. About Trevor. When it comes to romance, Mama and I . . . we’re practically the same person. That side of Mama lives on in me.”

  And it may have been her darkest legacy, I silently added.

  To that, Ellie had nothing to say. Finally, she reached a hand across the table and grabbed mine. Uncertainty—even fear—lurked in the depths of her bright, glacial eyes.

  “I don’t know what to say, Lizbeth. I’m sorry. I’m not great at this. But I just don’t think you’re doomed to be like Mama because you love romance. You’re not Mama.”

  “Maybe not,” I whispered. “But what if I’m enough like her that I destroy everyone who’s important to me? What if romance is what drove her to make all the decisions she did? I’m not . . . I’m not even sure romance is real anymore.” I looked away. “Not the way I imagined it. Maybe it’s just been a crutch. A place to hide.”

  Until I said the words, I didn’t realize how deeply they’d bothered me. Pricking thorns on my soul. Festering wounds. The devastation in my heart left me breathless. Romance in real life was breathtaking and exciting, but also treacherous. Although the books described anguish and heartbreak, it never felt real to me until now.

  Romance was more than just hope—it was agony. Duality. A double-edged sword. As dark as it was bright, as bloody as it was holy. As menacing as it was comforting.

  How had I been this naive? How had I come this far in life, lauded for my intelligence, but still holding on to such a ridiculous farce? Books. Movies. Stories I’d relished to the depths of my bones. Had the music, the costumes, the ideas in my head somehow hidden the truth?

  That love broke as much as it restored?

  “I’m sorry that I don’t know what to say,” Ellie whispered.

  With warmth, I gripped her hand and mustered a smile that seemed to appease her a little. “Thank you. I just needed to know that I hadn’t made this up. That this side of Mama was real. You said all the right things.”

  “Mama was lovesick, Lizzy,” she whispered. “And she let it rule her. Don’t do that, and you’ll be fine. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  “Do you need a ride back to Adventura?”

  I shook my head. “JJ was doing something somewhere. He’ll text me when he’s done and take me back with him.”

  Ellie hesitated as if to say something, then decided against it and gave me a little smile. “Then I better go. I have class tomorrow and homework to finish. Keep me updated, okay?”

  I nodded. With that, she squeezed my hand, grabbed her car keys, dropped five dollars on the table, flipped the bird to the two men still staring at her, and slipped outside.

  I gazed at the door through which she’d left, my mind whirling.

  26

  JJ

  An order of fifty éclairs of many colors and flavors accompanied me into Le Grand Boulangerie in the middle of Jackson City. The warm smell of yeast and sugar filled my nose.

  Two men stood behind the counter of the eclectic shop decorated with lights, mason jars, and pastries. One of them let out a cry when he saw me.

  “Those must be the éclairs!” Grant squealed with a flap of his hand. “Our final test. Get over here, J-man. Let’s see them.”

  I gently slid the box toward them.

  “The conquering hero returns,” Immanuel drawled.

  Immanuel and Grant, newlywed owners of the bakery, opened the éclairs. Of the two, Immanuel was the pickiest. He had a sharp nose, a broad face, and a constant five o’clock shadow. His personality was as prickly as his appearance, but he reminded me so much of my dad that we’d ended up friends.

  Grant was sunshine to Immanuel’s sharpness. He smiled constantly, and his moonbeam-blond hair only heightened the effect.

  Immanuel inspected the éclairs visually first. He twisted the box to the left, then right. Peered up close, then stepped back. Grant tried to reach for one, and Immanuel slapped his hand away.

  “Uniform,” Immanuel said with a quick glance at
me. “Impressively so. Choux pastry is hard to predict and get right. Particularly at altitude.”

  The two batches in the garbage back at Adventura proved him right. Not that I was going to volunteer that detail.

  “I like the color and the frosting,” Immanuel continued. “Your piping skills have come a long way. Sufficiently so, I think.”

  “Buttercream and I have become good friends,” I said.

  A ghost of a smile appeared on Immanuel’s face. He gestured to Grant, who snatched the first éclair he could reach and took a bite. A raspberry vanilla-bean curd lay thick inside, with a subtle layer of chocolate frosting piped on the top. Grant chewed, hesitated, then melted to the floor.

  “Well,” Immanuel drawled, “I think you pass.”

  From the ground, Grant mumbled something dramatically unintelligible. I agreed with him, if I did say so myself. They were delicious éclairs.

  Immanuel waved a hand over the box. His gluten intolerance prevented him from tasting them. “Perfect, as always. It was our final recipe for you to try.”

  “And what updates do you have on the build-out?”

  Immanuel tilted his head toward the back wall, which was made of old brick and crumbling in the right places. Behind it lay their normal baking area. Ovens. Rolling counters. Barrels of flour. They had enough space to keep their store stocked, but not much else. They often sold out of their most popular desserts—éclairs among them.

  “The city rejected our plans for expansion in the back,” Immanuel said. “We’re looking with a realtor to find other options. The warehouse on the other side of town is more than we could afford . . . right now.”

  His gaze met mine with a subtle hint of challenge. I knew exactly why.

  “Then expanding into catering with my help will be a good stepping stone,” I said.

  He nodded. Immanuel was never really enthused about anything. Grant, on the other hand, popped up again with a bright smile.

  “I’m confident that we can move on to the first phase of our plan,” Immanuel said, “which means we’re officially ready to hire you—starting today.”