The Coffee Girl

by Natalie Charles

  "Most people on set aren't pulling a night shift at a bakery the way you are." She smoothed my hair and adjusted the collar on my blouse affectionately. "Come on. You're finished for the day, right?"

  "Yeah." Thank goodness. Brennan must have pulled some strings for me, because the crew was preparing to shoot yet another scene, and filming would go late into the night. "I have a few more scenes tomorrow, but it's really a small part."

  "But you're going to be great." She slipped her arm around my waist as we walked out. "You really are a natural. Of course, I knew this."

  "I've gotta get out of here. Jessie's probably waiting for me." The guilt tugged at me as I pictured my cousin and dad baking alone. Jax had come to the shoot with me, but I noticed with a tug of disappointment that he'd left. I sighed, feeling a dark cloud cross over my mood. "This schedule is wearing on me."

  "Funny you should say that, because I was just talking to Rubee Adams, you know, from Celebrity Burn? Poppy checked in this morning." Greta stopped and gave a little wave to a woman who looked familiar. "There's Rubee. She'll tell you." She pasted a smile on her face and waved merrily. "Rubee! Have you met Wren yet?"

  Gwen's left hand pushed me forward so hard that I nearly stumbled into Rubee's arms. She was wearing several gold bracelets on each wrist, and they clattered with every movement. "I have met Wren," she cooed. "We saw each other at Hodges Brennan's party, I believe. She gave me a juicy piece of gossip." She winked at me, and my cheeks burned at the memory of my whopper about Jax's waxing habits. Not my brightest moment, by a long shot. "How are you?"

  "Great." I inhaled the scent of her stifling perfume. It smelled like a summer garden in a tightly closed space on a brutally hot day. "Just…everything's so great."

  "Wren's been concerned about Poppy." Greta smoothed a lock of my hair affectionately behind my ear.

  "Concerned about Poppy?" Rubee tilted her head in confusion, and at that moment I felt like I was up to my waist in lies and deception and half-truths, and this territory was getting much too bizarre to navigate.

  "Yeah, I just…" I scratched at my arm, wilting under her sharp gaze. "You know, I pulled her out of the pool and she didn't sound like she was doing well. She said something to me — privately — that made me concerned that she was having a difficult time with something."

  "Oh," Rubee nodded as if my vague response explained everything. "Yes. She has been going through some transitions, poor dear. But I think she's doing much better now. She's off in Fiji. She says she has no plans to return any time soon." She giggled. "Of course, we know better, right, Greta? We know Poppy. Can you say 'workaholic'?"

  I shifted my weight as they shared a laugh about Poppy's work ethic. My head was throbbing now. So this was Poppy's story, that she was in Fiji? I needed to lie down somewhere and not think about anything for a good, long while. "So she's sending you updates about her getaway?" I said. "That's good she's enjoying herself."

  "'Enjoying herself' is an understatement. Poor girl needed a break." Rubee sighed and shook her head. "If you ask me, she's checked herself into some kind of treatment program, though they don't normally let them use electronic devices."

  "You think she's in rehab?" I started. "What for?"

  "Oh, who knows. Pills. Drugs. Booze. Sex addiction seems common these days, but that doesn't usually make you fall in a swimming pool." Rubee licked the tip of her finger before smoothing down one eyebrow. "An impromptu trip to Fiji doesn't seem like Poppy's style. She's tightly wound, if you know what I mean. She's the type to plan to be spontaneous. But she says she's in Fiji so that's what I'm going to report." She gave me a wink. "That's what you get when you have a relationship with me, Wren: the benefit of the doubt."

  "A relationship?"

  I could tell from Rubee's eye roll that this was a horrifying response. "Oh jeezus, Greta. How green is she?" She turned back to me and took a step closer, overwhelming me with the smell of hot flowers again. "You know how reporters get information, right, honey? They have sources. Anonymous sources, usually. I operate the same exact way. People tell me things and I report on it. They keep coming back because I always make good on my promises. One," she held up a finger, "I don't attach names to stories. Two, I pay well."

  Greta eyed me sidelong. "Rubee pays in notoriety," she explained. "Not the same as cash."

  "Better than cash," Rubee said. "Do you know how many hits I get on Celebrity Burn? Millions. I'm known for having the inside scoop, for being the first to report. Placement on my site can make or break a star." She pursed her lips at me, reaching out to stroke the hem of my blouse. "Case in point. I meet a young starlet at a house party. She gives me some interesting gossip about a hot young man she's in a relationship with, and then she jumps, fully clothed, into a swimming pool to save another young starlet from drowning. Naturally I find this to be fascinating." She smiled slyly. "So I run a story about her heroics the next day. She's someone I want my readers to watch. Other bloggers pick up the story — who is this mystery woman? Why hasn't anyone heard about her before? They want to know more. They're clamoring for pictures, which start to surface. She's cozy with Jax Cosgrove on the beach, they're walking hand in hand in a charming little seaside town. Suddenly she's been offered a role in a film that Hodges Brennan is producing. Poof!" She snapped her fingers. "She's a star."

  There were a hundred questions running across my aching head, not the least of which was why someone like Rubee would choose to construct a celebrity out of me. I was a nobody, officially. But mostly, I couldn't dwell on it. I had only a night of baking to look forward to, a few hours of sleep, and then another day on set where I'd pretend to be dating a man for whom I had developed some very real feelings.

  "We appreciate everything you've done for her," Greta said, filling the silence. "You basically discovered her!"

  She laughed, but I felt sick to my stomach. I was living in a different universe, officially.

  "I know star quality when I see it," Rubee said. "So tell me, Wren: what's the word on set? Anything interesting happening?"

  I fumbled for an answer. "I, uh…I have to think about it."

  "Come on now. Nothing springs to mind?"

  Rubee sidled closer to my side. Around us, the random crew member passed, carrying a camera or sound equipment, the occasional rope or ladder, but they kept their distance. No one was listening in.

  I looked at Rubee, really studying her tiny gray eyes and her red-stained lips. Her hair was a deep shade of reddish maroon bordering on purple. Beneath the pale foundation layered on her skin, I noticed freckles that looked an awful lot like my own — buried, sure, but there. "Is Poppy selling you secrets?" I barely breathed the words. I didn't consider the question before I spoke. I asked the question because I had to know.

  In a flash, I knew I'd underestimated Rubee. A hardness closed around her eyes, or maybe it was there before and I hadn't noticed it until that moment. It made no difference, because in a blink of an eye, everything between us changed. Rubee believed she'd made me a star, and I'd shown ingratitude. Then, just as quickly as it had arrived, the moment passed and Rubee was back to herself.

  "Poppy and I speak all the time," she said breezily.

  "That's not what I mean. Does she give you stories for your blog?"

  "I told you, I don't name names." Rubee smiled unpleasantly. "I take it that means you don't have anything new for me to add to my site?"

  The icy tone of her voice sent goose pimples crawling across my skin. I may have been a complete fraud, but even I wouldn't stoop to selling gossip and secrets in exchange for free publicity. "Yeah," I said. "That's a good way to take it."

  She pinched her lips and gave me a hard stare. "Too bad. I may not have anything nice to say about you anymore. Wren."

  Something about the way my name rang from her mouth sent a shiver up my spine, but I tried not to let it show that she'd affected me. Instead, I shrugged and brushed past her. "I've got plans. Sorry to run."

  Behind me
, I heard Greta muttering some frantic apologies, but I didn't hear anything from Rubee. I'd never felt so wrung out in my life, and I wasn't quite sure who I even was any longer. Under the circumstances, it was hard to care what anyone else thought of me.

  "Wren! Over here!"

  I turned to see Jax standing by a golf cart, wearing a big smile. My mood brightened. "Jax."

  "Sorry I missed the end. I wanted to get you this." He handed me a giant bottle of spring water. "Come on. I'll give you a ride home."

  "I'm heading to work at Hedda's."

  "Then I'll give you a ride there." He smiled and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to his side and kissing the top of my head. "Go get changed. I'll meet you at the car."

  I flung my arms around his waist and buried my face in his chest. His shirt was soft against my cheek, but below it was the hard wall of his abdomen. We stood there for a moment as I allowed the rest of the world to slip away. Let Jessie and Dad wait a few more minutes. Right then, Jax was all I needed.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I realized when the smell of fresh paint greeted me at the door that renovations were already underway in the bakery. I walked through the kitchen toward the main dining area and saw the evidence: a large canvas drop cloth spread across the tiles and my mom standing on a wooden stepladder, rolling light-green paint down the wall. Two of the college students Dad had hired for the summer were helping. "What do you think?" Jessie asked.

  The color Mom had selected reminded me faintly of an opal. "I didn't realize how dirty the white paint was."

  "That was my thought, too," Jessie said. "The whole space will look so much cleaner when they're finished."

  "This isn't the end of it," Mom promised, speaking into the wall as she focused. "I've got plans. I'm having sea glass subway tiles installed behind the counter. We're freshening up the wrought-iron tables. You won't be able to recognize the place when I'm finished."

  The small team had already managed to cover almost half of the wall space, and it was still dinnertime. "Are you finishing the painting tonight?"

  "That's the plan," Mom said.

  "They have to," Dad corrected as he came into the room with a few bags of day-old pastries. "It's bad enough the place is going to smell like a chemical factory. I can't have it looking half-painted, too."

  Mom casually rolled her brush into the paint tin, amusement seeping into her face. "I told you it would be finished on time, Hank. I'll stay here all night if I have to. And I also told you that this is a low-odor paint. Your customers are still going to be able to smell your coffee cake."

  I braced myself for Dad's sharp retort, one in which he reiterated to Mom how serious he was about his business, but that reply never came. Instead, Dad walked over to stand just behind her ladder, watching the color spread across the wall. "You sure that ladder is safe, Lil? It's old."

  "It's fine," she replied lightly. "You always worried too much."

  "I can't help it." He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Here, let me check it. If you come down for a minute — I can do it quickly."

  "Hank." Mom stopped and turned to face him. "I'm twelve inches off the ground. Even if I fell, I'd be fine. Stop worrying."

  Here we go, I thought. This could get ugly, with Dad reminding Mom that this was his ladder and he knew for darn sure it was unstable. Then Mom would remind Dad that interior design was her business, and she knew darn well what she was doing. Then they would rehash every painful part of their past so that everyone who worked in the bakery would hear it, and if I was really lucky, they'd discuss my upbringing and whether or not I was living to my potential, and who should take blame for which of my shortcomings.

  But that's not what happened. Instead, they locked gazes, and then they smiled at each other. "I worry. I can't help it," Dad muttered.

  "I know," Mom said warmly. "It's sweet."

  The gaze lingered, and then she turned back to the wall. Dad walked past me and headed into the kitchen, leaving Jessie and me standing agape. She spoke first. "What just happened there?"

  My brain was short-circuiting, the thoughts misfiring in random order. "Worry. Not fighting. Oh my God." I looked at my cousin. "Did they just flirt?"

  No. This was not flirting or any kind of shared concern. I mean, they'd gotten divorced how long ago? And in all of those years, there had never been any sniff of a reunion. "Maybe your dad is just really excited about new paint," Jessie whispered in that diplomatic voice that made it clear she didn't believe a word she'd just said. "It's been a long time since we've had new paint in here."

  "Yes. It's the fumes," I agreed. Sure, I'd seen one or two movies about divorced parents falling back in love against all odds, but I was rounding the bend to thirty years old. That should have happened when I was still a teenager. "I just can't process this right now," I said, and headed back into the kitchen.

  "Better to not think about it," Jessie said. Then added, "But it would be great, right? If they got back together? It's probably the paint fumes, though."

  "Probably."

  There was a knock and I looked up to see Jax smiling at me through the screen door. I nearly sprinted to let him in, grateful for the distraction from the bizarre exchange I'd just witnessed. "I hope you brought your painting clothes," I said. "Mom's out there on the stepladder."

  He glanced down at his jeans and black polo. Definitely not ready to paint, but still pretty hot. "Does she need help? I can get changed —"

  "It won't take much longer," Dad boomed from across the kitchen. He nodded at a standing mixer. "If you're here to work, I've got a batch of cinnamon rolls with your name on it."

  Jax looked at me. "I can do that, Mr. Mallory." We watched as Dad left the room, and then Jax touched my arm lightly and lowered his voice. "You're baking too, right?"

  My fingers flew recklessly to grab at one of his belt loops, tugging him closer. I wondered how it was possible to have had so much of one person and to still want more. "I'm baking too," I whispered. "By the way, you owe me a bicycle. Don't think I've forgotten."

  "I would never think such a thing."

  "I hope you brought your little sports car."

  He leaned closer, his face falling in shadow. "You need another ride?"

  The innuendo sent the breath shooting straight out of my lungs, and I nodded helplessly. "Uh huh." Did I ever.

  He pulled himself to his full height, hovering over me, and said, "Well. I'll see what I can do." Then he gave a cheeky wink that sent the blood rushing straight from my head.

  I reached out with one hand, gripping the counter to steady myself. For God's sake, I was a virtual puddle of frenzied hormones. I collected myself just in time to look up and see Jessie observing me with a subtle arch of one eyebrow. I shook my head at her and mouthed, Don't.

  She dropped her jaw in mock horror and mouthed back, Me? Then she returned to her work, a Cheshire Cat grin on her face.

  With Jax's extra help, Dad, Emily, Jessie and I were able to finish the evening's baking earlier than usual. We were cleaning up when Mom entered the kitchen and announced, "Done."

  Her hands and clothing were splattered with paint, and a streak of green raced up her cheek. She looked proud and tired, and even though there were five of us in the kitchen, her gaze was fixed squarely on Dad, who was taking unusual care arranging a platter of muffins. "What's that?" he asked.

  Mom sighed and set her hands on her hips. "I'm done with the paint. You should come out and see it."

  "In a minute," Dad said, shifting a blueberry cobbler muffin he'd just set in place a moment ago slightly to the side. "We're almost finished."

  "I want to see it," I said. I untied my apron and hung it on a hook. My hands were still covered in flour, but I wasn't about to go groping the wall.

  "I'm coming too," Jessie said.

  Jax and Emily followed us into the bakery. Mom, from whom I'd clearly inherited my flair for the dramatic, had turned off the lights before gathering us
. "Ready?" she asked as we stood in the darkness. She flipped the light switch with a loud, "Ta-da!"

  Amazing what a coat of fresh paint could do. The white trim looked whiter, the room looked larger, and even the light fell differently. "Ignore the floor tiles for now," Mom said. "I promise they'll look much better in a few days. But doesn't it look fabulous?"

  "I love it!" Jessie gasped. "It looks so clean."

  "It's like a new space," Emily agreed. "Beautiful."

  "Isn't it?" Mom crossed her arms across her chest. "I'm pleased." She looked over our heads. "Nice of you to join us, Hank."

  Dad mumbled something behind us and then stopped. "Wow. This actually looks great."

  Mom's short brown hair was pulled into a ponytail, but she tucked a loose strand behind her ear. "You had your doubts?"

  He tilted his head as he looked at her. "I shouldn't have." He gazed around the room. "This is the perfect color for this space."

  Mom crossed her ankles demurely and looked down at the floor.

  Okay, now this was getting weird. They were smiling at each other and being so friendly and supportive that it was starting to make my skin crawl. "It's super, Mom. Nice job." I pointed back to the kitchen. "I'm going to get cleaning up. It's been a long day."

  "Sure, honey," Mom said. "I'll just remove this tape and head home. I have a client meeting in the morning."

  Behind me, Jessie, Dad, and Emily offered to help her. There were still some dishes piled up beside the sink, though. Someone had to take care of those. I reached for a bowl when Jax came up behind me and whispered, "Let's go."

  He wrapped one hand across my stomach and reached the other down my side. A shiver darted across my skin as he pressed his warm lips to my jaw. "I…can't," I nearly moaned. "I have to help clean up." His fingers trailed a thread of fire across my back. "I'll do it quickly."

  "I'll help."

  I can't say those dishes sparkled when we were through with them, but they were clean enough. All the time, Jax made a point of brushing up against me, standing close enough that I could feel his body heat. I swept a rag across the counters quickly and muttered a quick good-bye to my family. I'd have some explaining to do to Jessie, but my mind was on other matters.