by Sarah Gay
She sat at the closest bistro table in hopes of settling her stomach. She held the warm mug in her hands, allowing it to heat her cold fingers. She had a few minutes while her stomach settled to make a meaningful connection. Something she tried to do with her new customers.
Becca glanced up at the barista, with a sneaking suspicion that the young lady had a thing for Jack. Maybe not where she’d start. She caught the elderly man’s eye. “So, what makes this tea so sweet?” she asked him as her bottom lip pressed against the smooth rim of the mug.
He stepped closer, as if asking her to repeat her question.
She allowed the warm liquid to slowly run down her throat, swishing the better part around in her mouth, enjoying the sweet woody taste with a bold essence of roasted nut and rose water. The aftertaste had a marked resemblance to bees’ honey.
“Are you sure there’s no honey in this?” she asked.
The man raised one of his white, bushy eyebrows. “Would you like me to get you some honey?” he asked.
“No thanks, but I would like to know your name and why you enjoy working here.”
The man’s shoulders lifted, and his eyes smiled. “Would you believe I used to stand over six feet tall?” he said, taking the seat across from her.
As she sipped her tea, he continued to tell her about how he’d lost the love of his life to cancer, and how his job at the coffee shop had given him renewed hope. When Becca finished her tea, she leaned her elbows onto the table and rested her chin into her hands, begging him to share more.
Jack blew out a sigh of relief as the red semitrailer pulled out of his parking lot with one hundred and ninety-nine purple Japanese vines, the one remaining vine tucked safely in the back of the truck Harlan had rented for Becca’s garden project.
Becca, Jack mouthed with longing. He had a thirst for her he couldn’t quench. If having her in his arms with their lips intertwined hadn’t been so fresh, then maybe it’d be easier to take it slow, while trying to develop their friendship. He wondered how long it would take Becca to realize what he’d experienced the moment their lips first pressed together.
His heartrate sped with the anticipation of being close to her again, bathing in her rose-vanilla scent. He pulled his phone from his pocket to call her, but found they were still on their original Facetime call.
Jack opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut, clenching his jaw when Becca’s hand reached across the table and rubbed a man’s thick arm, plush with sandy hair.
Get a grip, he told himself. He needed to rein in his jealous nature, something Becca had made crystal clear did not impress her.
Jack turned the camera around and muted the call so he could watch, incognito, what appeared to be Becca on a date with a…senior citizen?
They sat at a two-person table at the café. Becca tossed her hair and laughed at something the man said. Jack turned the volume up to its highest setting. Was that her grandfather? Jack wouldn’t make the same mistake again, assuming Becca’s relative was a love interest. At closer examination, Jack recognized the man as an employee of the café.
“Bye, Leonard,” Becca said to the elderly man as she stood.
Jack’s phone went black, but he could still make out café sounds, muffled chatter that drowned out the spurting espresso machine. He chalked up the black screen to Becca pocketing her phone, top down, thus exposing its microphone.
He held his phone to his ear while he walked through the store to his new office, the only real differences between the two offices being modern furniture and the synthetic smell of freshly laid, industrial carpet. His footsteps lightened with resolve; he’d sign the papers on his desk, then rush to McKinney to be with Becca. He set the phone next to his right arm on his desk as he reviewed and signed the requisition requests from his purchaser to the background sounds coming from Becca’s phone of the McKinney market closing up for the day: tables folding, and sellers offering their lowest prices of the day.
“Becca, you’re back? Did you meet up with Jack?” came a young woman’s voice, grabbing Jack’s attention.
“No, it was just me,” Becca answered. “But I chatted with a nice man while I sipped a new blend of tea.”
“Oh, really?” the other woman drew out with interest. “But is he as handsome as Jack?”
Jack leaned over his phone.
“Jack and I are working on being friends. End of story,” Becca said curtly.
Jack’s heart dropped into his stomach, causing instant indigestion.
Static came from the phone. “Just friends?” a man asked.
Becca coughed “Ah,” she said. “Hey, Mark. How are you?”
Jack tensed.
“Good,” said Mark.
“It’s so nice to see you,” said Becca in a candy-sweet voice. “I’ve been wanting to apologize for the other night.”
“Apologize?” yelled Jack, relieved he’d silenced his phone so Becca couldn’t hear his rantings.
“No need,” said Mark. “I saw the video on your business’s page of you painting this table and thought I’d stop by and check it out in person.”
Harlan walked into the room with a stack of yellow papers in his hands. Jack waved for him to be quiet and sit.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Becca,” said Mark. “The passion in that video really revved up my heart.”
“Video?” asked Becca and Jack in unison.
Jack turned his computer on, the words “revved up my heart” ground between his teeth like the bad lyrics of a pop-country song.
“What’s going on, Jack?” asked Harlan, jumping out of his seat and staring down at Jack’s phone, which flashed with white light before Becca’s concerned face filled the entire screen. “I thought you weren’t going to spy on her?” Harlan whispered.
“I’m not,” Jack hissed back as the call ended and his screen returned to the time and date screen saver with a sunset backdrop. “But I sure as heck am gonna find that video.”
Harlan plopped into his seat with a grunt. “A video that has nothing to do with Becca, because you don’t listen in on her conversations, and you’re not stalking her, right?” he asked with heavy sarcasm.
“Still want that twenty percent raise?” Jack responded with fire in his eyes.
“What I meant to say was…” said Harlan, lifting his phone, “—what’s the name of Becca’s store again? And does this mean you’ll be working the afternoon? The maple trees came in and George wants to place them next to the raspberry bushes, says they’ll prevent bugs, but he’s afraid to come talk to you.”
“What, why?” Jack rubbed the back of his neck to relieve the sudden tension, but he knew the only thing that would reduce his stress would be to open his store on time, and he had only three weeks remaining to do it. “Yeah. I’ll stick around. I need to clear my head.”
“Impressive,” said Harlan, tilting his head to the side as he stared down at his phone.
“What?” asked Jack.
Harlan nodded. “Not bad.” He adjusted his glasses without taking his eyes off his phone. “I liked her before. Now I really like her. She’s got something,” he said, pinching his fingers together.
“What?” Jack repeated, jumping out of his chair and ripping Harlan’s phone out of his hands. He touched the screen to play the YouTube video Harlan had been watching. The cue circle popped up, forcing Jack to wait for it to reload before he could watch what Harlan had been so mesmerized with.
Harlan twisted his lips as he scratched the back of his head. “To answer why George won’t come talk to you.” He raised his brows while casting his eyes down at his side. “Some people seem to think you tend to be impatient, edgy, commanding…not sure where they’d get that idea from,” he said, staring at his phone in Jack’s hands.
“Ha! And no one would accuse you of being a pain in the—" Jack cut his thoughts short when the video began, with The Eye of the Tiger playing in the background, causing a smile to split his lips.
In the
video, Becca’s movements matched the fast beat of the song. By the expert way in which she held her paint brush, executing long, smooth strokes by pulling the paint up to form delicate flowers, one would’ve thought she’d painted those same flowers a hundred times before. But Jack had been with her that morning, when her table painting had still been in the conceptual stages. Becca had pure instinct. Natural born talent. He regretted not having been there in person to witness it and tell her how amazing she was.
Jack sat back in his chair, reveling at the woman who commanded his thoughts.
Harlan took his phone back from Jack and spoke into it, “Call Rob.”
“Why are you calling Rob?” asked Jack.
“I’m gonna tell him not to sell the gardens. We may need it for a family wedding next summer.”
Jack jumped out of his seat. “Rob’s selling the gardens! Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
The phone call went to Rob’s voicemail. Harlan cleared his throat as he ended the call. “Impatient, edgy…want me to continue?”
Jack clenched his jaw. “Grandpa should’ve given me the gardens. I grew up in those fields.”
Harlan shook his head. “We all did. Rob’s not only the eldest grandson and your brother, he’s the first born of grandpa’s first born, so the gardens naturally went to him.” He pointed at Jack. “And why are you complaining? Rob is losing money on the gardens. None of our parents got anything. You’re the only one that made out with anything of real value—grandpa’s house.” He slapped his chest. “What did I get?” he asked rhetorically.
Jack pressed his palms into his desk. “Sorry. You’re right.”
“No kidding, I’m right. Do you want to swap your house for my car?”
“Hey, that’s a nice car,” said Jack, fighting back a smile.
“Right.” Harlan shot him a crusty look. “Twenty years ago, I could’ve gotten a hot date with that car.”
“When you were five?” Jack slapped his thigh and laughed.
Harlan threw his head back and laughed, joining Jack in laughing at himself, then glanced down at his phone. “Rob texted. Said he can’t talk but he’ll stop by the McKinney garden shop when he’s in the neighborhood later. I’ll head back there now.”
“No,” Jack said with a shake of his head. “I need you here.”
“Wedding…in the gardens,” Harlan said, as if reminding Jack.
Jack raised his hands in the air. “What are you talking about?”
Harlan blew out a breath. “Stop denying it. You’re nuts for Becca.” He slumped into his chair. “Leave it up to you to fall in love right now…when everything is riding on you opening this store.”
“Wedding? In love?” repeated Jack with a hard swallow, his entire body breaking out into a cold sweat, then Rob popped into his head. “Where’s my phone? Rob better not come anywhere near her.”
Harlan pointed to Jack’s phone in his hand. “Dang, we’re in trouble.”
“Call Rob,” said Jack, speaking into his phone.
The line picked up. “Who’s the girl?” Rob said as if joking, but Jack knew better than to trust Rob with any information.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Jack lied. “How about we talk gardens.”
“Half of McKinney’s talking about you two.”
Jack’s anxiety rose, but he kept his voice steady. “Nothing to tell.”
“Good. Then you won’t mind if I ask her out.”
“What did you hear?” Jack couldn’t help but ask.
“I’m in the restaurant business. I hear everything.”
Jack formed his hands into fists. “Not again, Rob.”
Rob blew a breath into the phone. “It wasn’t like that.”
“You make it sound like you’ve only done this once,” Jack nearly shouted. “She’s mine.”
“I hope you’re right,” Rob said, ending the call.
Jack slammed his fist into his desk. “I hope you’re right? What’s that supposed to mean?” he seethed.
Harlan motioned to the office door. “Want me to—”
“Yeah. Get to McKinney and keep an eye on him.”
Chapter Seven
A whimper escaped Becca’s lips as she stared down at her phone. In the video, she danced shamelessly to the fast beat of The Eye of the Tiger while she mixed the paint on the table.
She pressed her fingertips to her lips and wrinkled her forehead, her mind willing the video to erase, but knowing good and well that the clip had already been welcomed into the digital world and there was no way of stopping its distribution now. Over a thousand people had already seen it. How was that even possible? Becca had no choice but to soldier on, watching herself act like a fool for the entire universe to mock.
Mark stood over her shoulder, blowing unsolicited and unwanted hot breath onto the top of her head, causing chills to flow up her arms. “This is where you really get into it,” he said with misplaced pride, throwing his fist in the air to mimic her movements.
“Please, no,” she whispered as she watched her head bop from side-to-side, her arms flailing in the air as she wiggled her chest in time to the beat. “Grace,” she called out while chewing her fingernails. “Could you please take this off our site?”
“I think that would be a mistake,” yelled Grace from inside the store.
“No, I don’t think so,” responded Becca with a little more bite.
Grace giggled, causing Becca’s nostrils to flare. “Our online sales are going through the roof. If sales keep up like this, we’ll be out of inventory by the end of the day.”
“What?” asked Becca, clasping her hands together while she hopped in place. “Are you sure?”
“Come see for yourself,” Grace said with a higher inflection, noting her excitement.
Mark stood between Becca and her shop’s doorway. She pushed him slightly with her shoulder and sprinted inside. “Mark, gotta go. Have a great day.”
“B…but,” he stammered, his voice fading as Becca shut the thick wooden door behind her.
Grace pointed to the door. “Are we closing early?”
“Nope, just closing out annoying men,” she answered with a shrewd smile and sideways glance, accidentally tapping Grace’s side with her shapely hips, bumping her clear out of the way. She had to see the numbers for herself to believe them. She reached her computer and watched as the numbers rose sharply.
Grace chuckled. “What are we going to do if everything sells?”
“How about a little international travel? You ready? And not just you and me. If sales keep up, I’ll need more buyers.”
“Seriously?” asked Grace, wrapping Becca in a huge hug. “Because my passport’s just sitting on my dresser, ready to be stamped. But there’s something else we need to buy,” she added. “And I think you know what I’m talking about.”
“What?” Becca asked, unable to read Grace’s facial expression.
Grace smiled smugly. “More paint.”
Becca’s eyes grew wide, the heat of embarrassment blushing her skin. “And mortify myself again? No way.”
“Becca,” Grace said with a sigh like she was about to give her out-of-touch friend some needed advice. “Will you please watch the video again, but this time focus on the art you create—nothing else, simply the raw art?”
“Raw art?” repeated Becca.
“Raw talent so beautiful and unique that people are commenting on the post, saying it made them cry to watch how you express yourself with such unbridled and palpable emotion.”
If Grace knew that Jack was behind the emotion in Becca’s painting, she’d never give Becca a moment’s rest about it. “Unbridled?” Becca said with a sarcastic snort. “You ever been in a field with a wild, unbridled horse? It’s scary. And that video,” Becca said, waving her phone in the air. “That video’s scary.” Exciting, thrilling, amazing, but beyond scary to think that Jack was her inspiration.
“It only scares you. Everyone else sees the beauty, talent, and emo
tion in your art.”
Becca placed her hand on Grace’s shoulder. “I can’t do this.”
Grace’s arms quivered, something Becca had seen before when Grace had gotten upset. She pointed at Becca, then motioned around the store. “Then don’t, but that video is going to support a lot of women across the globe who really need it—who really need your help to break out of their abject poverty. Think of the multi-generational impact you could have. Where’s your moral obligation? What happened to your ethical compass?” Grace pressed her pointer finger into the sales counter. “You owe it to these women to paint, if for no other reason than to market their products, giving them the opportunity to support themselves and their families.”
Becca’s breast swelled with pride in Grace. “How old are you again?”
“I’ll be twenty-one next month.” She beamed. “Same age you were when you graduated from college and started this company. Now do you believe me when I say you’re something special and always have been? Why do you think I came to work for you in the first place?”
Becca took in a deep breath and rubbed her chin in thought. She pointed at Grace. “You’re a crafty woman. Never underestimate guilt and flattery. I’ll work on finding more tables to repurpose if you order some paint.”
Grace snapped her fingers. “We also need to come up with songs for you to paint to.”
Happy thoughts of Jack flittered in Becca’s mind. “Let’s start with theme songs from fight movies.”
“Fight movies?” asked Grace with the same patronizing intonation she’d used when Becca had explained to her that she and Jack had decided to be friends before dating.
“Yes, fight movies,” Becca repeated, pretending to wield a sword in her hand. “The movies where people fight for love.”
“Okay,” Grace said with a mischievous twinkle in her eye while she tapped the keyboard. “On it.”
With a swing in her step, Becca pulled the heavy front door open, allowing the bright afternoon sunlight to flood the room; the day had become sunnier by the minute.
