The Barista’s Beloved
The River Hill Series
Rebecca Norinne
Jamaila Brinkley
Copyright © 2019 by Rebecca Norinne and Jamaila Brinkley.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product(s) of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental or meant to lend credibility and authenticity to the story. The use of brand names and locations should not be read as an endorsement of this author’s work.
To all the badass boss babes out there, working hard and finding love, this one’s for you.
Contents
About This Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Sneak Peek: The Chef’s Cutie
Welcome to River Hill
Acknowledgments
About The Authors
Also by Rebecca Norinne
Also by Jamaila Brinkley
About This Book
Return to River Hill, where the coffee isn’t the only thing that’ll leave you buzzing.
It’s been months since whiskey maker Maeve Brennan has been on a date, and she’s coming dangerously close to giving up on men altogether—until she crosses paths with River Hill’s sexy new barista. But Ben’s made it clear he only wants to be friends, so Maeve will definitely stop fantasizing about his forearms. Probably. Maybe.
Former lawyer Ben Worthington never thought he’d be living above his best friend’s garage and slinging coffee, but there’s a lot about his life that doesn’t make sense. Like his attraction to the town’s beloved distiller. But since Maeve’s made it clear she doesn’t have time for romance, Ben will stop dreaming about her naked. Soon. Eventually.
But when the youth center where Maeve volunteers comes under fire from a big-city developer, Ben realizes he’s exactly the type of hero she needs. He just hopes she can live with his take-no-prisoners approach to winning, because he’s pretty sure he can’t live without her.
1
“To the last two standing!” Maeve Brennan was drunk. She must be, or she wouldn’t have toasted her single-hood quite so exuberantly. Max Vergaras clinked glasses with her over the bar, but she didn’t miss the wince that crossed his handsome face. She leveled a finger at him. Tried to, anyway. It wove and bobbed until it landed just to the left of his nose, poking into his cheek. “You’re not any happier about it than I am.”
He gently grasped her finger and removed it from his face. “Not particularly, no.”
“Well, what are you doing about it?” Maeve attempted her best intimidating face. She’d grown up with three older brothers who she’d had to hold her own against, so she thought she was doing a pretty good job of it, but Max didn’t seem very intimidated.
He shrugged. “It’s hard for chefs to date since we have such weird schedules.”
Maeve snorted. “So do bakers. And Sean and Jess just got married.” Her voice trailed away on the last word. Jessica Casillas-Moore was Maeve’s best friend in River Hill, her new hometown. Maeve had moved here with her brother to open up a distillery, far away from their family and the grand whiskey traditions that had ruled them for generations. She’d met Jess when the beauty blogger had started dating a friend of Iain’s, and the two had hit it off immediately.
Two days ago, Jess had come back from a surprise trip to Costa Rica with an even bigger surprise: she and Sean had eloped! Which was why Maeve was huddled here at the bar at Frankie’s, Max’s award-winning restaurant. Ostensibly, she’d come to discuss the joint gift they were planning for the newlyweds. In reality, she’d come to drink.
“Letsh … let’s make a pact,” she said. “If neither of us is married by the time we’re thirty—”
“I’m thirty-five,” he said dryly.
“Ugh.” She shook her head slowly. “I always forget how old you are.”
He rolled his eyes. “Thanks a lot, spring chicken. You should probably dry out.” He poured her a glass of water and walked away to go help his staff prepare for the dinner rush.
It was good advice from a wise elder. She didn’t take it, though.
Which was why, the next morning, she limped into The Hollow Bean, River Hill’s best coffee shop, and ordered her coffee without even looking up over the rim of her oversized sunglasses. The sound of her own voice made her head hurt. Listening to other people was even worse. But nobody had started up a coffee delivery service here yet. She was on her own, and she had a lot to do at work today.
“Here you go.” The voice sounded like sunshine. It was the first thing that hadn’t set her head to pounding all morning. This time she did look up, and beheld the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. Warm brown eyes circled by thick lashes over an elegant nose that led to a square jaw dusted by a bit of stubble that somehow looked soft. It was like Captain America had personally showed up to make her drink—especially when her eyes darted downward to his chest and her gaze followed his arm as it reached out toward her. He was holding her coffee, the second most beautiful thing in her field of vision.
“Thanks,” she managed to get out. Her voice barely made it beyond a rough whisper.
“Rough night, huh?” He smiled, and she was almost certain a breeze ruffled his perfect golden-brown hair. She resisted the urge to look behind her for an assistant with a fan. She wasn’t on a reality show. That she knew of, anyway.
“You have no idea,” she mumbled.
“Well, enjoy.” He turned back to serve other customers, and she spared a moment to watch him walk away. His back was even better than his front, the little coffee shop apron strings cinching around his waist and letting his ass take center stage. It was mesmerizing. But she didn’t have time to be mesmerized.
She shuffled back toward the edge of the crowded shop, out of the way, and took her first sip, ready to savor the caffeine-tinged goodness.
It. Was. Awful.
She grabbed for a napkin and wiped her face, sure the vile brew was dribbling down her chin. Raising the cup to eye level, she stared in horror at what had once been her most reliable companion. The cup looked the same—cream cardboard, tan liner, both emblazoned with The Hollow Bean’s logo. But what lurked within ...
Maeve sniffed the opening in the lid and recoiled. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be called coffee.
She glanced up at the counter and bit her lip. There were three baristas working today—the morning rush was always busy. She hated conflict, but she needed coffee.
She watched the line move for a moment. The Hollow Bean was tucked into a tiny building in River Hill’s town square in a space clearly not intended to house a coffee shop. Max had said he thought it might once have been an insurance sales office. Now, the bari
stas were tucked behind a slim counter, sailing around each other in a complicated coffee-making dance that was almost elegant. On the other side of the long swath of burnished marble, things were a lot less pretty. The line curved and bent its way through the space, surrounding the few tiny tables in the front area near the large glass windows. Only the bravest customers actually tried to sit down here, and Maeve wasn’t one of them.
Now she carefully edged her way through the crowd to the corner of the counter, out of the way of the people shouting out their orders. The man handing over his credit card at the front of the line shot her a dirty look. She held up her cup in silent self-defense and he rolled his eyes.
It was almost enough to make her back up and leave. She’d had enough conflict in her life—anyone who’d grown up with Cathal Brennan as a father had far more experience with it than they wanted. But where her brothers had grown up into blustery versions of their father—Iain, for the most part, was the exception, though even he could bristle with the best of them—Maeve had decided to just...be nice. She’d discovered a long time ago that people were far more inclined to do what you wanted when you smiled at them than they were when you yelled, and she’d made such a habit of being sweet and accommodating that it had become ingrained. When she’d mustered the courage to tell her family that she and Iain were moving to California, she’d thrown up both before and after the conversation.
But a whiff of the toxic brew in her cup was stronger than the faint nausea the idea of complaining roused in her. She couldn’t live without coffee, and she was already too late for work to go anywhere else. She caught the eye of one of the other baristas as he stepped nearby to pour beans into the grinder.
“Excuse me.” She raised her cup and put on her best apologetic face. “I’m really sorry, but could I possibly get a fresh one of these?”
He reached out an arm and snagged it with one hand while pushing buttons on the bulky metal machine with the other. He raised it to his nose and sniffed, then sighed. “Ben make this?”
“Uh, the new guy?” She recognized the other two baristas as regulars, but she’d never seen the one who’d made her coffee before. “Yeah.”
“You’re the third one this morning.” The other barista tossed her cup in a bin under the counter. “New guy’s hit or miss. He might not work out.”
Her jaw dropped. Captain America might get fired because she’d complained about her coffee? This was far worse than she’d imagined. She felt her stomach clenching. “Oh, don’t- don’t do that,” she said awkwardly. “He’ll get better.”
The other man snorted. “We’ll see. What’d you have?”
“Er, just a hazelnut latte.”
He nodded, and grabbed a fresh cup from the stack. “Give me a minute.” Then, to her horror, he turned. “Hey, Ben, come here!”
Maeve looked wildly around. Surely there was a rapidly opening sinkhole nearby she could leap into. No such natural disaster presented itself, and she came face-to-face with the handsome new guy once again, hoping he didn’t notice that her face was rapidly reddening to match the tint of her hair. He gave her a quick smile before turning to the other barista, as though she hadn’t just put his entire livelihood on the line. Her imagination was quickly providing her with images of him destitute. The stubble he currently sported would probably grow into a really attractive beard. Maybe he had a pet! It would starve! What had she done?
“Gotta remake the hazelnut latte,” the other barista said, completely unaware that there was a hapless dog/cat/bunny/hamster in dire straits.
“Oh, damn,” Captain America said. No, Ben. His name was Ben. “Sorry.” He turned to Maeve to apologize as well. “Sorry, it’s my first day.” He gave her a small smile.
She held in a small moan. She was going to get a man and his dog and/or hamster fired on his first day at work, all because she couldn’t hold her alcohol.
“Here,” the first barista was saying. “I think you forgot to release the valve on the roaster.”
“Got it.” Ben watched carefully as his fellow barista swiftly prepared Maeve’s drink. “Yeah, that’s the only thing I did differently. Won’t happen again.” He took the cup and capped it, scrawling an M on it with the nearby marker. “Maeve, right?”
He pronounced it right, which was a surprise. Most people butchered Irish names. “Yeah.”
“Here you go. Really sorry about that.”
She reached out to take the coffee, and his fingers brushed hers as he let go. She shivered. He noticed. His smile edged sideways a little and his eyes warmed further. She could feel herself getting even redder. “Um. Thanks. Sorry for, uh, the inconvenience.”
He held up a hand. “Don’t apologize! You needed a new cup. I did it wrong.”
She glanced at the other barista, who’d already hurried off to take care of another customer. “But if something happens—”
He chuckled. “I’m not going to lose my job over one poorly made coffee.”
“He said it was three,” she blurted without thinking. She didn’t want him to lose his job, but surely he needed to be aware that it was a possibility. Something Jess had said the other day drifted through her mind. Oh, for the confidence of a mediocre white man. Charming was one thing. Entitled was another. She pressed her lips together to avoid saying anything more out loud, though.
“Every one a learning experience,” Ben said. He aimed what was clearly intended to be a devastating smile at her.
She raised her eyebrows and lifted her coffee to her nose, taking a tentative sniff before she sipped. She let out a small, satisfied sigh as the warm liquid filtered through her. She looked up to see Ben still watching her, his lips parted slightly. “Thanks. I’ll get out of your way now.” She stepped back, and he visibly shook himself.
“It was nice to meet you, Maeve,” he said. “Next time you come in, coffee’s on me.”
She laughed. “Who’s making it?”
“Ouch.” He chuckled. “Enjoy your day.”
She slid away from the counter as he turned to catch the cup being handed to him by one of the other baristas. A few more sips of coffee as she headed out the door, and her hangover was definitely on the downswing.
A few minutes later, she pulled into the parking lot of Whitman’s Distillery feeling significantly better than she had at the start of the day. Good coffee and and even better eye candy went a long way to easing the shock of your best friend getting married.
Not that she wasn’t happy for Sean and Jess. She was just … she didn’t know what, exactly, but it felt a lot like lonely.
It might not amount to anything, but suddenly Maeve thought she might take Captain America up on his offer of coffee sometime. If nothing else, he was certainly pretty to look at.
2
“Hey, everyone. This is Ben Worthington. We grew up together, and he’s just moved to River Hill.” Max clapped Ben on the shoulder as introductions were made. When his oldest friend had promised to finally introduce him to ‘the gang,’ Ben had assumed they’d be doing it at Frankie’s. Instead, he’d found himself meeting up with Max at someplace called The Oakwell Inn, a ramshackle old house plunked down in the middle of a picturesque vineyard. A group of people were already lounging around a fire in the courtyard behind the inn when Max led him around the corner.
Obediently, he made his way around the semi-circle, hellos and nice-to-meet-yous being exchanged until his eyes landed on the red-haired beauty from the coffee shop and he nearly tripped over the words. “Hello again.” Happy to see a familiar face among Max’s group of tight-knit friends, Ben smiled and leaned down to shake her hand.
Her eyes widened in surprised recognition before she leaned forward and clasped her palm against his. “Hi. Good to see you again. I’m Maeve.” Her slightly lilting accent was as intriguing as it had been this morning. As she pulled away, her eyes darted to the fire pit—almost like she was unhappy to see him outside of The Hollow Bean.
Which didn’t make any sense. If fir
st impressions were anything to go by, he thought he’d done all right there. Sure, he’d had to remake her coffee, but he knew interest when he saw it, and the Irish woman’s eyes— tired and bloodshot though they’d been—had sparked with it. He’d seen the way she was checking out his ass when he’d glanced back at her over his shoulder. He’d covertly returned the favor when she’d left, and enjoyed it immensely.
“You two know each other?” Noah Bradstone’s suspicious gaze darted between Ben and Maeve. Ben wouldn’t exactly have called Noah his friend, but they’d gotten along well enough when their paths had crossed occasionally due to their mutual friendship with Max. The successful winemaker had been a good acquaintance to have, since you never knew when you’d need to break out a hard-to-come-by cult wine to impress some corporate bigwigs. Noah had given him a good deal on a case of his Prodigy Pinot Noir a couple of years ago, and now it was virtually impossible to come by since those vines had been accidentally destroyed.
“We met—”
“Ben makes the worst cup of coffee in all of America!” Maeve blurted, her eyes going round as saucers while her hand flew up to cover her mouth. “Oh no,” she whispered from behind it. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Max laughed and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “so I’ve heard” as he settled down into a vacant seat.
The Barista's Beloved (The River Hill Series Book 4) Page 1
