Brunch at Bittersweet Café

by Carla Laureano

  “Whatever you choose to do, give your plans to God and He will give you all you desire. Know that I support you and I’m more proud of you than I can say. I love you. Don’t waste time grieving . . . I’m finally home where I belong. Honor my memory by making yourself an amazing life.

  “Your loving grandma, Beverly.”

  Ana lowered the letter, looking just as shaken as Melody felt. “Are you okay?”

  Only then did Melody realize silent tears were streaming down her face. “I’d forgotten that conversation. My mother was furious that I had spent four years and a lot of money on my literature degree, only to decide I wanted to make bread and cakes for a living. She couldn’t understand that I loved creating things far more than I liked analyzing them.”

  “So what are you going to do?” Rachel asked softly.

  “I can’t sell the house.” She knew the truth as soon as the words left her lips. “Regardless of what she says, it was the closest thing to a real home I had. But I don’t want to live in Longmont either.”

  “Maybe you can rent it,” Ana suggested. “Let some family begin their life together there. It would be enough to pay your rent on a nicer place in the city, I’d think.”

  “I think Grandma Bev would like that,” Melody said. “I don’t need or want the car. It’s a classic, but she wasn’t ever really attached to it. I don’t feel bad about selling that.”

  “Then maybe you can find someone to appraise it and help you unload it.”

  Melody nodded slowly. It was still hard to think about disposing of her grandmother’s possessions, but she felt better having the decision made. Renting the house felt right; maybe it was delaying the inevitable, but at least she could keep it in the family while still benefiting from her inheritance as her grandmother wished her to. The car was just a task to be done. But the money . . .

  When she said as much, Ana said quietly, “You don’t have to decide right this second. If you’d like help deciding how to invest it, I can recommend someone.”

  “I know what I want to do with it. I’ve been thinking about this for years.” Melody’s stomach tightened. Dreaming about it in the abstract was one thing; taking steps to make it a reality was something else altogether. “I want to open my own place.”

  Rachel smiled. “I thought you might.”

  “There’s only one problem. Even with the inheritance, I don’t have enough money to do it myself. I think I’d need a partner.”

  Rachel’s expression turned serious. “Are you sure you want a partner? You know how well that worked out for me. There’s a reason I’m still sitting on the idea.”

  “Because you’re waiting for the right partner. Say, a best friend?”

  Rachel looked genuinely startled.

  Melody reached across the table and grabbed Rachel’s hand, the first tendrils of enthusiasm beginning to push through the layer of grief. “Think of it. The two of us, in business together. You’ve been looking for a restaurant that would allow you to express your point of view as a chef without taking over your entire life. I’ve been wanting to create my own pastries and bake traditional breads like I used to. We already know we work well together. Why shouldn’t we pool our resources and do something together?”

  The corners of Rachel’s mouth lifted. “A bakery-café. Open early, closed by six . . . enough for the morning coffee stop, the lunch rush, and the commuters picking up dinner on the way home.”

  “A bakery section for retail sales. Your amazing food, not just the normal diner fare. High-end. Like you used to serve at Paisley, just a little . . .”

  “More casual and accessible. A community gathering place.” From Rachel’s face, she looked like she was catching the excitement. “Of course, there would be a lot of things to be decided before we even started looking at locations. Ownership, decision-making. I don’t want this to harm our friendship. You know I’m used to being in charge.”

  “Easy,” Ana said. “Rachel handles the kitchen; Melody decides all the baked goods and desserts; you guys use me for marketing, publicity advice, and general referee skills. I have five younger siblings. I’ve had lots of practice.”

  Melody looked between her two friends, for the first time in the last two days feeling something other than the crushing weight of grief. “This isn’t just talk. We could really do this.”

  “We could,” Rachel said softly. “I wish it didn’t take something like this to make it happen, but think how proud and happy Grandma Bev will be looking down on you.”

  Melody gripped Rachel’s hand, then grabbed Ana’s with her other one. Her heart squeezed with both anticipation and sadness. “How do we get started?”

  “Way ahead of you.” Ana held up her notebook. A list of bullet points already filled the page. “You didn’t think I’d be left out of all the excitement, did you? Of course, there’s lots to be done before we even get to this. I would get the house and the car rolling first, just so you don’t have to deal with it at the same time you’re signing commercial leases and hiring contractors.”

  “Alex could help you out with the house,” Rachel said. “He knows quite a bit about real estate because of his own investments. Let’s all have dinner one night and talk it through. That just leaves the car.”

  An idea surfaced, a memory Melody had forgotten in everything that had happened over the last few days: a classic Mustang half-buried in snow. “I can take care of that one myself, I think. I know just who to ask.”

  She opened the Facebook app on her phone and saw that, indeed, Justin Keller had accepted her friend request, but he hadn’t posted anything to her timeline. Before she could think better of the idea, she tapped out a private message.

  You said you owed me one. Did you mean it?

  Chapter Seven

  MELODY PULLED UP in front of Justin’s building and sat in her Jeep for a full five minutes, second-guessing her decision. It had seemed so logical when she was talking it over with her friends yesterday. She’d done him a favor; he was willing to do her a favor in return. Simple quid pro quo.

  The only problem was, she was having trouble convincing her mind of the fact. Once the stupor of grief had begun to lift in the excitement of new plans, she remembered the sharp, instant spike of attraction to Justin. And that wasn’t a good thing, considering her track record with men.

  But she was here now, and it was too late to change her mind. She hopped out of the Jeep and crunched her way through the snow that still piled his street to the clear sidewalk. As was typical in Colorado in the spring, the storm had blown through and the sun had immediately come out, now pounding down with an intensity that made it feel much warmer than the thermometer’s thirty-four degrees. Already, snow was dripping from trees and melting off roofs, causing a steady drum of water in the rain gutters.

  Melody marched up to the front door of the apartment building and tried the door. Locked. She turned to the intercom panel, expecting to see names in the slots beside the buttons, but instead they only showed apartment numbers. She pulled out her phone to see if he’d told her which apartment he was in when he suggested she come over today to chat. He hadn’t.

  Just as she was about to message him, a young woman appeared on the other side of the door and pushed through. Melody grabbed the handle so it wouldn’t close behind the woman, startling her. She looked barely twenty-four, but she was pretty, the type of girl a guy might chat up at the mailboxes or help carry in groceries.

  “Hey, you wouldn’t know where Justin Keller lives, would you?”

  The girl looked at her blankly. Melody prompted, “Good-looking, light-brown hair, blue eyes, yea tall? Pilot?”

  Understanding lit her face now. “Ahh, that’s his name? He lives on my floor but he’s always in a hurry.” She gave Melody a crooked smile. “Nice going.”

  “Um, thanks. Do you know his apartment number?”

  “Yeah, he’s in 202.” She looked her up and down. “Good luck.”

  Melody slipped inside the buil
ding. There was a small elevator, but it looked about the same age as the building, so she bypassed it in favor of the door marked Stairs. When she emerged from the stairwell into the second floor hallway, her heart was pounding for reasons other than exertion. Maybe she should have told him why she was coming rather than just saying it was easier to explain in person.

  But then she wouldn’t have been able to see him again.

  Stop being stupid, she told herself sternly. She found apartment 202, not too difficult considering there were only six on this floor, and knocked sharply.

  No answer.

  She raised her hand to knock again when the door swung open under her hand. She blinked dumbly. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself.” Justin stood in the doorway, just as handsome as she remembered, only more casual in a pair of loose-fitting jeans, a faded gray T-shirt, and bare feet. Apparently she’d been right about what lay beneath that uniform. Definitely a gym body. Or good genes. Really good genes.

  She gulped down an awkward rush of attraction and dragged her eyes upward before her perusal could get embarrassing. It didn’t help. His hair was far more messy than it had been the other night, like he’d just rolled out of bed at 10 a.m., and it was clear he hadn’t shaved since she last saw him. The scruff made him even more appealing.

  Melody regained the power of speech and forced words from her suddenly dry mouth. “I know I’m a little late. Is it still a good time?”

  His mouth widened into a smile. “Of course. Come in. Unless you’d like to talk in the hallway . . .”

  Melody let out a breathless laugh, realizing that she was clutching her handbag nervously. “Sure, thanks.”

  She stepped inside, finally getting her jitters under control. The apartment was old, but it seemed freshly painted, with a small living area and a kitchen sporting outdated appliances and oak cabinets. The furniture was a step up from black-leather bachelor stuff, at least, and he had a normal-size television, not one of the seventy-inch behemoths single guys seemed required to own.

  “Have a seat.” He gestured to the sofa, a nice gray tweed. “Can I get you something to drink? Water? Coffee? I’d offer you a beer, but it’s not even eleven o’clock and you don’t really strike me as the beer-drinking type.”

  “Not usually,” she said. “Coffee would be great, if you don’t mind. Cream, two sugars.”

  “Coming right up.” He walked back to the kitchen, unperturbed, clearly comfortable with the fact she’d shown up at his apartment on a Tuesday morning with some mysterious request.

  She took the time to study the rest of the place. Simple mass-produced furniture, but with a decent amount of style—a mix of streamlined midcentury he’d probably picked up from CB2, a couple of throw pillows. But the overwhelming impression was that the place was almost obsessively neat. No newspapers spread on the coffee table or remote controls plopped on the couch. Not even a single water glass. For goodness’ sake, there were still vacuum lines on the rug. When he came back with her coffee, he placed a coaster beneath it.

  Who was this guy?

  He took a seat in the armchair situated perpendicular to the sofa, a safe distance away, and turned those startling blue eyes on her. “So how can I help? As you reminded me, I do owe you one.”

  Melody fished an envelope from her purse. “My grandmother died last week.”

  Instantly, his expression shifted to one of sympathy. “I’m sorry. Were you close?”

  Melody nodded, but thankfully the tears stayed behind her eyes. “Very. She practically raised me. She didn’t tell anyone she was sick, so it was a shock to us all. Anyway, she left me most of her stuff, including her car. And she left me a letter telling me to sell whatever I didn’t want, so since she never really liked the car anyway . . .”

  Now Justin looked curious. He reached forward to take the envelope that Melody held out and slid a couple of photos from inside. He let out a low whistle. “AMC Hornet. I haven’t seen one of these in years. It’s not a very grandmotherly car, is it?”

  “It was her second husband’s car,” she said, “but she hated the thing. Said it was uncomfortable and noisy and hot. It doesn’t have air-conditioning. I guess he was kind of into racing, which she thought was ridiculous, and yet she held on to it for more than thirty years after he passed. I have no idea what to do with it. Is it worth anything?”

  “Depends on the condition and the model. They made regular Hornets and a lot of them for quite a few years, which drives the price down. If it’s got the bigger engine, it might be worth more. Between ten and twelve thousand dollars, I’d guess.” He put down the photos. “Then of course it all depends on how long you want to hold on to it looking for the right buyer. This isn’t something I’d put up on Craigslist, especially if it’s completely intact.”

  “I don’t have any sentimental attachment to it. I don’t even know if it’s running.”

  “If it doesn’t have a lot of rust, it will be more valuable since there aren’t sheet metal reproductions available for most AMCs. But I couldn’t tell you without seeing it.”

  “I’d love to show you, but it’s in Longmont right now.”

  “I don’t mind the drive.”

  Melody blinked at him. “Now?”

  “Why not? I’m off this week. I’m assuming neither of us has anything better to do. If you drive, I’ll even spring for lunch.”

  Melody studied him. He looked completely sincere, truly interested in the car, which was pretty much the opposite of what she’d expected. Maybe she’d thought he’d flirt, tease her, do that annoyingly effective smoldering thing again. But right now, he was throwing it out there as a way to kill time.

  Well, what did you expect? That he’d answer the door and sweep you into his arms and say he’d thought about you every moment since you parted? Don’t be an idiot. You don’t want that anyway. You don’t even know the guy.

  She sipped her coffee while she considered. “Okay. I just have to be back by six or so. I’ve got things to do before I head into work.” Those things being dinner with Rachel and Alex to talk about her grandmother’s house. Maybe since she would be up there today, she could take a few photos.

  “Okay. Let me get my shoes and we’ll go. Do you like Mexican food? I know a great restaurant in Boulder.” He wandered back into what she assumed was his bedroom without waiting for an answer.

  Melody stared after him in confusion. He acted like she was an old friend, not just someone he randomly ran into when he got stuck in the snow. And this drive to Longmont felt like much more of a favor than the one she’d done him initially.

  Justin emerged from his bedroom a minute later wearing a pair of snow boots, a shearling-lined leather jacket, and a knit beanie not unlike her own. “I’m ready if you are.”

  Just crank the ruggedly handsome dial up another two notches, why don’t you? Melody smiled and stood. “Let’s go.”

  * * *

  So maybe he’d been a bit overenthusiastic in his offer of help. Melody had seemed surprised by the fact he was willing to drive to Longmont to look at the car. No more surprised than Justin himself when the words floated out of his mouth.

  He’d pretty much convinced himself that he’d never see her again and that it was for the best. Especially since the business broker had responded with the information he requested. They were currently sending messages back and forth, trying to find a convenient date for Justin and Pete to fly to Florida to check it out. Even when Melody had messaged him with a mysterious request for help, he’d been sure he’d be able to keep it strictly friendly.

  And then she had shown up looking equal parts gorgeous and vulnerable, and all his best intentions had gone out the window.

  He followed her down to her Jeep and climbed into the passenger side. Melody waited until he was buckled in and then pulled away from the curb. “So how’d you get into classic cars?”

  Excellent. A safe topic of conversation. “I don’t know. I guess I was a typical little boy, fascinated w
ith planes, trains, and cars. After my dad and I built the plane, cars seemed pretty straightforward.”

  “Right, the plane. No big deal. Everyone builds planes on the weekend, don’t they?”

  Justin chuckled. “When you’re both pilots and live and breathe aviation, I suppose you do. If you want, I’ll show it to you sometime.”

  Melody threw him a sidelong glance, as if judging the intent behind the offer. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

  “Anyway, my dad—who is about to retire from United after thirty-five years, incidentally—had this old Plymouth Barracuda that we fixed up. I learned to do everything but major transmission work. After that, we restored a 1974 Dodge Challenger. And then we got busy with work. Five years ago, I picked up the Mustang in rough shape, and I’ve been tinkering with it ever since.”

  “So nothing on this Hornet should be a big surprise to you?”

  “I’m not that familiar with AMCs, but I should be able to tell you what kind of shape it’s in, yes.”

  “I really appreciate it. I know it’s weird asking you for help when we barely know each other.”

  I’m glad you did. Nope. I was hoping for a reason to see you. Definitely not. “It’s really no trouble. I’m happy to help.” There. That was friendly and noncommittal.

  She glanced his direction again. “So what else do you do, besides help people you don’t know?”

  “If you’ll recall, you’re the one who did that. And really, I’m pretty boring. When I’m not working, I’m being as lazy as possible. Sleep late, work out, play a little soccer in the park when the weather is good. Like I said, boring.” He studied her profile. “What about you? What do you do when you’re not baking or rescuing strangers from certain death?”