Brunch at Bittersweet Café

by Carla Laureano

  She had turned to the lemon variation when the intercom buzzed. She rushed to the door and pushed the button. “Hello?”

  Justin’s voice came through the speaker. “It’s me.”

  Two simple words that sent her heart fluttering like a demented butterfly. She punched the button to unlock the front door and paced until his knock came. She didn’t even play it cool by waiting a couple of seconds to open the door. “Hi.”

  “Hi yourself. Something smells good.”

  “I’m experimenting. You’re just in time to taste test.” She went back to the kitchen like she didn’t care if he followed, even though every nerve ending was on alert, attuned to his presence.

  “I take it that means plans for the restaurant are moving along?”

  “We’ve got an LLC, a bank account, and a really expensive lease for a large and intimidating retail space.”

  He smiled. “I’m so happy for you. When do you open?”

  “Early summer, I think. Everything is just falling into place. It’s a little unsettling, actually.”

  “That’s great.” He stood awkwardly in the middle of her kitchen, and she remembered belatedly why he was there.

  “Right, the money. Hold on.”

  He started to protest that he was in no rush, but she was already in her bedroom, digging into the lining of the suitcase under her bed where she kept her emergency stash. Call her paranoid or just used to being on the move, but she hated the idea of not having enough cash to escape town at a moment’s notice. She came back and pressed four hundred-dollar bills into his hand.

  “This is too much—”

  “No arguing. Call it a tip. Have dinner on me one night as my thanks for the favor.”

  He nodded and shoved the money in his pocket, but his eyes never left her face. She shifted uncomfortably and nodded back toward the kitchen. “Got a minute? I could use your opinion.”

  He relaxed. “Sure. What are you making?”

  She explained the traditional éclair recipe and her plan to spin off modern variations inspired by classic sweets. “I want you to tell me what you think of when you taste them.”

  She led him to the counter and handed him one of the maple éclairs. He took a bite and sighed, a slight smile tipping up the corners of his mouth. “This is good. Maple bar donut, right? But so much better . . .” He took another bite and then finished it with a third. “I would happily eat those all day long.”

  “Pace yourself. These are like a billion calories.” She handed him the crème brûlée next.

  “Mmm, this is good too, but it tastes like a regular éclair. Except the crunchy topping. What is that? Sugar? Like those things you burn with a torch?”

  “Crème brûlée, yes.” He got it, but the words regular éclair had her crossing those off the list immediately.

  “I haven’t finished these last ones. You need to taste this all together.” She cut a piece of unfilled éclair with the side of a spoon, then scooped it up with a bit of the cold lemon curd and the fluffy, not-quite-set meringue. She lifted it to his mouth, and his fingertips rested on her hand to steady the spoon while he tasted it.

  “That’s what lemon meringue pie tastes like in heaven,” he said.

  “I’d hoped you would say that. This is easily my favorite out of the three.”

  His fingers were still holding her hand, and their eyes locked with a sudden hum of energy. Melody slowly lowered the spoon to the counter, but he didn’t let her go.

  “Melody, I’m sorry about the other day. I handled it badly. I didn’t mean—”

  She shook her head. “It’s okay. I’m sorry. I read too much into our date. And that kiss.”

  “No,” he said softly. “You didn’t.” He reached out and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, sending tingles across her skin. The impulse to step closer was almost irresistible, the pull of two magnets together, but she refused. She’d rushed things before. She wasn’t going to be the one to make the first move this time.

  But he made no move at all, and the way his eyebrows drew together suggested worry. “I thought I was doing the right thing for both of us. Putting an end to things before anyone could get hurt.” He paused, and his voice came out husky when he spoke again. “But no matter what I do, I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  She looked up at him, simultaneously thrilled by his words and utterly confused. “I don’t understand. We haven’t really even gotten started. Why would you want to end things already?”

  He dropped his hand and looked away. “Melody, I need to tell you something.”

  The words sent chills, not the good kind, straight down her spine. Her chest tightened on the inhale. “Please tell me you’re not married.”

  “No. No! Nothing like that.”

  “Okay,” she said, moving toward her dining set. “Then tell me.”

  As soon as they were seated across from each other, safely separated by an expanse of table, Justin began to tell her about his sister who had multiple sclerosis and his plan to buy a charter business in Florida with his brother-in-law. Melody struggled to keep up, having been sure that this was going to be a way of letting her down easy or telling her why they couldn’t be together.

  Which she supposed it was, but when he was done, she just stared at him. He hadn’t blown her off because he wasn’t interested. He’d been trying to do the right thing. It would have been easier to just tell her from the start, of course, but she gave him points for truthfulness now. And then, unexpectedly, a smile split her face. “You’re buying a charter business to the Bahamas? That is unbelievably cool.”

  He blinked at her. “It is, but . . . it’s in Florida. Not here.”

  “I know.”

  “So you see why it’s a bad idea for us to get involved. I can already tell you take dating seriously, and if there’s no future for us . . .”

  Melody leaned back against her chair. “Do you like me?”

  “Yes, of course I like you. I more than like you, if that kiss didn’t tip you off.”

  Hope bloomed in her chest, unreasonable and thrilling. “Then why overcomplicate things? You’re here for three months or however long it takes to get your business under way. We could end things now, or we could enjoy the time we have together and see where it takes us.”

  Justin frowned. “That’s really not what I expected you to say.”

  “Listen, I figure one of three things will happen.” Melody held up her hand and ticked off points on her fingers. “One, our odd schedules will become a problem and we’ll fizzle out naturally. Two, one of us will discover a deal breaker and the time frame won’t matter anyway. Or three, we’re still going strong when it’s time for you to leave and we have to decide what to do then.”

  “And that’s really okay with you.” Justin stared at her like he couldn’t quite tell if she was serious or not.

  “No, it’s not okay with me. But it’s better than walking out of each other’s lives right now, don’t you think?”

  A smile tugged on the corner of his mouth. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Melody.”

  “That’s exactly why you shouldn’t let me get away so easily.”

  “Believe me, I don’t intend to. I am, however, wishing I’d talked to you sooner. I’m leaving tomorrow for a week. I don’t suppose I could talk you into spending the rest of the afternoon with me?”

  Melody cast a doubtful look at her kitchen. “Right now, I need to get back to my éclairs.”

  “Are you sure?” He leaned forward and took her chin in his hand, then brushed his lips against hers in a feathery kiss she felt down to her very toes.

  “No fair,” she whispered.

  “Who said I played fair?”

  She wavered for a long moment. It wasn’t like she needed to finish the éclairs. They were simply a test, and she already knew which ones had made the cut.

  “Okay,” she said finally. “If I get to choose.”

  He smiled again, his eyes crinkling at
the corners. “Lead on.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “A BOOKSTORE?” Justin didn’t mean for his dismay to show in his voice when he pulled up in front of the address Melody had given him, but it escaped all the same. When she told him she wanted him to experience one of her favorite spots in the city, he’d thought a restaurant, a park, maybe even a museum . . .

  Melody laughed, though, apparently unoffended. “Not just any bookstore. Rare books.”

  “So you’re saying I’m not going to find any Clancy or Child here?”

  “No, but they do have a pretty impressive aviation section. . . .” Her voice trailed off enticingly. Okay, so that did sound interesting. It wasn’t as if he didn’t read—he usually had a magazine or a nonfiction book in his flight case for layovers. It was just that bookstores typically frowned on patrons stealing kisses in dark corners, and that idea had figured prominently in every variation of this afternoon he’d considered.

  But if this was how she wanted to spend her day, he wouldn’t complain. She’d accepted him back without any question after he’d been a total jerk. He’d do anything she wanted to prove he was sorry. He sent her a wink. “I’ll follow you, then. You can broaden my horizons.”

  Pink rose to her cheeks, a sign she’d taken his flirtation exactly as he’d intended, and she levered the door open before he could circle around to do it for her. He took her hand, found it cold, and pulled it into his coat pocket, forcing her to move against his side. When she threw a smile up at him, he amended his earlier judgment. This might not be so bad after all.

  Justin followed her into the charming square of small boutiques, surrounded by what would be a greenbelt were it later in the year, then down a set of cement steps to the lower level, where the bookstore lay. He pulled open the heavy wood door with the tinkle of bells and let Melody precede him into the warm interior.

  An older gentleman in a fisherman knit sweater looked up from his book at the counter, his face breaking into a smile. “Melody! You’re back! So nice to see you.”

  “You too, Thomas. I brought a friend today. Justin, this is Thomas. Thomas, Justin.”

  Justin smiled and nodded hello, aware the man was looking him over critically. Apparently Melody spent a lot of time here if the shopkeeper was acting like a grandfather vetting his favorite granddaughter’s new boyfriend.

  Melody stepped in quickly. “Justin’s a pilot. I thought he might be interested in those books you bought last time.”

  “You know where to find them, dear. Nothing in particular for you today?”

  “Not unless anything new has come in. . . .”

  Thomas shook his head. “Came across a Harper edition from 1967, but it was in pretty poor shape. You’re not interested in reprints anyway.”

  Melody shook her head. “I’ll just browse then, thanks.”

  Justin’s brow furrowed as they walked deeper into the bookstore, and he pitched his voice low. “What was that about?”

  “A personal quest, I guess. I’ve been after a yellowback edition of Far from the Madding Crowd for years now. It’s become my white whale.”

  “Okay, that reference I got. But what’s a yellowback?”

  “It was a fiberboard-bound book that they used to sell at Victorian railway book stalls. They had these amazing illustrated covers and some sort of advertisement on the back. They’re exceedingly difficult to find now. Thomas has been on the hunt for a while. Of course, it would cost me a couple months’ rent if he did actually find one. It would be a bit like finding your paperback Lee Child a hundred and twenty years from now.”

  Melody wandered past a little reading nook with antique wingbacks and an Oriental rug. Despite its modern exterior, the store had the feel of a private library in some crumbling manor home. He could see why Melody liked to escape into the store’s paper-scented hush.

  “How did you get into all this anyway?”

  “Raised by a lit professor, remember? As a kid, I didn’t read The Magic School Bus; I read the Grimms’ and Perrault’s fairy tales. Other teens read these high school romance paperbacks, and I was reading Victorian and Gothic classics. It stuck, I suppose.” She paused in front of a shelf, ran her fingertips along the spines, and tipped one out for a moment before replacing it.

  “So why is this particular book your white whale out of the hundreds you’ve read?”

  She looked back at him. “I don’t know. It’s completely contrary to itself. It’s a tragedy with a happy ending. It’s pastoral and macabre at the same time. The heroine is an independent woman, but it’s hard to call her feminist when she’s constantly at the mercy of men and her own poor choices.” Melody shook her head. “I think my reading of it has changed over the years. Maybe that’s why I still love it. It’s not the same because I’m not the same.”

  The flush came back to her cheeks, and she averted her eyes. “And now you’re sorry you asked.”

  Justin smiled and tilted her chin up so she had to look at him. “I’m actually thinking I might be too dumb to date you.”

  That pensive expression disappeared in a flash, and she laughed. “Don’t worry. I still waste afternoons watching cat videos on YouTube.” She grabbed his hand. “Come see this. . . .”

  She dragged him confidently through the shop, winding around shelves and past more reading niches, then stopped. Justin perused the titles: mostly modern warplane encyclopedias, but Melody went straight to several slim, cloth-bound volumes and pulled one out.

  Spanning the Pacific by John Prentice Langley. He cracked the cover and saw the publication date: 1927. “This is kind of cool. These are novels?”

  “Yes, I think so. There’s a whole series of them. When I was in here last, Thomas was buying these from a private collector.”

  Justin knelt by the shelf and pulled out the other matching volumes. He wouldn’t say it to Melody, but these books weren’t really his thing. His dad, on the other hand, had a ridiculously extensive aviation library. He’d get a kick out of vintage dime-store novels. “I’ll get them. They’ll make the perfect retirement gift for my dad.”

  “I didn’t mean to pressure you into it. . . .”

  “You didn’t. Now, I somehow don’t believe you’re done browsing.”

  She grinned. “Not remotely. Are you game?”

  “I’m good. Don’t let me stop you.”

  She didn’t, winding her way through the shelves, oohing and aahing over different editions of books she already owned, which apparently included seven copies of Madding Crowd. “What can I say? I know what I like.”

  Justin just watched her, cataloging the expressions flitting across her face from delighted to disappointed. He should be bored, but he wasn’t. He felt like he was seeing the real Melody Johansson for the first time, the one who would be content to curl up with a book for hours and lose herself in stories. When she came across a copy of a first-edition paperback of Goldman’s The Princess Bride and clasped it to her chest, he thought for a moment she had found her white whale. The look on her face when she replaced it on the shelf said it all.

  “You really want that, don’t you?”

  Melody just gave an embarrassed shrug. “It’s not what I came here for.”

  Justin pulled it off the shelf and added it to his stack.

  “Justin, you can’t! That’s an eighty-dollar paperback!”

  “Eighty?” He barely managed to keep his eyes from bugging out. “That’s okay. We’ll just be having tacos for dinner instead.”

  “No, I’m taking you out someplace good after this.” She paused. “Seriously, Justin, you don’t have to do this. I’ll survive. It’s not like I don’t already have two copies at home. Of course neither of them are first editions, but . . .”

  “Really? That’s supposed to be persuasive?”

  Melody caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “Well, maybe I’m not trying to be that persuasive.”

  He laughed. “Come on. I better pay before your guilt overcomes your collecting f
renzy.”

  When they returned to the counter, Thomas again put down his book and studied them over the top of his glasses. “That was quick. I figured you’d spend another hour vacillating over your purchases.”

  “She would have if I’d let her. But who am I to argue with a first-edition paperback of a modern classic?”

  Thomas’s expression turned approving. “Forget diamonds. Books are this girl’s best friend.”

  “I’m finding that out.” He shot Melody an amused look and handed over his credit card. Once again he managed not to flinch at the total—apparently this was a pretty substantial gift for his father, too—and waited while Thomas wrapped each book in tissue paper and sealed it with a gold foil sticker. All except Melody’s book, which he handed directly to her, unwrapped in a second bag.

  “Thanks, Thomas. You know me too well.”

  “And now I’m beginning to,” Justin murmured as they made their way out the door. They hadn’t made it two steps before she turned and tugged him to face her.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. “That was very extravagant.”

  “Call it an apology for being an idiot.”

  A smile tipped up the corner of her mouth. “You seem to have a talent for grand gestures. First the bread and now the book?”

  “As long as you don’t tell me you also have a passion for exotic sports cars, I think we’re good.”

  “No worries on that account. You’re the one with the car problem. So consider this my thank-you.” She stretched up and pressed a light kiss to his lips, but when she tried to back away, he held her fast. It didn’t matter that they were standing in a public walkway or that the air was cold enough to make his fingertips numb. He brushed a stray tendril of hair behind her ear and looked into her eyes for a long moment.

  “What?” Her voice came out breathless, anticipatory.

  In response, he bent to cover her mouth with his own, gently, far more patiently than he actually felt. The last thing he wanted to convey was that he was after the perks of a temporary relationship. No, if their first kiss was heated, this one was sweet, as if they had all the time in the world to discover each other.