Page 86 of Best Part of Me

Me

Was it that obvious?

Rosie

Only to everyone.

The blood drains from my face, and I drop onto the stool behind the cash register.

Me

Hopefully not to EVERYONE!

Rosie

Not sure how long you’re gonna be able to keep this up without Jones finding out.

Me

There’s nothing to keep up. It’s over.

Rosie

Didn’t seem over last night. Or was that a goodbye screw?

Dad gives me a skeptical look from across the room. Somehow it makes me feel like a child again. Or like the slacker employee.

Me

Gotta go. I’m working.

Rosie

Come by for a coffee on your break. I need all the filthy details.

Me

Fine.

We both know I will tell her everything. That’s what best friends do. Though the deep and true feelings I hold for Maverick will remain in the crevices of my heart. They’re too valuable, too sacred to just give away so frivolously.

* * *

Dad tellsme to take a long break and bring him back a good coffee. Which is code for a pumpkin spice latte. While it’s never my first choice, no one makes a PSL like Rosie does.

Entering Brew Box, the strong scent of Arabica coffee hits my senses with an instant need for caffeine. I spot Rosie working the bar like the coffee goddess she is. It’s my favorite thing to see her in her element. Though it’s bittersweet. Fulfilling her dreams and being a small business owner at the young age of twenty-five came at a hefty price. Losing her parents in a car accident when she was so young meant being raised by her grandma, Gigi. But it also left her with a decent life insurance policy.

“Hey, homewrecker,” she calls to me from behind the bar, and a blush rushes my cheeks.

“Don’t call me that.”

She flashes me a gorgeous smile. “Take a seat. I’ll grab your coffee, and we’ll have ourselves a little chat.” She says this like we’re eighty. And I can’t help but imagine the two of us wrinkled and dressed in rayon pants and fuzzy sweaters covered in cat hair, sipping coffee together and shooting the shit. Much like our own grandma’s do who grew up in Maple Ridge as best friends.

I sit at our table. The one in the back corner she keeps reserved for herself. It’s near the fireplace and has a view of both the bar and the door so she can keep an eye on things. A few tall bookcases full of books by local authors line one side of the coffee shop, and mismatched frames line the walls with prints, quotes, and pictures of the town. My eyes snag on one—the Maple Loop Railroad. Maverick’s logo is imprinted in the bottom right corner. There’s also a picture of our grandmas as teenagers standing in front of The Freeze Hut which is now the Brew Box.

“All right, go.” Rosie plops down across from me, shoving a fancy mocha in front of me. It’s in a house mug with a cute frothy flower on top. It’s picture worthy, so I take a quick one to post to Instagram later. “Quit stalling. I ain’t got all day.”

Curling my fingers around the mug, I groan like I’m a devastated child. “Rosie.” I pout. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this.”

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