Page 3 of Merry With A Milkman

Unless he wants something from me. Like to play delivery driver while his regular guy is off.

This morning’s stops include a handful of private residences, a hotel restaurant, the natural foods store, and the coffee shop on the beach where I grab the largest cup of plain boring coffee they offer. The final stop is a business that’s only been open for a few months. Wondering how a candy store uses my brother’s specialty milks and creams, I park at the back of the building. After double checking the order against the containers remaining in the refrigerated section of the truck, I carry the crate into the store.

I’m met by Choco-Love’s owner, Noah Drake. He notices my curiosity and gives me a brief explanation of how they use Steve’s products while giving me a quick tour of his store. I take mental notes for my future business location—wherever the hellthat’s going to be—and admire the easy way the working part of the operation merges into the sales area.

My thought processes stall when I notice the beautiful woman assisting customers at the end of a long display case. All I see is her back, but that’s enough to wake my slumbering libido. I’d started to believe that part of me had died a year ago when she-who-I-refuse-to-name left me.

Long, strawberry blond hair hangs between her shoulder blades from a high ponytail. My fingers twitch with the need to wrap the silky strands in my fist. Below the sweep of her hair her waist curves out to full wide hips. Tight jeans hug her shapely, thick thighs, making my mouth water with the urge to strip them away.

Needing to hear her voice, I take a step closer and jerk to a stop. For me a major rule of retail is that the customer comes first and there’s a line waiting to choose their chocolates.

I’ll come back another time to meet her. As a customer. Then I’ll choose her as my sweet and make sure she comes first.

At that thought, I adjust my stance then turn away. Nodding to Noah, I exit the store. Despite the rise of lust, I’ve got too much to do today to linger so turn the truck toward my home.

Shortly after returning to Love Beach, I purchased a small house on the edge of town. It’s been my haven when Steve goes on one of his tirades or memories from my time overseas threaten to overwhelm me. Today the image of a woman will fill my safe space—and my fantasies. She’ll be here and I haven’t even seen her face yet.

Now I’m not in the mood to get to the farm early tomorrow, so change my direction and drive back to Steve’s. Thank god he’s nowhere in sight when I hang the keys on the designated hook because I just chuck them on there and don’t arrange them in his preferred hanging order—largest against the wall. While making my escape, I catch a glimpse of him near the barn, talking to thepair of hairy highland cows he bought last year. From what I can tell, there isn’t much call for their milk in the area, but the high fat content is good for my cheeses.

Giving a soft snort, I turn from the drive onto the highway. He’s been talking about increasing his ‘herd’ of animals with a yak next. That should be interesting.

Once back home I sit at a small desk in the corner of my cramped living room and add my observations from the stop at Choco-Love and add the page to a pile of my attempts at creating a business plan. I can disparage my brother’s odd collection of animals, but he’s always had a plan. Knows what he wants and how to get there.

I’ve got a number of cheeses finally aged enough to sell but I’m not sure how to proceed. Hell, I haven’t even thought of a business name, let alone named any of the cheeses beyond their basic composition. My dream is to open a storefront, probably in the older part of downtown Love Beach. Something like the chocolate shop would be perfect.

Forcing the memory of the woman to the back of my mind, I gather a few pages of notes and stuff them into a leather folio. My second option is to go with an online business. While that could bring attention to my cheese, it’s not optimal in my opinion. Too many regulations for selling across state lines. I need direction. I need help.

As though fate answered my pleas, there’s a meeting tonight for those interested in starting a business. Pulling up the photo I took of a flyer, I double check the time and location. It won’t take long to get to the bar located off the north end of the boardwalk. I remember the Sandy Sipper from my college days but haven’t been back in years.

The well-kept exterior is at odds with my memory and I wonder how many owners the place has had over the past fifteen years. The interior is still a comfortable neighborhood bar withsome modern additions. The flyer indicated the meeting would be on the deck, so I grab a coke at the bar and make my way back outside.

A couple tables have been pushed together to one side and a handful of people mill about as though fearing to commit themselves to the meeting by choosing a seat. I have no time to waste, so I nod to the others as I pass and sit near the head of the table where there’s a double stack of folders.

I always preferred sitting in the front row of my classes. This is no different. I’m here to learn.

A trio of women stand to one side in deep conversation. Two wear the bar’s logo on sand colored tee shirts, the third, whose back is to me, wears a long, loose sweater over dress slacks. Her movements hold my attention with a strange familiarity. Her hair is pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. Because she’s standing in the shadows, I can’t determine the color. Feeling like I should know her, I frown.

Before I have time to search my memory, the three approach the table. Their movements draw the others closer and everyone takes a seat except the sweater-clad woman who stands behind the chair at the head of the table. The patio’s soft, moody lighting highlights her red-blonde hair and as she shifts, her curves peek from under the sweater.

With a grin, she begins. “Hi, everyone. I’m glad you’re here. I’m Tegan Drake. My brother and I opened our small business here in Love Beach six months ago. We’ve been successful, but other businesses that started around the same time, or even later, have failed. The purpose of this meeting is to come together and help each other get your business plans successfully up and running. I’ve got plenty of information to share, but if we continue these meetings, I’m hopeful most of our time, will be spend in discussion as we help each other remain viable assets to the community.”

Her words are a rumbling, jumbled mess in my brain. It’s her. The woman from the chocolate shop. My mouth feels like I’ve been chewing on cotton but a sip of my coke doesn’t ease the dryness. Hell’s demons, is fate kind? Or is the universe laughing with some huge cosmic joke? The woman who distracted my thoughts all afternoon stands right in front of me. And she wants to help me.

I glance around the table. Help us, I amend.

Most of the hopeful business owners are female and their excitement is nearly palpable. The two other men? There’s interest in their eyes. Are they interested in business? Or her?

The rise of possessiveness surprises me and I barely restrain the growl rumbling in my chest. My eyes narrow on the guy who shows the most interest. If he makes one move?—

“Your name and business?”

The soft question jerks me back to the meeting. “Uh… what?”

Tegan’s lips twitch then she loses the battle and grins. Do my thoughts show in my expression? I release the tension clenching my jaw as she sits and taps the legal pad in front of her. “First step tonight is to get to know each other and your planned businesses. I realize this type of group may not be for everyone or serve your purpose.”

She casts her gaze around the table and the loss of her eyes on me settles disappointment deep in my chest.

“I know a couple of you have already opened, and that’s great. We can all learn from each other. Including me. I’m looking forward to learning from you, too. Communication is key. Both here as we help each other, and especially in your businesses.”

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