Page 3 of The Barista's Beloved

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“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 first 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.

“It’s fine.” Ben shoved his hands down into the pockets of his jeans and rocked back on his heels, embarrassment washing over him.

He wasn’t used to failure. Well, not until recently anyway.

All his life, Ben had been an overachiever, excelling at whatever he set his mind to. First, he’d been captain of the football team and high school valedictorian, before going on to graduate from both college and law school Magna Cum Laude. At the tender age of thirty-five, he’d been well on his way to making partner at one of the most prestigious law firms in San Francisco.

But then something had changed.

The problem was, while Ben understood what had gone wrong, he had no clue why. He hadn’t suffered some terrible trauma that had brought on a deep, dark depression he’d been unable to overcome. No, he’d just woken up one day utterly numb to the whole world. Burned out, his therapist had explained. Apparently, she’d seen it a lot with guys like him. Unfortunately, that burnout had culminated in him offending the firm’s most important client. As it turned out, telling an entitled old man with more money than sense to go fuck himself was a bonafide career killer.

So here he was, working as a barista in a town where no one knew him or how he’d gone down in an epic blaze of glory. When Max had offered him the use of the apartment over his garage, River Hill had seemed like the perfect place to lay low until he figured out his next move. Now, he wondered if that wasn’t a bad idea, too. Max had assured him that his friends wouldn’t give two shits about what he did for a living, but that was easy for a James Beard award winner to say. Based on Maeve’s outburst, he was beginning to have his doubts.

“No, it’s not fine,” Maeve said, pulling his thoughts back to the conversation. “I was rude, and that was uncalled for. I’m sorry.”

“It’s cool. Don’t worry about it, okay?” The sooner they could move on from this conversation, the better. Ben knew he wasn’t going to win any awards for handing out coffee, and it wasn’t like working as a barista was his life’s ambition. Still, the idea that he couldn’t do even that right stung.

“Ignore them,” a voice belonging to a blonde guy sitting directly across from where Ben stood chimed in. “I can’t make a decent cup of coffee to save my life, and I practically live on the stuff. I’m Sean, by the way.”

A beautiful brunette dropped down into Sean’s lap and twined her arms around his neck. “I knew you only married me for my Nespresso maker.” She looked vaguely familiar. Max had said something about her having a new local TV show.

“Nah, Jess,” he said, before kissing her soundly. “I married you for your abuelita’s molé recipe.”

Jess laughed and pushed his face away, pretending to be offended.

At the end of the row, Maeve rolled her eyes and groaned before raising a bottle of beer to her lips and swallowing down a deep swig.

Hmm, Ben thought. She had seemed so nice when they’d met, but now he wondered if his initial impression had been wrong. Shouldn’t she be happy for the newlyweds? Unless, of course, there’d been something between her and Sean. Ben didn’t remember Max mentioning anything like that when he’d quickly brought him up to speed on who’d be hanging out tonight.

Jess didn’t seem to mind Maeve’s reaction though. “Oh, hush. You’re just mad that I can’t be your wingwoman anymore.”

Maeve leveled her with a slitted-eyed glare. “Yes, exactly. You’ve abandoned me.” Her face said she was pouting, but the laughter in her voice gave away her real feelings. Ben thought she might not love the idea of having to share her friend with her new husband, but she wasn’t unhappy for them.

“We need to get her laid,” said a tall, thin woman carrying a tray of chips and salsa as she exited the house and came onto the paved patio.

“She totally needs to get laid,” echoed the voluptuous blonde who followed behind carrying a pitcher of what looked like margaritas.

Ben did a double take. “Wait, are you—”

The woman handed Noah the pitcher and wiped her hands on the front of her jeans. She circled the fire pit with her hand extended toward him. “Angelica Travis. Max said he was bringing an old friend by tonight. You must be Ben.”

Holy shit.Max hadn’t mentioned he was friends with the Angelica Travis. Nope, he’d described her as “my buddy Noah’s fiancée.” If he remembered correctly, this woman owned the patio they were standing on and the bed and breakfast that went with it.

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