Page 38 of The Barista's Beloved

Ben stood there for several long moments staring at the closed door. His head was pounding, and his mind was whirring. He didn’t trust Smith as far as he could throw him, but the offer was compelling, he was forced to admit. A six-month contract could be precisely what he needed to test the waters at a new employer. If he didn’t enjoy the work, he could always pack up his suitcase and head back to … where? Portland, and his parents? As much as he loved them, no. That was definitely out of the question.

Suddenly, an image of Maeve standing on her front porch, her mouth split in a beatific smile, popped into his head. In his imagination, she threw her arms wide in welcome, and he dropped his leather satchel to his feet and marched purposefully toward her. He gathered her into his arms and kissed her soundly. He let the daydream unfurl, giving it a full backstory. He’d missed her so damn much, even though she’d visited him in Oahu only three weeks before, but three weeks without seeing her precious face and kissing her delectable lips had been just about the extent of what he could handle. They’d spent the first twenty-four hours of her visit holed up in a bedroom overlooking Diamond Head before venturing out to explore the island for the next two days. When she’d left, it had felt like she’d taken a piece of his heart with her. But the separation had been good, too. It had given him time to figure out what he wanted to do professionally, while replenishing the bank account he’d depleted while working as a barista. Now he could move back to River Hill and be the type of partner Maeve deserved. Someone who didn’t live above his best friend’s garage in a three-hundred-and-fifty square foot studio that became unbearably hot when the temperature soared above seventy degrees. Someone who was her equal.

Splat.

Ben was pulled from his daydream by the sound of a wet towel being slapped down onto the counter next to him. His eyes flicked between it and the red face of his boss.

“That’s it, Worthington,” Rodney said, spittle flying from the corners of his mouth as he glared at Ben. “I’ve given you a million chances because I respect the hell out of Max, but I’m done. I need employees who know what the hell they’re doing, and that’s not you. Bobby’s been trying to get your attention for the last five minutes, but you’re standing there staring out the window like some lunatic while you pour milk all over my goddamn floor.” He pointed angrily at Ben and then at the tiles at their feet.

Ben’s gaze followed, landing on an empty quart of milk in his left hand. “Shit!” All thoughts of Maeve and his career pushed to the furthest recesses of his mind, he tossed the empty container into the trash can and picked up a crumpled wad of towels. Throwing them down onto the puddle, he dropped to a crouch and began wiping up the mess.

After a few seconds, Rodney’s hand fell onto his shoulder. “Don’t bother. Just go.”

Hesitantly, Ben rose to his full height, a good six inches over his balding manager. He swallowed deeply. “Go?”

Rodney nodded and stuck out his palm. “I’m gonna need your apron, son.”

Ben stared at him for a beat, trying to process what the fuck had just happened. One minute he was making coffee, the next he was getting fired. Again. And somewhere in the middle, he’d apparently been offered a job that could be the answer to all his problems.

If only it wasn’t working for the company that’s trying to ruin the organization you’re currently trying to save,his conscience reminded him.

Yes, if only.

Ben slowly lifted the apron off over his head and passed it to the other man, trying to work through his shock. “I’m—”

“Save it,” Rodney interrupted. “You were never cut out for this job, Ben, and we both know it.”

And that was the crux of the situation, wasn’t it? The only thing Ben knew how to do was be a lawyer—the type that ran point on corporate takeovers and hard-fought negotiations. He’d turned down his nose at Steve Smith, but they were more alike than Ben cared to admit. Sure, he wasn’t a complete sleazeball like the other man, but at the end of the day, they were cut from the same corporate cloth. Maybe it was time he accepted the truth and moved on. After all, there were worse places in the world than Hawaii.

He pushed the doors of The Hollow Bean open and stepped out into the bright spring afternoon. The historic town square was filled with moms pushing strollers, old men walking their happy little dogs, and little old ladies sitting together on park benches knitting. In the gazebo, two people were being instructed on how to waltz. Everything—from the bright pink tulips dotting the brick pathways to the colorful banners advertising the upcoming spring festival—was picture perfect.

No, Honolulu wasn’t bad, but neither was River Hill. Too bad he couldn’t seem to claw out a real future here.

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