Page 42 of The Barista's Beloved

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“Hey, babe.” Ben laid a quick kiss on Maeve’s cheek as he stepped into her house and moved toward the kitchen at the back. In his left hand, he held a six-pack of beer he’d pilfered from Max before heading over, while in his right, he carried a bag filled with all the fixings for a barbeque for two.

It was probably a bad idea for him to have spent so much on the two ribeyes now that he didn’t have a job, but he’d needed to do something to make himself feel better after getting fired the day before. Gorging himself on local, grass-fed beef seemed a hell of a lot smarter than drowning his sorrows in his girlfriend’s whiskey. Although now that he thought about it, he might want a bottle of it when he explained to her that he was once again jobless.

“Ooh, what’s that?” she asked, following him into the room.

He broke two of the cans off their plastic holder and passed one to Maeve before crouching down to root around in the refrigerator to make room for the rest. “Max’s friend did a collaboration with another brewery, and he dropped off a case last night to get feedback.” He popped to his feet and opened his can with a satisfying hiss. Swallowing down a few mouthfuls, he held the can out to inspect the label while the flavors settled on his tongue. “Not bad.”

Maeve took a drink of her own, smacking her lips together lightly. “Is that lavender? And … chamomile? Yeah, definitely chamomile.”

Ben laughed and twisted the can around to show her the brewer’s notes. He’d never get over how good she was at things like this.

A couple of weeks ago, they’d been hanging out with Max, watching an episode of Top Chef since one of his friends was competing. For that episode’s ‘Quickfire’ challenge, the cheftestants were blindfolded while being timed to see how many flavors they could correctly identify. On the spot, the group had decided to test Max the same way using the nuts and spices he had in his kitchen. Then Max had challenged Maeve to see just how good her supposedly refined palate was. In the end, she’d surprised them all by identifying two more than he had.

“I should have known you’d get it with just one sip.”

She shot him a look of mock indignation. “Of course I did. My palate is extraordinary,” she said with a wink.

He set the can to the side and wound his arms around her waist. Pulling her between his legs, he dropped a kiss on her forehead. “Everything about you is extraordinary.”

Her eyes flicked upward, and their gazes locked. Neither of them spoke for a few protracted seconds. “Have I mentioned lately how much I like being able to hug you like this?” She sighed happily and nuzzled her cheek into his chest, her arms banding around him tighter. “I used to sit on my hands when I was around you because I was afraid I’d unconsciously reach out and just grab hold of you.”

Ben smiled and caressed her hair, letting the fiery strands sift softly through his fingers. God, he loved her hair. Warmth washed over him as the thought flitted through his mind. It settled in his limbs, and radiated inward, suffusing his heart with a feeling of … rightness. In that moment, Ben realized it wasn’t only her hair that he loved. He was in love with her, too.

He hadn’t meant for that to happen—had actively fought against it, in fact, knowing how unsuitable he was as a long-term partner for someone as successful and driven as Maeve—but somewhere along the way, he’d lost control of the situation. If he were being honest with himself, he’d probably fallen a little bit in love with her that first night they’d met … when she’d indignantly dragged him out of The Oakwell Inn, declaring that she was going to take him home and have sex with him.

He chuckled lightly, but the laughter died in his throat. With Maeve tucked snugly into his side, he’d nearly forgotten what a shit show the rest of his life currently was. If he’d been worried before about being good enough for her, now he was doubly so. He’d just been fired. A fact he hadn’t yet shared with her.

“What’s so funny?” She lifted her head and glanced up at him curiously.

“Nothing,” he said, brushing a few wayward strands of hair from her brow. “I just … I really like you, Maeve Brennan.”

She smiled sweetly at him, her eyes turning misty. “I really like you too, Ben Worthington.” She canted her head to the side and studied him intently. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Ben blew out a long gust of air and loosened his hold on her.

As if sensing his unease, Maeve took a step back and wrapped her arms protectively over her middle. “Is everything all right?”

He looked up at her kitchen ceiling, trying to find the words to explain. Honestly, the only thing to do was to just spit it out. He met her gaze head-on. “I got fired yesterday.”

“What?” She scrunched her eyebrows into a deep vee and pursed her lips. “How come?”

He looked away. He didn’t want to admit that while he’d gotten better at his job since she’d had to send back whatever sludge he’d tried to serve her, he’d never really gotten good at it. The whole thing was too humiliating. “I think we both know that I was never really cut out to be a barista. They only gave me the job because Max called in a favor.”

“What happened? I mean, why’d they fire you now?”

Ben reached blindly for his beer, and when his fingers locked on the cold can, he lifted it to his lips and chugged down several gulps. When it was nearly empty, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I spilled milk.”

She coked her head to the side and her lips tilted up in a sly grin. “I know this is horrible, but I really want to make a joke about crying over spilt milk.”

Despite his apprehension over admitting why he’d spilled the milk, Ben felt his cheeks lifting in a rueful smirk. “Yeah. I had that thought too.”

Maeve stood tall and pushed her shoulders back. He watched as she forced a grin to her face. “But like you said, you weren’t going to be a barista forever. Now you can focus on what you really want to do.” She looked at him expectantly.

He recognized this was the point in their conversation where he should tell her what that was. If only he knew himself.

“About that …” He blew out a long, slow breath. He didn’t know if he was trying to buy time or what, but suddenly he was very worried how the rest of this discussion was going to go. “Hey, let’s go sit down.” He reached out to lace their fingers together and then led her over to the oversized velvet sofa in the living room. It was way too large for the space—taking up nearly the whole wall—but Maeve had told him that she’d loved it on sight and had been determined to make it work in her tidy little house.

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