Page 43 of The Barista's Beloved

She settled her body down into the soft, downy cushions and pulled her legs up under her. She turned to him, her brow furrowed. “I’m trying to convince myself that a guy doesn’t show up at your house with expensive steak when he’s going to break up with you, but the look on your face … You’re not breaking up with me, are you, Ben?”

Ben scratched his cheek. “No, I’m not breaking up with you, Maeve. But you … gah. This shouldn’t be so hard.” He pushed to his feet and paced the room.

She twisted her hands in her lap. “What’s going on?”

He stopped and faced her. “I have a lead on a job.” He shoved his hands into his front pockets and rocked back on his heels.

“Oh. That’s good, though, right?”

“It’s in Hawaii.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. Ah. And uh …” Ben slapped his palm to the back of his warming neck. “And, um … it’s with Hartwell.”

Approximately two seconds passed before Maeve’s face morphed from confusion to recognition. “What?!” She shot to her feet, swaying slightly with indignation. She scowled and stomped over to him, stretching out a finger and poking him in the chest. Hard. “I know you didn’t just tell me you’re considering going to work for the corporate thugs who are trying to destroy the very fabric of this community.”

“Maeve, come on. I need a job; they offered me one. It’s not the most unreasonable thing in the world to—”

She shook her head. “I know you’re not this stupid, Ben. You have them up against the wall, and they think they can get you to back off with the promise of …” She narrowed her eyes. “What did they promise you?”

Ben’s neck prickled with guilt. She wasn’t wrong about the offer; of course it came with strings and stipulations. That was just how things worked in his world.

His world.The words echoed loudly in his conscience, promptly followed by Max’s warnings not to get involved with Maeve if he intended to go back to his old life. He didn’t want to be that guy, but he didn’t know if he could be this guy, either. He loved living in River Hill, and he liked who he was with these people. Fuck, he loved who he was when it was just he and Maeve. She’d breathed life back into him when he’d wanted nothing more than to lick his wounds and stay hidden forever. But this Ben had just been fired again, and not from some high-powered gig either. He wasn’t even capable of holding down a shitty job where he made no money. This Ben was a loser.

And frankly, he was fucking tired of losing.

“It’s a chance for me to feel useful again, Maeve.” He went back to pacing the room. “You said it yourself; I wasn’t going to be a barista forever, and I have literally no other skills. All I’ve ever wanted to be was a lawyer. I could do the job for six months and then—”

“Then what? Then you throw some little old lady out of the house she was born in? The house her kids were born in? Do you even hear yourself? How can you stand there and act like this—” She slammed her mouth shut and rolled her lips tightly between her teeth until they formed an angry white slash across her red face.

Ben had never seen Maeve truly angry before. His heart ached with the knowledge that he was the cause of it now.

Her chest rose and fell with deep breaths for several long seconds before she shook her head and then turned silently on her heels. She marched to the front of the house, and when she reached the front door, she flung it open and stalked through it, slamming it loudly behind her.

Ben stood there, listening to the echoing silence of her absence and wondering just what the hell had gone wrong. He’d known this wasn’t going to be an easy conversation, but he’d sort of hoped they could discuss the pros and cons logically, maybe make a decision as a couple.

He shook his head as reality set in. He could see now that he’d been kidding himself. There was nothing reasonable or rational about the way he felt about Maeve, and there was no world in which she would have supported him taking a job with the same people who employed Steve Smith. Honestly, he couldn’t really blame her. Her unwavering sense of right and wrong was one of the many things he loved about her.

He had no right asking her to approve of him doing something that was so completely anathema to who she was. He’d let a momentary lapse in judgement—which was more like a months-long lapse in confidence—ruin one of the best things that had ever happened to him. He might have lost his career when he’d moved here, but he’d gained the love of his life.

One who was angry and disappointed, and had maybe just broken up with him. He shouldn’t have expected anything less. Maeve felt deeply, and with her whole heart. A job was just a thing he could do to make money. Maeve, however, was theone. Everything else was secondary. Which, obviously, she didn’t know. She hadn’t given him a chance to tell her.

A renewed sense of purpose propelled him toward the door. When he was halfway there, it burst open, the knob hitting the wall and bouncing away.

An angry Maeve strode through like a tiny, vengeful Valkyrie and pointed outside imperiously. “This is my house. You should be the one to leave.”

He moved toward her, but she held up a staying hand. “Naomi was right. Sharks don’t change their …” She shook her head. “Never mind. Shark, tiger, whatever; it’s all the same. You both sense blood and go in for the kill. I’m not going to be prey anymore.”

“Maeve, I—”

She thrust her arm toward the door. “I said leave.”

“If you just let me explain—”

“You’ve said enough.” She gave him her profile, her chin raised. “Please, go.”

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