Page 3 of Love Me, I Dare You

I inhale another whiff of the delicious Colombian Arabica beans brewing behind me. The sweet yet robust and nutty scent is an electric charge, providing me with another bolt of energy to keep me moving this morning after only twenty-two minutes of shuteye.

How was I supposed to sleep when I got home at three in the morning after my shift at Stingers Tavern?

What seemed like a lifetime in the making, my dream, was now a reality. When my best friend Billie Cole and I opened up a bakery cafe alongside my little sister Brynn’s art gallery, everyone felt the need to remind us it would never work. Sure, it was a little unorthodox—two besties going into business together and running a cafe, of all things. Though, in all honesty, unorthodox might as well be my middle name.

Chain bookstores opened coffee shops within their walls all the time, so why should this idea be unheard of?

HoneyBees Cafehad been a well-visited establishment since it first opened its doors four years ago. My decadent desserts and world famous cupcakes, also known asBaileycakes, became a delicacy in our small town of Crossroads. Along with Billie’s artfully crafted signature lattes, HoneyBees was on its way to being one of Crossroads' major attractions.

Now, to add to my repertoire, I’d recently opened a bar and was running it with my older brother Jameson. It was only fitting to name the placeStingers Tavern.Get it?

In just six months, Stingers had amassed a crowd of loyal clientele who visited the establishment, six out of seven nights a week. After much consideration, and some input from my mama, we’d chosen Mondays as the only day the bar was closed in order to give us time to restock. Sunday, according to mama, was the Lord’s day, also known as a day only sinners drank. We couldn’t pass on the opportunity for business on a day as popular as Sunday.

I’d once have agreed with her, but ten years ago, something in the universe shifted. I was no longer the strait-laced, God fearing little girl who everyone in town adored. Gone was the mayor’s beloved daughter—a blonde-haired, blue eyed Southern Belle who wore a sundress to church every Sunday and attended bible studies two nights out of the week.

No, that Bailey King died the night of her eighteenth birthday. The night a boy broke her heart as he claimed a part of her she’d denied everyone else and saved for him. Not that it wasn’t freely given up as a sacrifice, but it didn’t mean it hurt any less when it was stripped away and forgotten.

I didn’t regret giving Nash Bishop my virginity. I loved him, or so I thought. But at eighteen, I couldn’t have possibly understood what the word meant. No, what I regretted was that the next morning, as I rose with the warm summer sun, the happiest I’d ever been, my brother Jameson had come into my room and told me that Nash had skipped town with no intention of ever coming back.

I feared one day it would happen. Crossroads wasn’t for everyone, and for the Bishops, it was hell on earth.

Yet I couldn't help thinking he’d left because he believed what happened between us was a mistake. Because he’d regretted being with me. That he couldn’t bear the thought of looking me in the eye after what we’d done, because it had meant nothing to him, yet everything to me.

I spent nearly a decade with that same thought mindlessly haunting every part of me and letting it ruin any chance of ever moving on. It had changed me, altered my brain chemistry, and sustained my fear of commitment in any relationship thereafter. If I hadn’t been good enough for Nash Bishop, then I’d never be good enough for anyone else. Because despite how much I hated him, a part of me would never stop loving him.

Although the town who once adored me, now saw me as someone who needed saving on account of the choices and changes I made that didn’t fit in with what they deemed acceptable, this was home. I couldn’t imagine living anywhere but here. Even if it was a constant reminder of him and what I’d lost when he walked away.

You either spent your life dreaming of freedom, or you accepted fate and understood you’d always call this small town home. The downside, everyone had an opinion on what you should and shouldn’t be doing with your life. And for me, it came with the title of being “royalty” in a small town.

That was life in Crossroads. There’s no escaping it, so might as well make the best of it.

Crossroads, my beautiful hometown with a darling population of six thousand, two hundred sixty-six residents, is a picturesque North Carolinian oasis. Autumn leaves, in perfect shades of brown and red, fall along the cobblestone roads leading toward the town square. Though the thing I love most about small southern towns, nothing is as picture perfect as it seems.

Scandals and secrets run deep through the cobblestone roads leading to the white picketed, cookie-cutters homes sitting on large acres of farmland. Specifically, secrets my family has kept locked up tight in our town crypts.

When Monroe Bishop, Nash’s little sister and the Bishop’s only daughter who had become my best friend, found out shewas pregnant about a month ago, her plans to run the bar with me came to a standstill. The one-night stand turned nightmare suddenly consumed her entire life. Her plan to do the whole single mom thing and not reach out to the father of her baby forced her to rethink her finances and how she was planning to spend her money. Investing that much money in a bar didn’t seem like the best plan at the moment.

Luckily, as someone who had already spent half of her life savings on HoneyBees and had no business doing the same for the bar, my brother Jase stepped in to the rescue, joining me after buying out the share Monroe invested in. I’d gone to college and received a bachelor’s degree in hospitality management. Along with Jase’s degree in business administration and his love and knowledge of liquor, we made the perfect pair.

“On my way to church this morning, I know I won't be able to stay alert through Reverend Mitchell’s service without one of Billie’s delicious lattes.” Mrs. Pemberly, the sweet older woman across from me who I’ve known my entire life, says as she hands me the exact change before picking up her box of freshly baked scones and walking over to wait for her lavender and honey latte.

“How are you still smiling this early in the morning after less than an hour of sleep?” Billie asks as she hands me my usual dirty chai latte topped with lavender cold foam.

“I’ve made a career in customer service, Bills. If I didn’t smile, I’d be broke.”

HoneyBees is a darling little bakery cafe with large windows that bring in an impressive amount of sunlight. Cream-colored walls are decorated with a pale yellow trim, while the counters are a light oak wood purposefully made to look antique. On the wall behind the counter is a beautiful mural of downtown Main Street, courtesy of my little sister Brynn, complete with an array of honey bees frolicking in the sky above the gazebo we both loved to play at when we were kids. There are a few tablesand stools inside, the same wood as the counters, while outside the shop’s store front is a small patio with white wicker tables and matching chairs. Beautiful green ferns are hung in various spots across the shop, giving life to the otherwise simple yet charmingly southern space.

That’s what Billie and I were looking for when we designed HoneyBees. We wanted a place that felt like you were having coffee and tea in your neighbor's backyard, not at some fancy coffee shop in the city. HoneyBees has that North Carolina charm and elegance mixed with a more modern take on a southern cottage-core aesthetic.

Billie tucks a strand of her bright hair and huffs out a deep breath in annoyance. “Yeah well, we’re lucky the towns folk have forgiven you for tarnishing the appearance and reputation of their resident good girl, the sweet Bailey King, and turned her intoThe Bombshell Badass.”

I can’t help but laugh at the nickname she and Monroe gave me our sophomore year of college. The Bombshell Badass Billie refers to was given to me partly after the third part of our trio, Monroe, convinced me to get my first tattoo when I turned twenty-one. Monroe and Billie were covered in ink. Billie had her lower back and upper thigh tattooed while Monroe was currently on tattoo number twenty, though they were smaller, more delicate designs she had meticulously spread along her arms, ribcage and hips.

The three of us got matching tattoos the year we graduated, a rose vine with thorns entwined, on different parts of our body. Mine’s on my shoulder and trails down my upper arm, Billie’s is on her upper thigh, while Monroe tattooed her lower back.

Regardless, the two of them perfectly fit the bill of rebellious bombshell babes they were. Monroe’s dark brown hair and gorgeous blue eyes are a stark contrast to Billie’s baby blues and bright auburn and light pink hair. My best friends are unique intheir own way, and I’ll admit I always felt sort of out-of-place hanging around with them when we were younger, especially once the three of us enrolled at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill.

Which is why I am now also covered in tattoos. Although small, except for my left arm that has quite a few larger ones, they were plenty. To say my mama nearly had an aneurysm when my ink spread to more noticeable areas would be an understatement. She’d nearly disowned me, and still reminded me daily that my body was borrowed and not mine to tarnish. Rather, I should treat it as the temple it was.

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