Page 77 of Coffee Shop Girl
“What was ... what was she like before we came along?”
My forehead scrunched, trying to remember. “She was shadow and light. Maybe that sounds dumb. I just remember moments of deep joy and moments of total despair. There was either goodness or terror. I was only with her until I was six or seven. That’s when Dad took me back, and she let me go.”
“She told me about that time. That you lived out of the car. She burned through your Dad’s money at first, then worked as a prostitute to get gas money for the next place. On good nights, she said, she’d be able to get dinner and a motel room.”
My back stiffened. I’d always suspected, but Mama had never betrayed herself. I couldn’t help but wonder why she’d told Lizbeth, of all people.
Hopefully to keep her out of that life.
“Yes,” I whispered. “I remember sitting in the car, waiting for her to come back. Being confused as to why she had to go at all, and why Dad wasn’t good enough. Then he showed up, and everything changed.”
“He did you a favor,” Lizbeth muttered darkly.
The truth swept through me in a long, cold rush.
“I know.”
* * *
“Things are progressing nicely.”Maverick tutted under his breath as he studied one of his favorite spreadsheets. “We’re already seeing signs of progress, even with the minor improvements to your ordering process. You had a $23 profit yesterday.”
His jaw flexed as he thought, a funny little tic I liked to watch for. I straightened from where I stood behind the counter, the greatest vantage point from which to see him. Lizbeth watched me with a smug expression every time she caught me staring his direction.
Which was a lot.
“My bank account will hopefully notice.”
Maverick stood from the table and stretched with a smile. His torso and shoulders elongated, and it took all my considerable mental energy not to stare at the gap between his belt and shirt that revealed his abs. I tossed a rag toward the sink to distract myself, and it landed on the spigot.
“Did you already fill out your spreadsheet today?”
“Yes, Mom,” I drawled.
In truth, the spreadsheet he’d made me was kind of nice. I liked a centralized place to look at my business numbers. Something similar might come in handy with real estate. I’d been pondering ways to adapt the system. In truth, however, I had no idea what would translate to real estate. All those dreams were just that ... dreams. Until I could get my license, it was just a hope.
Although his organization of ideas had been imperfect, Maverick had proven correct so far. Things at the shop didn’t seem quite so bleak. The operations manual had exposed a lot of issues and forced me to find solutions. A lot of those solutions meant losing less money. While things were more organized and I hadsomesemblance of cash flow, there was a lot of room for improvement.
Relentless as usual, and far too handsome in a pair of glasses he only occasionally wore, Maverick folded his arms. Despite our snuggle session Friday night and lake day on Saturday, he was all business now that it was Monday again. He stood in the middle of the coffee shop, legs braced slightly apart. The power pose did funny things to my stomach.
Why did Lizbeth have to be reading in the corner?
I couldn’t help but wonder ifshewas why he was acting so professional. So far today, he’d given no indication that we had any nonwork connection. I’d noticed that about him. Work time was focus time.
An array of marketing ideas lay sprawled in front of me on the counter. Each idea was written on an index card, and I kept moving the cards around to re-prioritize them. Lizbeth and I had been debating back and forth about how to get more people into the shop.
Book clubsaid one card near the top.Birthday parties. Better pastries. BOGO sales. Wedding catering, which didn’t make any sense, but she’d insisted I keep it. “Don’t dismiss ideas, Bethie,” she’d muttered. “There’s brilliance on each card.”
“Think deeper,” Maverick said now as he watched me regard each one for the fifteenth time. “What do people want when they come in, Bethany?”
The sound of my name on his voice purled like hot tea inside me. I blinked in a poor attempt to focus.
“And what do they need?” He tapped a finger on the counter. “This is Sales 101.”
I frowned. “They wantcoffee.”
Pretty simple.
Or was it? It must not be, or he wouldn’t challenge me this way.
