Page 1 of Love & Lattes at The Mermaid Cafe
Chapter One
Lena
“Are you the owner of the Mermaid Café?”
I glance up from the espresso machine and take a closer look at the man with silver threading through his brown hair. When he ordered a vanilla latte, he’d given no clue that he was nosey or judgmental. No one asks about ownership unless they’re one or the other.
My customer looks out the side window of the Mermaid Café at the ocean waves rolling past the pier beams thirty feet below. He’s dressed in khakis and a polo shirt, carrying a dark jacket over one arm. “If you’re the owner, my guess is you inherited the Mermaid Café. And have no fear of heights.”
“As long as you don’t ask me to dive off the pier, I’m fine with heights. And yes, I’m the owner.” Ten years in and my voice still rings with pride when I declare ownership of the Mermaid Café. “I bought it myself.”
“With your own money?” Incredulous—and incredibly attractive—brown eyes turn my way. “Why?”
I release a mirthless chuckle. It pays to humor my customers even if they don’t humor me. “Why did I buy it? Three step-kids, two divorces, one layoff—and a partridge in a pear tree.” I smile as I add whole milk to the frother-steamer cup. It’s easy to smile when the frother-steamer is running.
I never complain when all my coffee equipment is purring, even if my customers are overstepping personal boundaries.
The old me—the jaded version of me before I came to Mermaid Bay—would have tallied this man’s good points—nine for handsomeness plus five for a nice, non-smoker’s voice—and subtracted whatever bothered me about him—five for nosiness, seven for sounding kind-of like he didn’t believe a sane woman would be the owner of this place—and decided a sum total of two points (fourteen minus twelve) wasn’t worth more than token politeness.
But I’ve grown since I was a single female seeking my Prince Charming. Become more patient with folks who have fewer positive attributes than they believe. Not all businesses—or people—run their accounts in the profit column daily.
Can you tell I used to be an accountant? Or that I’ve proclaimed myself done with men?
Actually, I fall in love all the time—with a good romance novel or Hallmark movie hero.
But in real life? Nope. I found my mid-life groove. I’m unapologetically in love with the Mermaid Café, my life, and myself. Not necessarily in that order.
I don’t need a man. I’m happy most days, including today. Everyone on the schedule showed up for work today, deliveries were received from both the baker and the coffee roaster before six a.m., and all my equipment is working properly.
Yes, I can’t say enough about how well-operating machinery is a positive mood booster. I can’t remember the last time I’d had a day when it had failed me. Things at the Mermaid Café were almost…boring.
I knock on wood, smile at my nosey customer, and say, “When I purchased this place, I was looking for something that wouldn’t break my heart.” The frother stops and I pour thick, warm cream on top of his espresso. “The café had been vacant for years and needed love.”
The Mermaid Café had needed me at a time when no one else seemed to.
I’d been driving up the Oregon coast when I stopped in the small town of Mermaid Bay. I wandered the boardwalk, enjoying the small shops in historic, creaky old buildings. It was like being an extra in a Hallmark movie.
Have I mentioned how much I like Hallmark movies?
And then I ventured out on the pier, shrugging deeper into my jacket even though it was May because the wind wasn’t the warm caress I’d grown used to in Southern California. Oh, no. The Oregon coastal wind was like a slap in the face. It tried to yank my boring brown hair out by the roots.
It was equal parts refreshing and challenging at the same time.
It was while I was being buffeted that Iran intothe Mermaid Café. Notinside. Butitsside.
I was walking with my shoulders hunched and my head ducked, striding the way I had been since my last divorce—like the Specter of Failure could be outrun if I kept moving fast enough. And then—BAM!
Nearly gave myself a concussion.
Did, in fact, knock myself on my keister.
At which point, I glanced up and saw the weathered, worn sign that proclaimed this little shack built on a narrow wing of the pier was the Mermaid Café, established 1904.
“You all right?” a salty voice had asked. A handsome man stood above me, looking like the ghost of a Maine sea captain in his blue pea coat. He had a mane of peppery hair beneath a blue knit cap and a full beard King Neptune would be proud of. “I run the bait shop on the other side of the café. Need a hand?”
“Yeah.” I extended mine and the sailor drew me to my feet with enough gusto that I very nearly bounced into his arms. Didn’t help that the wind had changed directions and came at me from behind, as if salvation was to be found in the burly seaman’s arms.
But I wasn’t looking for love, then or now. At least, not with the opposite sex.
