Page 34 of Holiday Crush
Not yet. The timing was all wrong. And damn it, we had something special here. I’d thought she’d felt the same way.
“Okay, maybe not New York. Maybe something else or—I don’t know.” Stacy shrugged unhappily. “I’m just tired.”
“Then lean on me.” I kissed her cheek and set a protective hand on her belly. “The dream hasn’t changed, honey. It might look a little different, but that’s life. And the only thing that matters right now is this little guy.”
Her eyes welled with tears. “God, I love you, Ivan. You’re the best friend and the best person I know.”
“Ditto. C’mon. Off to bed for you.”
* * *
The following morning,I woke up at the ass crack of dawn and speed walked the four blocks from my house to Rise and Grind on Main Street in the dark. It took less time to hoof it than to wait for my car to defrost and since it was basically my only form of exercise, I didn’t mind the chill. I wrapped my scarf around my neck, buttoned my long wool coat, and hustled into town, my boots echoing on eerily quiet streets.
The thirty minutes between five thirty and six a.m. that I’d allotted to make coffee and rev up the heavy-duty machinery were my calm before the storm. Fine by me. I needed less time with my thoughts at the moment. I didn’t want to think about Stacy or her sudden desire to sell the shop, and I was afraid to think about Court. One represented change and possible failure and the other…
Geez, Court was a mystery.
I felt like I was two steps behind, still mentally grappling with his bi-ness and completely bewildered to have his attention. I mean…we’d exchanged blowjobs, for fuck’s sake. And I wanted to do it again. Soon.
We weren’t kids anymore and Lord knew, I’d worked my ass off to get out of this town and make something of myself. I’d grown up and clued in. I didn’t need his approval, his time, his opinions, or his dick, but…damn it, I liked him. And I wasn’t supposed to like Court Hendersonthismuch.
Frankly, all this thinking hurt my head.
Thank God I loved my job.
When we’d first opened Rise and Grind, I’d had my doubts about seeing the same folks I’d grown up with every damn day. What the hell could I possibly say to the librarian who’d told on me when I tried to check out an “adult themed” book at age ten? Or my old babysitter who was now a mother of three? Or the teenagers who grunted their orders and never made eye contact?
Their stories seemed so…ordinary. Too relatable. I’d been a disenchanted teen in a small town too, and I’d witnessed full circle moments of my peers becoming mothers and fathers as our parents aged. However, it felt like a privilege now rather than the stagnant march of time.
Honestly, it was kind of funny to serve coffee to people who’d seen you at your best, worst, and potentially most embarrassing. It was special in its own way. Sure, the gossip was a tad provincial and the cultural touchpoints centered around hockey and more hockey, but it was home.
This morning, the buzz was all about Stacy. I had no idea how word got out so soon, but that was Elmwood for you. I assured everyone that she was taking the doctor’s orders seriously and that with Mazie’s help, I had everything under control, which was mostly true.
I poured coffee, tea, whipped up espressos and lattes like a boss, and made small talk about everything from turkey prep to composting the dead leaves in front of the elementary school, as if I knew anything about either topic.
“I’m going to try a rosemary and butter rub this year. Not that Jake will notice. As long as we have pumpkin pie and a gallon of ice cream, he’ll be happy,” Bryson commented, leaning casually against the counter as he waited for his latte.
Side note: Bryson Milligan was a forty-three-year-old realtor, single dad, and all-around good guy. Oh, yes…and he was a seriously delicious silver fox with pretty blue eyes and a toned, trim physique. In addition to being my Bingo volunteer buddy, he was also one of the only other single gay men in town. And no, I’d never had a crush on him. As hot as Bryson was, he simply wasn’t my type.
“Aren’t you having Thanksgiving at your ex’s house?” I put the finishing touches on my latte art and slid his drink toward him.
“No, Piper is going skiing and Jake has mandatory hockey practice Friday morning. It’s just the two of us this year.” Bryson thanked me, frowning at the foam as he reached for a top.
“Let me see what he did to your latte before you cover it up.” JC sidled up to the counter with his extremely handsome, former hockey star boyfriend, a teasing half smile on his face.
“Be nice, Jean-Claude,” Riley hummed in warning.
JC shrugged innocently. “I am always nice.”
I folded my arms and huffed, surveying the line to gauge upcoming drink orders. Three plain coffees and an Earl Grey tea. Mazie could handle those while I took a mini break and chatted with my friends.
“So…what do you think it is?” I pointed at the latte the three men were currently eyeing.
Bryson squinted. “Uh, that’s an acorn. Right?”
“Wrong. Your turn, Riley.”
“Oh, well…um.” Riley pushed his fingers through his dark hair and angled his head till it practically rested on his shoulder. “It’s one of those cornucopia horns for Thanksgiving.”