Page 14 of Home Brewed (The Perfect Cup #1)

Hazel

M y heart is racing on the walk home. The mere act of Beck handing me his phone makes me want to trust him. I don’t remember the last time another person trusted me with their phone password. Maybe working with Beck will end up being a good thing.

Funnily enough, I discover right away that working with Beck is a dream.

Going in the next day is as easy as breathing, coming in and getting to develop something I’m truly passionate about.

It might seem weird to be passionate about coffee, but I am.

It’s something for people to gather over, it’s a pick-me-up on a rough day, it warms the body and the soul, and the rich aroma is a sweet comfort.

Coffee was something we always had in my house growing up; we’re Italian, it’s in our blood.

It was one of the few consistent things in my life.

I could always rely on my mom having coffee in the house, even if we didn’t always have sugar or cream.

It’s likely why I take my coffee a specific way now.

Because I can. There’s something empowering about ordering something exactly the way you want it.

That right there is what I want to bring to this coffee subscription—consistently good coffee, exactly the way you want, the way you would make it at home—to life.

Beck was so on board when I showed him the plans I had.

The subscription options, adding in merch from the coffee shop—which I had helped start designs on for him—and the message he wants to get across with it.

The time practically flies by, and I come in every day to a coffee waiting for me, and a partner who really believes in my skills.

I find myself thinking less and less about Justin each day, feeling the tightness in my chest lift a bit.

I enjoy working there so much, I end up taking another week of vacation so I can work on it just a little bit more, telling myself that I need to see it through. I want this to be fully set up before I eventually have to go back to the real world, to make it as successful as possible.

As the days go on, I find myself wishing I could stay on longer. I can’t remember the last time I was so invested in a project, or even in the success of a business. The thrill of doing something new, exciting, and totally up my alley is driving me.

And working with Beck, someone who listens when I make suggestions, brings me chocolate muffins fresh from the oven, and asks me to explain things to him in a genuine way; it’s been really nice.

It feels like being heard for the first time.

Actually, no, it feels like being respected for the first time.

I start to miss him when I go home in the evenings, enough that I start texting him here and there.

It starts with work-related topics, then pictures of each other’s dinners, and one really stunning sunset he caught the other night.

Getting to know Stella has been the same.

Her energy is contagious, she might be sunshine in human form.

She tells me about where she wants to travel, about her dad who she hangs out with constantly, and her hometown.

Being in the café is becoming easy, and being around them, especially Beck, is easier.

There are other people who work there, and connecting with them has felt natural, like making friends again when I wasn’t sure I would be able to.

I’m even getting to know the regulars. Miriam comes in most days, an eccentric older woman who always chats with Stella.

There’s Wes and Robbie who walk over from the nearby high school on their free period and I’m very invested in seeing if Wes finally asks Robbie out.

Ah, young love. When everything is fresh, and new, and exciting, and you don’t know heartbreak yet.

I get a sharp pang in my gut when I think about it too much.

I have finally found something that is my own, that’s protected in its own little bubble, that can’t be touched by all the people who’ve tried to dictate my life before.

Unfortunately, it seems nothing good can last.

I’ve been working in the café for a solid two hours, about three coffees in, nose deep in design emails for some ceramic mugs, when I see my phone light up with an incoming call.

“Hi, Mr. Weiss, how are you doing?” I can feel my palms start to sweat, although I’m not sure why. I feel like there’s something I’m forgetting.

“We had a report come in through our HR department about your side project. Looks like coffee is what you’re good at after all,” he says forebodingly.

He gives a slight chuckle that sounds disgustingly delighted, that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“That no-compete clause is going to finally bite you in the ass. I must say, I’m not disappointed to see you go. ” I can feel my blood chill.

“What no-compete clause? What are you talking about?” My original contract had nothing included about that, I had specifically checked before taking on any freelance work.

As long as I wasn’t actively working for a competitor while also working for them, I should be fine.

A coffee shop is hardly their competitor.

“Did you take the time to read the revised contract from last December?” He sounds aggravatingly smug.

I’m not a violent person, but I want to smack the look I know he’s wearing, that I have seen a thousand times, right off of his stupid, pudgy face.

“I would assume not. I’ll inform you then; it prohibits you from doing any freelance or contracting work in any capacity that is not pre-authorized by management.

And, correct me if I’m wrong, I don’t believe we’ve had a meeting about this, Ms. Nucci.

In fact, I don’t think I’ve seen any communications about this from you when you requested to take your annual leave.

I’m not sure how you’re going to fix this.

It puts me in quite a bind.” A bind my ass.

He sounds fucking thrilled to be giving me this news.

I’m going to puke. Not only am I somehow in breach of something that I wasn’t even aware of, this guy is positively gleeful about the prospect of getting rid of me. I put so much work into this company. I can’t believe what I’m hearing.

“Mr. Weiss, I remember that contract vividly, it only prohibits working with a direct competitor, and this is far from a security company, if you haven’t noticed.

As well, we were advised that the new contracts were only in regard to the waiver about required unpaid overtime.

This is far from any kind of breach in contract.

” I can feel my chest tighten and my hands start to shake. This cannot be happening right now.

“Hmmm, I suppose this will be a lesson in understanding what you’re signing, dear. Attention to detail is important in fields such as ours. I’ll admit, I’m quite disappointed that you took time off to deal with a measly breakup, and now this? It does not reflect well on you.”

“Mr. Weiss, this is a simple misunderstanding, you know my dedication to the company.” But something niggles at the back of my brain.

“How did you find out why I took my leave? That was omitted from any communications, as that is private information that the company doesn’t require.

” Either my head is spinning, or the room is.

“Well, Mr. Underwood is still your emergency contact, so when he called in asking for you, he was put through to me. Imagine my surprise when he told us the unseemly things that lead to your breakup. I must say, with your qualifications and self-reported ‘professionalism’, I had much higher expectations of you.” I am officially confused.

“However, it is not my job to judge one’s lifestyle, no matter how many people you were found with.

It was quite a picture he painted, I’ll say.

” I want to throat punch him for his insinuations and judgement .

And then there’s Justin. That motherfucker.

I have a newfound need to strangle him with my bare hands.

I cannot believe that he’s trying to make me the bad guy and spin this around on me.

I have to get a handle on this fury before I fully spiral out of control.

I can not have an outburst. Not here, not now.

If only I had some dishes to rage-smash…

“I believe you have been misinformed, Mr. Weiss. I would be happy to clear things up when I return to the office.”

“I don’t believe that will be necessary. You are in clear breach of contract. I will have to take this to human resources. Please expect an email by the end of the business day. Have a wonderful rest of your day, Ms. Nucci.” He doesn’t wait for my reply before he hangs up.

I feel like I’m in a bad sitcom. This side gig has gone from saving my sanity to ruining my life somehow.

My emotions roil inside me at the realization of what just happened, and overwhelming, burning indignity at the lies that are being spread.

I can’t breathe. I have to get out of here before I lose it entirely.

I’ve had enough public breakdowns these last few days to last a lifetime.

I have to go home to my apartment while I still have one.

Oh my god, what am I gonna do? What am I gonna do?!?!

“Hi Hazel! How’s work going? You seemed to be working at a pretty good clip there, want to take an afternoon break with me?

I think Stella just pulled some muffins out of the oven.

” I didn’t even see Beck approach, and the suddenness of his voice spooks me out of my own thoughts.

My hands have a slight tremor as I put the last of my items in my bag.

“Um, I actually have to go, I’m so sorry, I’ll be back tomorrow, promise!” I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile, even though I can’t stop the tears from filling my eyes or my face from flushing with the effort of keeping it together until I can make my escape.