Page 20 of Home Brewed (The Perfect Cup #1)

Hazel

D inner with Beck is enlightening. Getting to talk to him more about his family—only child, single mother, and very close to his cousin—his passions—soccer, whiskey, making Christmas dinner every year with his mom and perfecting recipes with her—and his life—no post-secondary degree, worked his ass off at every job.

He has a golden retriever named Fish and no exes to speak of.

When I push a little harder, he admits that while he had dated a little, there was never anyone he was serious with, and since he had aspirations for his career, he hadn’t thought too much about it.

“I always figured that if the right person were to come along, she would come when I was ready for her,” he says, brushing his thumb over the back of my knuckles. This man turns me into a puddle no matter where we are, somehow.

It’s wild to see our differences laid out in the open, only to realize how little they matter.

When telling him my own backstory, I’m vague; single mother, never really knew my dad, only child as well—that I know of—and estranged from my mother’s side of the family.

As much as I want him to know me , I don’t necessarily want him to know my mother, Sophia, and all the bullshit she’s put me through.

He doesn’t need to know that we are estranged from her side because she had hit them up so often for money, or that when I did ask my aunt to take me in so that I didn’t have to live with Mom, I was told that it would be a hassle because Sophia would end up banging on their door asking for money and it was easier to not have contact with us.

It’s almost embarrassing when hearing about his huge family and how connected they are versus how isolated I am.

I end up telling him we weren’t in contact very often, and since he’s probably the kindest person I’ve ever met, he doesn’t push further.

If things get more serious, I’ll tell him more.

I’m not lying exactly, but I can’t bear the thought of him looking at me with even more pity; I’ve had enough of that to last a lifetime.

I explain to him more about university, getting out of my hometown, how Justin and I had met in class and gotten together, and why we moved to Toronto.

It’s the sterilized version of my life he’s getting, keeping out the nitty gritty.

Even so, he nods attentively the whole time, asking questions and seeming genuinely interested.

I hate how much I gobble up his attention.

I never wanted to be a desperate person, but I’m very convinced that the reason I was with Justin in the first place is because I craved any kind of positive attention from anyone.

I get a pain in my chest when I think about it, thinking how similar the situations are, how I met Beck at the right time, when I needed that attention, and maybe I’m just hurling myself into the exact situation I had managed to pull myself out of.

Beck makes it easy to forget. He notices me in a way that feels real, that feels interested, where he’s always waiting to learn more about me.

I try my best to breathe deeply, like my therapist long ago had suggested, and not let the past tell me why something good in my present was going to blow up in my face.

To remember that history does not always repeat itself.

The good thing is that we cleared the air, and when Beck drops me off at home, I’m far too wired to fall asleep.

I’m still running through our dinner in my head.

We never confirmed it was a date, but after that confession, that kiss, I’m pretty confident.

I am far too eager to get to the café tomorrow and see him again, and the butterflies don’t settle until late into the night when I finally pass out, a smile on my face, and heart feeling lighter than it has in years.

It’s early morning when I make my way over the following Saturday.

My hair is sleek and shiny after a good wash and dry from this morning, I’m wearing my fun work clothes, pale-blue wide-legged trousers with a cute white top and my dangly gold earrings, and the coffee Stella whips up for me is perfection in every way.

All of our engagement for the subscription has been positive so far.

Well, ninety-five percent of it. I am not going to let that five percent bring me down in any way. Things are finally going my way.

I’m in focus mode in the office when Beck pops in around lunch, bringing me their new caprese panini to try and a homemade lemonade from Stella, who apparently asked for my opinion on it.

I guzzle the drink, loving how much sugar she put in, and take a delicate bite of the panini.

I can’t stand tomatoes. I don’t want to be rude, though.

I’ll find a way to get rid of it discreetly later.

Beck smiles as I tell him about what I’ve accomplished this morning. He takes a seat on the desk in front of me, taking my hands in his.

“So,” he begins, “I had a thought about your freelancing offer.” My internal panic must show on my face because he quickly continues.

“Nothing bad! You’re doing so well with everything, and we’re really aiming for growth.

I think if the subscriptions take off, it would be beneficial to the business if we brought you on as a permanent employee.

” I swear I stop breathing. I want this so badly, I must have wished it into existence. At the same time…

“Beck, I hope you know I don’t expect anything because of what’s happened between us.” The coffee in my stomach curdles at the thought of handouts, especially from someone I realistically just met. Who also wants to put their tongue in my mouth.

“Hazel.” Beck crouches down, bringing himself to my eye-level.

“I want you to know something. This business is really, really important to me, and while I’m loving getting to know you, I wouldn’t put that at risk.

I want you here because you do a damn good job, you’re incredibly capable and a hard worker, and I want to see this succeed.

I think you’re someone I need on my team to do it.

If we end up on a team of our own…” He pauses.

I must look like a deer in headlights, “I definitely think we could find a solution so that one doesn’t affect the other.

I won’t lie, the timing of this works out in my favour.

Please know, though, that it’s not because I feel pity, or anything other than faith in your skills. ”

I blink at him as the truth of what he’s saying sinks in.

He actually believes in me. He’s not claiming me as a diversity hire, or window dressing, or because he knows he could underpay me if he really wanted to.

He’s seen what I can do, what I’ve proven I can do.

After less than a month of labour I’ve managed to prove to him what two years at my last job couldn’t prove to management.

“I really want to say yes, the universe might be giving me a win for once. I’m still worried…” I steel myself, trying to find a way to get the words out.

“Whatever you’re worried about, please don’t be afraid to tell me. I promise I’m not going to get mad.” He leans in towards me, waiting for my reply.

“I’m not worried about making you mad,” I manage to get out. Beck’s eyebrows raise. “I’m more worried about pissing you off.”

“Are those different?” he asks as he shakes his head. “It takes a lot to get me riled, sugar.” He offers me a soft smile, one side quirking up a little higher than the other.

“Well, I moved here because of Justin, got the job I have—well, had—because this was where he wanted to be and we knew it paid well, and all of my friends were his friends, and now that we’re not together, it’s like this weight has been lifted off of me.

It feels like I can breathe again, like my decisions are my own, and I haven’t felt that for a long time. ”

“You’re worried about getting caught up in… someone, and it distracting you from your goals?”

“No,” I admit, “I’m worried about getting caught up in YOU, specifically. You’re nice, and your friends are nice, and I really love your coffee shop and how it feeds my caffeine addiction—"

“Sugar addiction,” he teases.

“Hey!” I playfully swat at his arm.

“I’m just saying!” Beck holds his hands up in defense.

“Well, that aside, I don’t want to lose myself while I’m still finding myself, and I don’t know how to do that and work here at the same time.

” It hurts to acknowledge, but I can’t bear the thought of giving away more pieces of myself.

I gave some away to my mom, I gave some to friends who abandoned me, and rightfully so, I gave chunks of myself to boyfriends. What’s even left of me at this point?

My phone buzzes on the table, startling me out of my thoughts. I pick it up and feel my stomach drop through the floor. Likely to hell. Beck must see it on my face.

“What happened? Did someone die?” Beck stands up from the desk and comes to stand directly in front of me, tipping my chin up with his hand.

“No. Finally got a response from Justin, though.” I feel the exact moment my emotions evaporate.

After weeks of waiting for him to do something, either collect the boxes that I knew were still in the back storage room, or to apologize for his behaviour.

Instead, I get something much worse. Beck looks over my shoulder to read the text.

Justin the Jackass

r u actually kidding me u bitch?? my stuff is still at that fuking coffee shop? Bring my shit home and get over urself. ur pussy is not this good 2 b throwing a tantrum. im gonna come home and ur gonna have all my shit there or there will be consequences im over this

“What the fuck?!” Beck shouts, causing me to jump. “Shit, I’m sorry. I texted him yesterday to let him know his things were still here. I can’t imagine he has many clothes and figured he’d want his stuff back. How could any rational person send something like this?”