Page 35 of Home Brewed (The Perfect Cup #1)

And I’ll stop giving away secrets. I’ll make myself valuable. I’ll come up with more business ideas to help grow them.

I am going to make it so he can never get rid of me.

And our relationship? I’ll figure that out as I go.

Maybe it’s exaggerated, but what we have must be real to some extent.

I know that Beck’s ambitious, but even that’s a bit too far for him to go, to fake our relationship.

Maybe I’ll just pull back for now, feel things out, and make a decision once the launch is done.

Beck

“Fuck!” I shout, slamming my laptop shut on the email the bank sent earlier this morning. This can’t be fucking happening. We’re weeks away from the launch and no matter what I do, I can’t get the bank to take its foot off my neck for one goddamned minute while I sort shit out.

I was all for the subscription service when we first started. It’s a brilliant idea, but I had zero idea of how expensive it was going to be to launch. I could laugh at my old self for feeling so deep in the hole of owing money. I thought I was at the bottom, but apparently, I had a shovel.

The last thing I can do is let Hazel know.

This would crush her. Seeing her eyes light up when she works on this is a searing brand on my soul.

I can’t take that away from her, and I can’t put this kind of pressure on her or let her know that this project is all that’s standing between a thriving business where our employees can get paid fairly, have real healthcare, and permanently closing our doors, leaving everyone jobless and scrambling.

Not to mention the shame of telling my mother she was right, that’d I’d failed.

Mom’s not someone who would rub failure in my face, she’d be supportive.

At the same time, she would fight tooth and nail to be involved in any other project I did.

Nothing would ever be mine again, everything I did or achieved would belong to the family.

I love my family to death, I would do anything for them, and I know they’d do the same. However, this café has always been mine. It’ll crush me to lose it.

I steady myself, remembering the breathing exercises Maria taught me years ago, the ones that help her keep sane in a fast-paced kitchen.

Take a breath, then focus on the next task in front of you.

Don’t look at the laundry list of tasks, tackle what needs to be done first. Focus on what you can sense.

I focus on the wood grain on my desk under my palms, the soft plaid of my shirt brushing my arms, the weight of my shoes against the floor, the faint smell of coffee stains on my carpet, the gentle clink of melting ice in my drink.

No matter the meditative technique I try, I can’t get my hands to stop shaking, to let go of the tension building between my shoulders.

I give up, shooting Grant a text he’s gotten countless times before.

Less than an hour later I walk into the gym, inhaling the deep-set smell of sweat and rubber, the slight staleness that you can’t ventilate out.

Grant somehow managed to beat me here, already prepped to go in the sparring ring. I quickly slap on my equipment and step through the ropes.

“One of those days?” Grant cracks his neck effortlessly .

“You could say that.”

“One of those days?” Grant repeats as he smirks. I mutter expletives under my breath as we square up. My throws are messy, my blocking sloppy as I work out the emotional buildup that’s been festering. Grant takes everything I throw at him stoically. This has been our relationship for a while.

Time doesn’t exist in the ring. We’re there for each other no matter what, even if we can’t talk about it. It’s hard to tell how long we circle each other, exchanging blows.

“Dude, you have to stop, you’re going to kill yourself.

” Grant wraps an arm around my wrist, stopping my next hit and arresting my momentum altogether.

I’m panting, deep heaving breaths as I bend in half.

My lungs feel bloody, my body wrecked. “You ready to talk about it?” I shake my head.

What can I say? Do I admit I’m a failure?

That I not only failed myself, my family, but my employees, too? Hazel?

Grant pushes a water bottle into my hand, and I guzzle it down. It feels like I’m underwater as I go through the motions.

Unstrap my gloves.

Exit the ring.

Grab a towel.

All the while, Grant observes me with concern. Secrets aren’t something we keep from each other. I knew the moment he found out his wife, Grace, was pregnant. I knew about his business when we still worked together, and it was nothing more than an idea. So why can’t I tell him this now?

“The business is failing,” I spit out, staring at the ground. I pause for a moment. “I’m failing.” The admission cuts deep. Saying it out loud doesn’t make it feel any better. Grant’s expression morphs with understanding.

“Can you save it?” He’s practical, same as me. I nod stiffly. “Then you haven’t failed yet. You’re down but not out, kid.” I shoot him a cutting glare. We’re literally the same age .

“I don’t know, man. Maybe I wasn’t meant for this. Maybe my mom was right, I wasn’t prepared.”

“You’re meant for what you choose, Beck. Respectfully, fuck what other people think. What matters is what you think and what you’re going to do about it.” I hate that he’s right. “Have you told Hazel?”

Shame chokes me as I shake my head. “She works there. She’s so invested in this project, and it’s all that’s keeping me hopeful right now. She doesn’t deserve that kind of pressure.” I collapse onto the bench along the wall.

“No, she doesn’t.” Grant drops himself next to me. “But she deserves the truth. She deserves to know what’s on the line, what’s sitting on your shoulders.” He heaves a breath. “You can’t take on everything yourself. It’s okay to share the burden, you know.”

He’s not wrong. Hazel deserves the truth. I just have to figure out how to tell her.

Hazel

I try to hide my anxiety when I hear Beck come back from work. We texted a bit throughout the day, only enough to check in and for him to tell me he would be home late. I hear him walk through the door, shouting a greeting, and make his way to the kitchen where I’m cooking dinner for him .

I raided his fridge and am now making a simple roasted chicken with Spanish rice and a salad, something I’ve made time and time again. It’s a go-to of mine and I can prepare it blindfolded from memory.

“Hey,” I say casually as he walks over to see what I’m working on. He kisses my cheek. I don’t offer any affection in return, just give him a small smile and go back to my task.

“This looks amazing, sugar! You know you didn’t have to make me dinner, right?

I know we’ve mostly done takeout so far, but I can cook too.

In fact, I would love to cook for the beautiful woman staying in my house.

” He puts his arms around me as he pulls me flush to his front.

He must sense my tense muscles because he stops and turns me to look at him.

“Is everything okay, Hazel?” His voice is full of concern, and I feel that guilt, unsettled inside me.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Everything seemed fine when I left, so why do I feel like I’ve missed something here… are you sure you’re okay?” He’s rubbing my arm soothingly, but it’s irritating me at the moment. I can’t accept his affection when a twister of emotions is wreaking havoc inside of me.

“I didn’t sleep very well last night is all,” I brush it off, and then I see my chance, “Actually, if it’s okay with you, I was thinking I could stay in a guest room tonight?

I feel all over the place and I think some space might help.

” I trail off at the end, not sure how he’s going to react to me.

“Hazel, you don’t have to ask permission for that.

” Beck’s trying to meet my eye. “I hope you know that all I want is for you to feel at home here until your place is ready. Do I like having you in my bed? Absolutely. In that same breath, my main concern is your comfort and wellbeing.” He tries to give me a reassuring smile, but everything he says is only reaffirming what the voice in my head is telling me, that he just needs to keep me happy while he needs me.

Logically, I know there are other ways he can do that without fucking me, but my brain can’t let go of the thought that everything feels really off right now .

“Is there a specific room you wanted? I can help you move your things there if you want.” Goddammit, why does he have to be so nice?

“It’s fine, I can handle it. Maybe I can move my things while you watch the food? It should be done in a minute, and then I’ll just need to toss the salad.” I duck away from his hold, moving towards the staircase.

“Sounds good, pretty girl. You let me know if you need me, okay?”

“For sure.” I dart up the stairs to grab my things, which are already gathered neatly, and lug them across the hall to one of the spare rooms. This one has soft, off-white walls, honey coloured wooden furniture, and a plush green rug.

I don’t unpack anything. I sit on the bed for a moment, willing my heart to calm down.

He didn’t get mad. He didn’t say anything unkind.

I wasn’t expecting him to. Then again, Justin was so incredibly nice when I met him.

Or at least, that’s how I remembered it. Looking back, there were some signs I missed.

I take some calming breaths, wiping my clammy palms on my thighs. Unlike Beck’s room, which looks over the cute garden in the backyard, this one faces the street. I picked this one because if Justin ever comes looking for me, I’ll see him first, at least.

Not that I plan to be here long enough for it to matter.