Page 39 of Home Brewed (The Perfect Cup #1)

Hazel

N ot telling Beck what I found on his computer has been hard.

I’ve wanted to tell him so many times, I want to come clean, so badly.

I’m torn between wanting to tell him and getting everything out in the open, and not wanting to tell him in case my suspicions are right, and it ruins everything.

Or worse, if I’m wrong and it ruins everything.

My stomach pangs with how twisted up I feel.

Dinner was pleasant once I’d come down from my shower.

We decided on how to divide up dinner duties, and I insisted on at least contributing to the grocery bill if nothing else.

I had originally started at utilities until he eventually wore me down to food.

With the rising cost of food in Canada, it’s the least I can do, anyway.

I feel better about our arrangement now, at least. It’s given me some of the breathing room I’ve been dying for, allowing me to have some semblance of independence.

I dropped off my keys to my old landlord the following day and it was heartbreaking to give up the last piece of my old life that I’d been holding onto.

It was like opening an old wound that had healed wrong, or re-breaking a bone.

As much as it hurts, I know it’s necessary.

I need to be able to move on and rebuild my life, and I can’t do that with my old one hanging over me.

This is what bad bitches do; we remove things from our lives that no longer serve us in order to make room for the things that do.

That stupid voice in my head is right. It doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Going into work the next week, pretending that I’m not keeping things from Beck, is a fresh form of torture.

I’ve been trying to get everything ready for subscription box-packing day, or ‘B-Day’ as Nessa is trying to get people to call it.

Beck has been trying his damnedest to distract me in the most delicious ways.

He’s been spending more time in the office with me, and I swear my ass has nearly sweated through all of my clothes from the stress.

At the same time, the limit to Beck’s affection is officially gone, and I am loving every moment of it.

He’ll come up behind me while I’m printing something and place slow, deliberate kisses to the side of my neck to tease me before returning to a task, or I’ll be walking down the hall and he’ll cage me in his arms, kissing the living daylights out of me until I’m a puddle.

I shiver, thinking about the time we got home and he laid me out on the stairs, crawling between my knees under my dress and making me come.

Twice. I am so wearing dresses regularly now just for the chance of that happening again.

The thrill of being surprised, and of consistent affection, is definitely an ego boost. At the same time, it’s always followed by the immediate guilt punching me from the inside.

It hits particularly hard when I see an advertisement on our pinboard for some apartments for rent nearby.

I grab a few, just in case. I feel slimy doing it.

I do my best to push the feeling down, saying I’ll deal with it later.

It still seems really close to lying to him.

We haven’t talked about my moving out any time soon, although it’s only a matter of time.

We haven’t had any other conversations about my permanency, even though he’s made it clear that he wants me to stay.

The longer I stay, the more it will be home to me, and if it feels like home and I lose him, I’ll be losing everything in one fell swoop all over again.

As much as I don’t want to go, I need to keep my options open .

Today we’ve been toiling away, working on a final contract with a courier service for local deliveries.

This way, people in the area can get their subscription the same day instead of waiting through the regular mail.

We have our launch date set for November fifth, and we’re already halfway through October.

We’re not in a rush, yet I can’t shake this sense of urgency.

I honestly don’t think I’ll relax until this whole project is up and running smoothly.

Then we can focus on expansion, collaborations, more marketing…

If I’m even still here by then.

I can’t shut that voice up every time I think of it.

Beck, himself, even said he wants to keep me happy, and I know logically that he didn’t mean it the way I’m thinking, that it’s to further his own goals, but my brain takes that information and drags me down a thought spiral every time it crosses my mind.

Beck’s been working diligently across from me for the whole morning and looks as peeved as I do that this courier doesn’t want to meet us halfway on logistics. We told them what we wanted and they’re being stubborn about costs and timing for the fun of it.

Beck slams his laptop closed, running his hands over his face and groaning. “I am going to lose my goddamn mind if I look at this for one more second,” he laments. I get it, I’m exhausted from going in circles.

“Why don’t we head out for lunch today? Kyle and Stella should have things handled, stepping away shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Kyle?” I have never met this person or even heard that name before. Beck laughs at me.

“Yeah, he’s a new part-timer from the university.

He made your drink this morning?” I stare at him blankly.

“He came in like, an hour ago to ask if he could go home early in the middle of a rush?” Still, nothing.

“Okay, yeah, we’re getting you out of here.

Grab your coat.” Beck stands, grabbing a denim jacket to throw over his winter green cardigan.

The weather has definitely turned, and I ended up picking myself up a maroon sweater dress over the weekend that’s nice and comfy, and oversized.

I paired it with leggings and boots this morning when I saw the hoarfrost coating the trees like a sparkling glaze out the guest bedroom window.

I sling on my soft, brown shacket and knitted scarf, knowing I have no tolerance for any kind of cold weather and scoot out the door after Beck.

It only takes a moment to heat up the car, but I already have my freezing hands on the vents before we’ve started moving.

Beck turns on the radio and silently bops along for the few minutes it takes for us to pull up to a mom-and-pop burger joint.

It seems vaguely familiar. This is Justin’s mom’s area of town, so I’ve probably driven by it a million times, seeing it frequently in my peripherals.

Leaving the car running, he turns to me. “Do you want to come in? Or keep warm in the car?” I have the seat heater on, and I have gotten comfy in the short while I’ve been sitting here.

“I kinda want to stay in the car.” I snuggle down further into the seat, which seems to please him.

“Alright then. Burger and fries with a root beer?”

“Yes please! All the fixings.” I grin smugly at him, happy to play passenger princess.

“You got it, sugar.” He smacks a kiss on me before dashing into the restaurant, leaving me with the keys and the radio playing.

Through the window I can see him greet the woman at the till with familiarity.

She looks about fifty, maybe sixty, with her hair twisted up on top of her head and smile lines I can see from here.

She comes around the counter to embrace him as he says something, to which she points out the window at me.

When he nods, she leans around him and waves at me.

I wave back, blushing at the fact that he’s talking about me, and busy myself with looking at something on my phone.

I’m scrolling my socials without actually taking in anything.

I’m deep in my own head when there’s a smack on the window. Startled, I look up to see none other than Kathy Underwood.

AKA Justin’s mom.

Right. That’s how I remember this place. She works here on the weekends .

She’s a short, stout woman with frown lines, graying hair, and dark, beady eyes that look like they want to burn holes into you, and that’s on a good day.

Her face is beet red, clearly furious, still in her uniform, likely coming fresh off a shift.

I’m frozen in shock, having never thought I’d have to see her again, and at a complete loss for what to do.

“Hazel Nucci! Open this door or so help me God!” Kathy shrieks through the glass barrier. I look over to the diner where Beck is on his phone, waiting for our food, not looking at me. I swallow my nerves and unbuckle myself, getting out of the car without turning it off.

“Hi, Kathy, how are you?” Yeah, maybe not the way to greet a banshee, but it’s all I’ve got, and I have no idea what the hell her problem is right now besides having to live with her idiot son.

She’s a psycho on her best day, so it’s Mary Poppins’ bag of imaginary grievances for her to pull from, really.

Needless to say, we’ve never gotten along.

“How AM I?! You get my boy arrested and have the absolute NERVE, the goddamn GALL to ask me how I am?!” It’s no wonder where Justin gets his temper from.

“I’m not sure you have the whole story…. He was arrested for very legitimate reasons, reasons he would have been arrested for if he did it to anyone else. It wasn’t retaliation or anything.” No doubt Justin told her a very different version of events. She scoffs at me.

“There is no question in my mind that you caused all of this. You were never good enough for my boy, and since your breakup, you’ve done nothing except hurt him! You should be ashamed of yourself.” She manages to look down her nose at me, which is impressive considering she’s four inches shorter.