Page 45 of Home Brewed (The Perfect Cup #1)

Hazel

I can’t stop tapping my foot. I’m pacing the main floor of Beck’s house, going from the living room to the landing, to the kitchen, and back again.

I had been alternating between upstairs and downstairs until I almost twisted my ankle on the stairs and decided that if I was going to be a panicky mess, I’d at least limit the risk of an ER visit.

I got the call this morning that I’m approved for the apartment.

It’s only a ten-ish minute walk to the coffee shop, it’s cheaper than my old place, and since it’s smaller, I’ll only have to replace some of my furniture.

That alone will save me a couple thousand dollars.

The anxiety of waiting tightens like a vise.

I finally grab Beck’s laptop and move to the living room. He’s having me monitor his work emails since he’s helping do the flip for this evening and we’re waiting on the final design for our custom subscription boxes, which I had to talk him into.

This is the last piece of the puzzle that we’re waiting for.

Once this comes through, we get to start our prep day, get everything together, and throw this little bird out of the nest to see if it flies.

It’s going to be an insane day. We’re closing down the shop to use the space and the staff’s help.

We’ve bribed the staff with lots of food, good music, and the promise of drinks afterwards .

The branding for this to be successful has to be so well thought out that it becomes a part of the draw.

We’ve made the colours match the café, deep rich greens, warm browns, with dark orange highlights.

Everyone is getting a Booze & Brews mug, as well as a cute pour over station and the beans they ordered.

I’m a little more nervous about this design because the up-front cost is bigger, but it will make more sense to start using it now and be consistent than to change it down the road.

I felt a little sick standing up for myself for it.

Beck eventually caved when I showed him what it would look like in comparison to other boxes.

We still need to name the subscription, too.

While Booze & Brews : at home is a good placeholder, we want to focus more on the coffee side of things.

I’ve been wracking my brain for a good name, but so far nothing.

Beck suggested The Hazelnut Coffee Club ? since it sounds similar to ‘Hazel Nucci’, I nixed that one. It’s a cute idea, but if we don’t work out…

Ugh, I can’t think about that right now.

Things have been going well for us lately.

We’re sharing a room, we’re getting along, both inside and outside of work, the sex has been…

wow. The sex has been wow. That’s the only word for it.

This man is a giver , and it’s almost too much sometimes.

I feel so treasured, so desired, I’m practically putty in his hands.

Banishing thoughts of future failures, I sit myself down with the laptop and start playing solitaire on my phone. It’s one of the few phone games that I’m good at. Only a few minutes go by before a familiar ding chimes from the laptop. I quickly turn to it to see what came in and my heart plummets.

Hello, Mr. Beckett,

We are just reaching out to let you know that there has been an issue with your order of custom mailer boxes.

Unfortunately, there was a mix-up with our design team, and we will be unable to get you your boxes until December 20 th .

As this is a custom order and we cannot issue a refund, we will endeavour to have them to you at the earliest convenience.

Please accept this 20% off coupon for your next order of $100+ (up to $1000). Conditions apply.

Please accept our deepest apologies .

I can’t believe it. The one thing I pushed for is falling through. I can already feel the sweat building on the back of my neck as I grab my phone and call the number on the bottom of the email. I am going to fix this no matter what.

I bring out all of our spreadsheets and documents, looking for the contract for this order while listening to a very annoying hold music playlist. Almost an hour passes before I’ve realized it and I’m still on hold.

I’ve responded to the email, asking politely where the mix-up happened and what we can do to expedite things.

I've started looking into other suppliers that can do it in a rush. Everyone else is either way out of budget or the quality and reviews seem terrible. I’ve looked into having stamps made with our logo and buying plain boxes for the time being that we can zhuzh up.

I catch a glimpse of myself in my reflection in the floor to ceiling windows that lead into Beck’s backyard.

I look psychotic… I have hair flying all over the place, I have a pen AND a pencil stuck behind my ears, which is weird because I haven’t written anything down, I have a coffee spill down the front of my sweatshirt…

yeah, I’m that girl right now. I am hot mess girl.

I am meltdown girl. My hands are shaking as I click the number two on my phone to stay on the line when I hear the front door open.

Shit.

I can’t even hide this. He’s going to know. He’s going to know that it was me who screwed up and got us into this mess. He’s going to know that it’s my idea that’s going to sink this subscription, which he wouldn’t even be doing if it weren’t for me.

I’m starting to feel lightheaded when Beck walks into the kitchen and immediately stops, gawking at me.

“I’m so sorry, I’m fixing it, I swear, I’m waiting for customer service to answer, and I think we can make some adjustments to make it happen in time, I promise I’m on this, you don’t even have to worry about it!

” The words are falling out of my mouth now and I have no energy left to stop them.

Beck is still standing frozen as I babble out information before I realize he doesn’t even know what’s going on.

Beck takes slow, careful steps towards me before putting his hands on the sides of my face. “Hazel, I need you to breathe for me.” I follow his lead in taking slow, deep breaths, feeling myself come back down to earth a little. I lean into his hands, feeling my frazzled nerves calm down just a bit.

“Can you tell me what happened, baby?” Beck maintains his grip on my head, keeping my eyes on him. The concern marring his features hurts to look at. I never wanted to make him feel bad, or to make myself a burden, a problem for him to solve.

“The boxes. The subscription boxes we ordered, there’s a delay by the manufacturer and we’re not getting our money back but they won’t come in until well after the first month goes out and it needs to go out right because I know how important this is to keep the business alive and that the bank has been hounding you.

” He jerks at that, his hands flinching.

“And it was my idea to do them in the first place and they were expensive so I wanted to fix it and prove that I could do this. I promise I’ll fix it, Beck!

” My phone is shaking in my hand, still on hold with customer service.

He looks over at it, prying it gingerly from my hand and hanging up.

My head whips between his face and the phone.

“I was almost off hold! Why did you hang up? I can fix this! I know I can fix this!” The calming breaths I was taking with Beck are null as hyperventilation takes over my lungs. Without a word, he places my phone on the counter and sweeps me up into his arms.

“Beck, what are you doing? Put me down! I was in the middle of something!” I’m wriggling in his arms, trying to topple myself out and run back to my spreadsheets and phone and laptop. They’re important. I need to be looking at them. The answer is there somewhere I know it is. I know it’s there .

Beck sits down on the couch with me in his arms, his hold on me unrelenting. I finally stop moving, turning to look at him. His face is stony, but not outwardly angry

“When did you find out about the bank?” he asks coldly, utterly at odds with the way he’s holding me.

“Almost four weeks ago.” I try to make my voice as small as possible. Beck closes his eyes, loosening his hold on me enough that I slip out of his arms onto the couch next to him. I tuck in my knees, trying to take up as little space as possible.

“Hazel.” The pain in his voice cuts deep. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d seen the email? If it upset you this much, I could have explained. I was going to explain everything.” He’s trying to stay calm, and it almost makes me wish he would just yell at me.

“I was nervous, I guess?”

“Why would you be nervous to talk to me?” He seems genuinely confused.

“Well, I guess I got it in my head that maybe…” I feel so embarrassed now.

I don’t want to tell him the truth, but I can’t lie my way out of this.

I don’t even want to. “I got it in my head that maybe you just needed me for the business, to help save it, and maybe that’s why you kept me on and kept me close.

And happy.” I want to die, finally hearing myself say it out loud.

The accusation alone is horrible, but the way he’s looking at me is worse.

“You really thought I was fucking you in an effort to get you to save my business?” Fury cuts through every word.

“It sounds worse when you put it that way…”

“Hazel,” he cuts himself off, at a loss for words.

“I’m so sorry, I know it was dumb. The timing of everything–”

“Was perfect because the perfect woman walked into my life at just the right time! How could you think you meant that little to me? How could you think that everything I did—everything we did, was fake? Is that why you were so distant? The day you heard about the insurance claim being denied?” I can only nod my head meekly.

“Holy shit, Hazel.” He leans back, brushing his hair back aggressively.

I’ve never missed the word sugar so much.

I’m twisting my fingers in my hands in an effort to not reach out to him. I doubt it would be welcome right now.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to see it, or lie to you, and eventually I figured it probably wasn’t true…”

“No shit! Of course it’s not true! I can’t fucking believe this…” He stands, making his way to the front door, putting his boots back on. All I can do is watch. “I need to take a breather, I’m going to walk around the block and I’ll be right back, and then we are talking about this, alright?”

The door slams shut before I can respond, mimicking the way my heart feels. I completely fucked up.

I drag myself up the stairs to Beck’s room. I doubt he’ll want me here now. I’ve barely moved back in. I take my toiletries from the ensuite, along with my bag of clothing. I’m not even going to go to the spare room. He’ll probably kick me out after this. I wouldn’t blame him.

I throw myself onto the bed, giving myself over to the tears that have been threatening to spill over since the email came in.

I didn’t even get to tell him about the apartment, but I don’t think it’ll be the bad news I was dreading telling him anymore.

Chances are, he’ll just be happy to be rid of me.