Page 6 of Home Brewed (The Perfect Cup #1)

Beck

W hat the fuck just happened?

I was in the back room trying to figure out how to roast coffee beans, as one does, drowning in logistics.

This coffee house might actually eat me alive.

The bar side, I have handled. I’ve managed bars for nearly seven years now.

I started when I was some idiot twenty-two-year-old who didn’t know his ass from his elbows.

I was definitely unqualified when I started, but my size, confidence, and inability to be perturbed by weird customers gave me a leg up, even if my age was a deterrent.

Since I’ve taken over this shop, it’s felt like every single thing that I’m not good at has become an obstacle.

Marketing? Never heard of her. Business management?

I took an online course, and now I understand why it was so damn cheap.

It taught me next to nothing. Social media?

What am I supposed to do, post a thirst trap of the coffee machine?

I was so certain that adding retail to the shop would give us a much-needed boost in revenue and branding.

Now that I’m actually trying to do it, I have no idea how to make the damn merch, much less sell it .

My mom, who has always been supportive, was wary of me starting this endeavour.

Even though I’ve been a manager before, this is a whole new ballgame.

I never went to university like she had pushed for, so if I crash and burn because I don’t know enough going into it, it might kill me.

She wasn’t thrilled that I chose to go into hospitality, but she’s made her peace with it.

I need to make her proud. I need to prove to her that her faith, wary as it is, isn’t in vain.

I’m reviewing the finances, and given the tucked-away area the shop is in, the profit margins, and staff wages, it’s no wonder Sheila decided to sell.

This place is going to go under without a new idea.

It doesn’t seem like any of the staff have realized yet, and I intend to keep it that way.

I don’t want them worried about layoffs or lower wages—taking it out on your staff is never the answer.

Besides, I theoretically have time to figure this out before things get bad, Sheila just saw the writing on the wall. All I need is to work on this until something amazing happens.

I recently reached out to an online food and restaurant critique blog to come by—something with a punny name—but I haven’t received a response yet on that, either. I’m floundering.

I was drowning in a seemingly endless ocean of fruitless solutions when Stella walked back, saying someone who knew Justin was here to see me. Out of anyone I could have been expecting, it was not this beautiful woman.

Not simply beautiful, stunning. Radiant.

I legitimately paused while approaching her, when I saw the way the light caught her dark hair, and how her bright eyes tracked me as I approached her.

All I could think was how that long, silky hair would feel wrapped around my fist. And then she was so sweet, I couldn’t believe what she told me.

Hearing everything Justin had done made my blood boil.

I knew I was right to fire that prick.

The first time Mel complained about him, it was because he kept trying to grab her ass while she was working the espresso bar.

No matter how many times either of us tried to tell him to fuck off, he never got the hint.

He did the same with Chloe until she quit, and he kept making remarks about customer’s ‘honkers’ to Jeff until he asked to work only the bar side.

This idiot has no sense of self-awareness, and he made me lose staff left, right, and centre.

The customer complaints were the shitty icing on the crap cake, so I imagine some of our revenue was affected by that as well. This guy was such a freaking horn dog.

Knowing now that he lied about his relationship in order to cheat on her?

Ugh. I feel like an accomplice. Hazel tried to downplay her hurt, but I could see the cracks in her armour as each new piece of information dug a fresh wound.

I so badly want to make her feel better; despite how little we know each other.

It doesn’t matter though. The way her eyes locked onto mine made her feel like someone I’ve been missing my whole life.

I could have been more professional with her, that’s for sure, but there was something about her.

She’s one of those people you meet and instantly sense a connection with.

Something soul deep. The way her eyes glittered when she teased me about my name, the way she tried to threaten me into telling her more about what happened, even though I know she was bluffing.

I push my hands through my hair, knowing I’ll have to redo it later and not really caring.

She seems so sweet and kind, and dear god she was so fucking pretty in her pink dress, with its little flowers.

I even pulled out a wine glass to match it.

The way the sweetheart neckline hugged her chest had my eyes going there the whole time, the thin straps that I could so easily have pulled down…

Ever since she left my office, I can still smell her perfume, and I can’t get my mind to focus on anything else.

Something like oranges and flowers, sweet yet subtle.

When she talked about work, she was unsure of herself.

It’s obvious that it’s something she’s good at, but she doesn’t want to brag or hype herself up too much.

It’s why I invited her to come chat with me, to show her skills in practice.

Not to mention I actually need the help.

The day-to-day running of Booze & Brews is pretty simple.

Not a lot I have to do so long as things are running smoothly, however if I want to grow, I need to bring in something new and exciting.

I’m really hoping this coffee subscription idea could be it, I just need to be able to work with her without being a total creep and picturing those soft, pink lips swallowing something other than wine.

Fuck, I can not be the guy that preys on vulnerable women. Not only am I not that guy, but my mother would somehow find out and put me in a shallow grave.

I was raised to respect women by a very stern mother who never failed to make me feel loved and wouldn’t hesitate to tell me when I was being a shithead.

When I tried to ghost my first girlfriend, my mother found out and made me bring her flowers and a handwritten note explaining why I didn’t want to see her anymore and apologizing for my shitty behaviour.

Seeing the look of relief on that girl’s face and turning around to see the ‘I told you so’ look on my mother’s was the only lesson I needed.

I reach for my phone to text Nessa. I feel bad for her, too. She’s not a bad person. And to be caught in that situation? This is going to be eating her up inside. I let her know about the conversation I had with Hazel, and she responds that she’s going to ‘make things right.’

Now, Nessa is a small yet mighty woman, and the confidence with which she responds makes me nervous, but she’s her own person, and I think I’m going to let her do what she’ll do.

She’s always been like a little sister to me, ever since we met, even if she’s a little crazy at times.

It surprised me to hear she was even hooking up with a guy in a relationship.

I know she has her own stuff going on, though.

My mind keeps wandering back to Hazel, how I gave her my number.

My attention is drawn to my phone every thirty seconds, hoping it’ll light up with her number.

I shouldn’t want her. I don’t need the distraction right now, and she needs time to heal.

Even so, the keening feeling snaking through me is calling out to track her down, make her mine .

I grab my whiskey and down it before opening my laptop to stare at the same numbers I’ve been poring over for about three weeks.

Retail is a whole new beast that I know nothing about.

I legitimately need someone’s help with this if I ever want to get it off the ground, and the fact that Hazel floated down like some guardian angel feels nothing short of a miracle.

I see a text come in from my mom, asking how I’m doing in the city by myself.

She thinks she’s the only person I know or something. I’ve been avoiding her calls lately. She’s been prying a lot. While I do love her, she’s known to insert herself into situations uninvited.

She’s currently in Ecuador with her family. She goes every year, and I usually go with her, but this year I had to stay and keep an eye on the business.

I send her a quick reply, saying all is going well and I do, in fact, have friends.

I don’t bring up the struggles with the shop.

I know if I did, she would be figuring out how to help while simultaneously telling me that this wouldn’t be happening if I had only gone to university.

I know that I always have help and support when I need it, but I want to prove that I can do this with the knowledge and expertise I already have.

My thoughts drift back to Hazel. The way her wide, dark eyes crinkled in the corners. How she kept fiddling with her hem. The way her laugh lilted musically. How her chest strained against the fabric of her dress as she looked up at me, her perfect, plush lips begging to be kissed.

No matter how badly I want to be respectful, I can’t stop thinking about how she would taste, how it would feel to have my hands on her. It feels skeevy, and yet I can’t help my attraction to her. Based on the way she looked like she wanted to devour me, maybe she can’t either.