Page 13 of I’ll Be Home for Christmas

“I guess so,” she said, thinking about the much-anticipated Christmas edition of Good Housekeeping magazine in her suitcase.

As they wandered along the street she noticed the A-boards outside the cafés showcasing the “festive coffee of the day” or offering a motivational coffee quote— A Coffee a Day Keeps the Krampus Away!

“Let’s try here,” she suggested, as they reached Meg’s Coffee Cup Café.

Swags of holly and ivy looped across windows, behind which cake stands were filled with pastries and slices.

This place had been going since she was a kid, and she wondered if Meg herself was still here, or if she had sold it on.

“Sure.” Warren went in ahead of her and held the door.

The atmosphere was cheery, the decor homely, and the voice of Bing Crosby crooning out Christmas tunes added to its charm. They seated themselves at a table covered in a wax chintz cloth.

A familiar laugh made her turn to the counter in time to see Ryan leaning in to kiss the cheek of the pretty barista beside the coffee machine.

From out of nowhere jealously pricked at her and she felt her cheeks color.

She had a stern word with herself. He’d been many things to her when they were younger, but he’d never been hers.

It was being back here, especially at Christmas, that was stirring up all manner of strange emotions.

“What will you have?” Warren asked, unaware of her inner drama.

“Oh, um”—she pulled her attention back to the handsome man at the table—“I’ll have a mocha.”

Warren nodded with an unexpected air of authority. “You can tell a lot about a person by the coffee they drink.”

His absurdity made her laugh. “Really? And what does my mocha say about me?” She was glad of the distraction. She hoped if Ryan spotted her, it would be now, while she was having fun with a new friend… Get a fricking grip!

“That you’re not a serious coffee fiend, for a start, and that you’re a person who hedges their bets, you’re cautious, you look before you leap, but that means you make good decisions.” He smiled, satisfied with his assessment.

Fred gave him a skeptical stare. “You got all that from me choosing a mocha?”

“Don’t knock it, it’s a science.” He was teasing her. It was flirty, and she was up for it.

“I don’t think it is. Okay, what will you have, let’s see what it tells me about you? And by the way, I should add that I am a very serious coffee fiend, but I happened to have a salty second breakfast and now I’m craving something sweeter.”

He shook his head and leaned in closer to look into her eyes. “There is such a lot about that sentence that I would like to break down.”

Her stomach tickled delightfully, but she played it cool.

“Too late, it’s my turn, what are you having?”

He leaned back, grinning in challenge. “Macchiato, double shot, extra hot.”

“Oh, well, that’s easy,” Fred said, folding her arms. “You are a textbook smarty-pants.”

“A smarty-pants?” He observed her coolly.

“Yes. You think your choice of coffee makes you deep and intimidating. You want to be taken seriously. But if you were honest with yourself, you’d probably prefer a hazelnut latte with whipped cream.”

For a second his expression clouded over, and she wondered if she’d offended him, but then his face broke into a wide smile and he let out an explosive laugh.

“You got me,” he said, just as the waitress reached their table and he placed their orders. To her delight he ordered himself a hazelnut latte with whipped cream, and then turned his smile upon the waitress, who flustered under his gaze.

The waitress dropped her eyes and gave Warren a full-on Princess Diana smile. “Of course,” she said. “Can I get you anything else?”

But Warren’s eyes were fixed back on Fred, and she was held in their tractor beam. This is a moment. Oh my crikey, we’ve only just met and we’re having a moment!

“Is there anything else you’d like?” Warren asked her, in a way that sounded like pure smut.

“Just the mocha, thanks,” she managed to squeak out. She actually blushed.

Warren noticed and grinned.

“Hello again.” Ryan had come to stand next to their table.

“Oh, hey!” She tried to inject a sense of “oh my god, I totally didn’t know you were here” into her voice. “I thought you would be at work.”

“I am working. You should try the rocky road here, it’s amazing.”

“Oh, okay.” Maybe he was a baker? She felt faintly uncomfortable between the two men. “Um, Warren, this is Ryan…Ryan, Warren. Ryan is an old friend. Warren and I got given each other’s mail, we just swapped it back, and now we’re having a coffee.” She was rambling. Why was she rambling?

“Warren’s a writer,” Fred continued. “A journalist.” Somebody stop me talking!

“I’m covering the Christmas market.” Warren managed to get a word in edgeways, to her great relief.

“Oh, great! Well, if you want some insider knowledge, I’ll be happy to help,” said Ryan. “All the stalls are run by small independent businesses and skilled craftspeople, no mass-market products here. It’s kind of our mission statement; it sets us apart from other markets.”

“Blimey, Ryan, are you on the payroll or something?” Fred asked.

He laughed and rubbed the back of his neck as he looked out through the steamy window.

“I guess I am, in a way. It’s a small town; if the market does well, so do all the local businesses. A positive review would be a real boost for a lot of people.”

“Then I’ll see what I can do,” said Warren amiably. “I like the artisanal angle. I might just take you up on your offer. It’s always easier to get to the heart of a place if you have an in.”

“Okay then,” Ryan said, holding out his hand to Warren. His easy manner had always been something she’d admired.

“Good to meet you, Ryan. Where can I find you?”

“I’m usually out around the town making deliveries, but otherwise you can find me at Coast Roast.”

“You work for Coast Roast?” Fred blurted out.

“I am Coast Roast,” he replied, grinning at her like a boy who’d just caught Father Christmas delivering his pressies. “I own it.”

“You. You are Coast Roast coffee beans. You .”

“Yes, Fred.” He laughed. “Why is this so hard for you to process?”

“But it’s my favorite coffee!”

“Well, thank you.”

“No, I mean it, I go to my local deli specifically to buy it.”

He gave her a bashful half smile. “Thank you for supporting my business?”

“You could’ve told me!” she scolded him, playfully.

“You didn’t ask.” He shrugged.

“I…god, Ryan, that’s amazing. Congratulations.

I’m so proud of you.” She knew she had a goofy smile on her face.

She was surprised too; in their school yearbook Ryan had been voted “most likely to become a beach bum.” Of the two of them she had been the one who started out on a trajectory toward full-blown adulting and a steady career path, while Ryan had appeared content to coast—oh, the irony!

—but somewhere along the line their futures would appear to have switched. Good for him.

“There’s a terrific mark-up on coffee; I did a piece on it, back last year,” said Warren. “You picked the right gig to get into.”

Oof! It didn’t quite qualify as a backhanded compliment, more like a glancing slight, but Fred felt it knock the rise out of the atmosphere and wondered if Ryan would feel it too.

“I did,” said Ryan amiably. “But I also love what I do, money wasn’t the deciding factor.”

Yep, he felt it.

Warren was smiling benignly. “I admire anyone who starts their own business.” And then the waitress arrived with their drinks, flapping her eyelashes at him like Mr. Snuffleupagus, and ending the conversation.

“Right, well, I’ll be off then,” said Ryan. “Can you let Aggie know I’ve got her order ready for her and I’ll drop it up to the house later?”

“I can pick it up, if you like, save you the trip?” Fred offered.

“Sure, if you have time, that would be great. I’m in the James Barrie Arcade.”

“Lovely. You can show me around your very own shop.” She smiled really hard at him.

Ryan smiled back, and she wondered if he could still read her like he had when they were kids. Did she want him to?

“Sure. I’ll be happy to show you around.”

“I think I hacked your friend off,” Warren said when Ryan had left. He grimaced. “Sorry. I say stupid things when I’m flustered; it’s a terrible trait for a journalist.”

“Why were you flustered?”

Color filled his cheeks. “I thought maybe you and he…” He was awkward now, and it sent Fred into a fast melt. “I got the impression that there might be something between you, and felt like I was maybe treading on his toes, and I…I don’t know, I panicked. I didn’t want to cross any lines…”

Fred smiled. “Ryan and I are old friends.”

Warren rubbed his hands on his jeans, and she wondered if his palms were sweating. She felt a bit sorry for him.

“Okay, I feel like I screwed this coffee up royally. Can we start again? I’d like another chance to talk with you where I don’t act like a giant arse.”

She laughed. “Sure, why not. Everyone deserves a second chance.”

“Thank you!” He seemed both relieved and genuinely delighted, and she couldn’t help but be flattered. “In that case, Fredricka, could I please have your phone number?”

Her smile was wide and genuine, maybe things were finally looking up for her. Her first day back in Pine Bluff and a handsome stranger had snagged her phone number.