Page 4

3

Jared

Ridley arrived right on time to pick up Lulabelle. He’d always been punctual. I couldn’t remember a single time in our five years together when he’d been late. I’d always liked that about him.

I met him out front of my apartment building, with Lula on a leash beside me. Her tail wagged hard when she caught sight of her other daddy, and she pulled on the leash until she was wiggling under his scratching fingers. Ridley finally spared me a glance, and his blond brows shot up. “Wow, you look like shit.”

I chuckled, rubbing a hand down my cheek, raspy with whiskers I hadn’t bothered to shave. Normally, I would’ve made some joke about how his comment hit my ego dead center, but that didn’t seem the kind of joke I could make with my ex. Especially when he looked well-rested and impeccably dressed. So instead, I said, “Yeah, haven’t been sleeping well.”

“Everything okay?” His gray eyes creased at the corners with familiar concern.

I waved him off. “Yeah, just… work stuff. ”

He huffed, his lips pinching. “This doesn’t have to be awkward, Jared. You can still talk to me. You know that, right? I’m still your friend.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said vaguely, while not entirely believing it. The weight of everything pressed down on me, and for a second, I actually considered venting to him. Telling him about the rival café moving in down the street and that I was scared about Crave going under, because without my job and my work family, I didn’t know what else I would do. Wouldn’t know who I was anymore, because everything that had defined me as an adult was falling apart.

But no. That wasn’t the kind of thing you admitted to an ex-boyfriend. Especially when our breaking up was the first bump to my shaky house of cards. I didn’t regret breaking up, I knew in my heart that it was the right decision, but change was always hard. Change meant instability, loss, and inevitable grief.

“Okay, well… call me later if you need. Even if you just need some puppy kisses. We’ll be around.” He led Lulabelle out to the car and then lifted her into the seat and buckled her harness. With one final wave, he pulled out of the parking lot, and I headed for work.

The overall mood today was far darker than it had been on my last shift. There was no whistling today. Every honk and rev on an engine grated on my nerves, and I found my hands bunched into fists, which I then shoved in my pockets with a grunt. I’m laidback , I reminded myself, making a conscious effort to relax my tense muscles. And Hugh was right, there’s enough coffee for the both of us.

I repeated it in my head, and I had almost convinced myself it was true when I headed down the final block and saw a few people standing in front of Grounded, chatting excitedly, pointing at something in the window. I tried to mind my own business, to go to work and surround myself with friends and family, with love and coffee, but I couldn’t seem to drag my eyes away. There was a persistent tug from somewhere in my chest, and as I reached to rub my fingers over the spot, massaging, I found my legs were moving, without ever making a conscious decision.

I licked my lips, dry from my jagging anxious breath, as I stopped in front of Grounded, staring at the bright yellow paper taped to the window.

RECONNECT WITH LIFE AND LOVE

Join us for a night of fun and maybe meet your future

—three minutes at a time.

Speed dating with a side of coffee

Saturday 8pm

GET GROUNDED

My stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. An after-hours event at a café? And speed dating? That was… lame, right? Everybody just used an app to hook up with people these days. It was how I’d met Ridley. How I’d met nearly every ex since high school, in fact.

But when I peeked at the people standing beside me, I noticed their eyes were lit up, excited. They were making plans for Saturday and taking pictures of the flier, sending it to their friends. Shit. Word of mouth was always the best kind of advertisement, and it seemed Grounded was getting it in spades.

I trudged back to work, nearly getting hit by a car as I stepped into the street without looking. I waved an apology as the car took off, before jogging the rest of the way across. My brain was like scrambled eggs—slowly burning in the pan because I couldn’t seem to turn down the heat.

The rich scent of coffee greeting me as I walked in. Crave was busy, as usual, nearly every table packed, and I told myself to take it as a sign. We were fine, Hugh wasn’t struggling, and nothing in my life needed to change. But I couldn’t seem to get my brain in line. It was busy replaying a slideshow of every catastrophic change I’d ever had in my life. Every time my mom had said, “Hey, honey, I got a new job,” followed closely by “once-in-a-lifetime opportunity” and “pack your bags.” She meant well, and logically I knew that she’d done what it took to make ends meet. I didn’t begrudge her at all. But… I’d been the kid wrenched out of school every two years. I was the one always having to adapt to a new city, new teachers, new friends. I was always on the outside, always struggling to catch up.

It wasn’t until that final move a week before I turned 18 when I’d finally told my mom that was enough. I was two months from graduation, and I hadn’t had the strength to do it all again, not when I was so close to the finish line. She hadn’t wanted to leave me here, but she was tired too. So she’d left me money for food and one month’s rent on our little one-bedroom apartment, and she’d moved on to better jobs and greener pastures. Which left me scrambling to find a job that would pay enough to keep a roof over my head.

Cue Hugh Barnes.

Hugh essentially saved me that day. He’d shown me what it meant to feel safe, to trust that I would rest my head on the same pillow every night. He gave me security and a steady paycheck, a homebase I could rely on. And I would do whatever it took to repay him—even if that meant doing something… unsavory. Something that went against my morals.

I was going undercover.

On Saturday night, I put on my best button-up and the jeans that Ridley always said made my ass look mouthwatering. Because I might’ve been playing the role of spy, but that didn’t mean I would say no to a date if I happened to meet someone nice. Then, I made my way to Grounded. I did it furtively, shoulders hunched, the theme song from Mission Impossible playing in my head, as if I were some kind of superspy. In reality, I just didn’t want anyone to see me slipping in through the door to our competition. It felt sleezy, underhanded, even though I told myself I wasn’t technically breaking any laws. I wasn’t sure what I would say if anyone called me out. I couldn’t very well admit to what I was actually doing—looking for weakness in our foe’s defenses.

Ducking my head, I slipped inside and immediately shuffled off to one side of the door, planning to survey the scene from behind a conveniently placed Ficus tree. When I finally looked up, though, I felt… well, I hated to admit this, but grounded was the first word that came to mind.

Where Crave felt traditional and familiar and light, this felt softer, calmer. Like a warm hug. There were plants absolutely everywhere, trailing down from shelves and spilling out of tall pots, dangling from hooks on the ceiling. In the front corners by the windows, there were deep forest-green sofas and armchairs arranged in intimate collections around low coffee tables that looked to be made from reclaimed wood, scuffed and scarred.

The place didn’t look brand-new; it looked lived-in, cozy in a way I wasn’t prepared for. I hated how much I loved it.

I forced my face into a neutral expression and stepped out from behind the tree to mingle. There was a decent turnout of singles, mostly centered around a long table laden with coffee urns—one full strength, one decaf, and one with hot water for tea—as well as a huge selection of sweet treats.

It would look suspicious if I didn’t get a snack, I reasoned, meandering over to grab a gooey tart. I bit into it warily, and the flavors exploded on my tongue, brown sugar and browned butter and pecans, sweet and nutty, and my involuntary moan turned a few heads. I felt a blush creeping up my neck. “The tart’s… okay,” I said with a shrug as I struggled to remain indifferent.

It was far better than okay. Fuck, it was ten times better than ours. I wanted to fill a swimming pool with these tarts just so I could drown in them. Was that wrong? Yes, absolutely, but that didn’t stop me from grabbing three more and seeing how high I could stack them on one of the tiny plates provided, trying to make room for one of everything.

For research purposes, of course.

My precariously balanced pile of goodies had begun to spill over the edges of the plate when an older man with a beard called to get everyone’s attention. “Could I please ask everyone to find a seat at one of the tables, and we’ll get this party started.”

He must’ve been the owner, but no matter how I craned my neck, I couldn’t get a better look at him except to see that he had short gray hair and was wearing a vibrantly loud tie. I made a mental note to watch for him, but right now, all my attention needed to be on carrying this overloaded plate to the nearest table. Because there was no way I was leaving even one of these treats behind.