Chapter 1
Harper POV
Fall was, without a doubt, the most beautiful time of
year. The air carried the warmth of spices, the trees dressed themselves in
shades of deep orange, red, and yellow, and the ground was scattered with
fallen leaves; autumn’s greatest signature. Yet, while others saw beauty, I
couldn’t help but compare those falling leaves to my overdue coffee shop bills.
The wind, was everything. The coolness I’d been
craving all summer long finally kissed my skin. The rain soaked the earth,
releasing a scent so rich and earthy it almost seemed edible. But the leaves…
oh, the leaves tested my patience. Each gust of wind brought a new shower of
them, covering the walkway until my arms, soft and out of shape, ached from
sweeping just to keep the entrance clear. The constant rain meant boots were a
necessity, and though customers loved the cozy vibes of autumn, my little shop paid
the price.
I couldn’t even open the doors yet, not with that
towering ninety-foot tree looming over the building. Its branches, long and
thick, stretched out like oversized arms. With every shift of the breeze,
leaves detached, drifting down to the wet ground where they quickly turned to
mush, releasing an awful, sour smell.
I dragged the stool outside, shaking off the water
before setting it on one of the outdoor tables. Rain had poured through the
night, only stopping around four in the morning. Now the sun had risen, but it
offered no warmth. Everything was cold, damp, and heavy with gloom, the side of
autumn no one ever talks about.
The only people who truly adored this season seemed to
be the fashion influencers desperate for an aesthetic photo, and the college
girls who worshipped everything pumpkin spice: pumpkin spice lattes, pumpkin
spice donuts, pumpkin spice everything.
My coffee shop always did its best business in the
fall and Christmas, of course. The shop sat just down the street from a
prestigious university, with a few office buildings nearby. That kept things
moving, but not enough to chase away the shadows of debt hanging over me. Not
enough to keep the loan sharks off my back.
Sometimes I wondered what had possessed me to think I
could do this. That I could step out of the nine-to-five grind and actually own
something of my own. A cozy little shop where people laughed over steaming mugs
and where I could finally breathe. But the truth was, I hadn’t even had the
first dollar to rent the place, and now, years later, I still didn’t have a
dollar to spare to keep it afloat.
On top of that, the mortgage lingered like a bad
cough, and I was still paying off student loans for my daughter. I thought
there’d be some kind of forgiveness, a discharge after everything that
happened, but no. Nothing. Just more bills, more reminders. Some days it felt
like there wasn’t a soul left in the world who cared.
This fall—maybe even Christmas—could be my last
season. The shop’s last season. And honestly, maybe mine too, at least in
spirit. I was so far down that even my body seemed to be giving up. When I
stepped on the scale, the numbers had dropped. A few pounds gone. Maybe stress,
maybe exhaustion. I needed the weight off anyway, but still… it felt like one
more piece of me slipping away.
I shoved the broom under one of the outdoor tables,
dragging out the wet clump of leaves stuck there. Just as I reached for the
next stool, a hand slipped in before mine, tipping the seat to let the water
spill off.
“Let me help with that.”
“Thank you, Georgie,” I said, glancing up at him.
He was dressed neatly, as always; shirt tucked tight
into thick jeans, a bag slung across his broad chest. He wasn’t exactly the
athletic type, but there was something about him that still managed to look…
well, look-able. His shirt clung a little too closely, outlining the soft curve
of a dad belly, and when he noticed me noticing, he sucked it in. I couldn’t
help but giggle, rolling my eyes.
I reached for another stool, but he beat me to it
quicker than I expected for someone who didn’t look like he worked out much.
“You’ll get messy,” I complained. As much as I wanted
the help, I didn’t like the idea of him ruining his clothes over my mess. This
was my responsibility.
Well, technically it was Rob’s job. But since I hadn’t
been able to pay him in full for weeks, he and the cashier too; showed up only
when they felt like it. I wasn’t angry, not exactly. I just wished they
understood. That they’d stick it out with me the way they had when the
paychecks were steady.
“I’m feeling extra generous today.”
“Really? And why’s that? Maybe you could share some of
it with me.”
A cool gust of wind swept through, and Georgie rubbed
his thick, red fingers together before plunging them into his pockets. His
shoulders shifted in an easy shuffle, and those blueberry-colored eyes fixed on
me. They had this way of sticking, of holding longer than felt casual.
“Well, it has to be something,” I said, sweeping
another pile of soggy leaves together. The sight made me laugh to myself. I
remembered being a little chubby kid, fresh out of the shower, powdered from
head to toe, only to dive into the leaf piles in our yard. My mother had
dragged me back inside by the ears, fuming, but I hadn’t cared. Back then, the
leaves had meant freedom. Now, they were just work.
“I was thinking,” Georgie said.
“You’re always thinking.”
“It’s kind of my job,” he replied with a crooked grin.
“To think and teach.”
Georgie taught forensic science at the university
nearby. Smart, nerdy, and absolutely unshakable in it. I’d had my nerdy streak
once too, but while most people grew out of theirs, Georgie seemed to have
doubled down. He’d even shown me a photo of himself as a kid—round cheeks, a
bowl cut so straight it looked drawn on. The funny part was, he hadn’t really
changed. The same bowl cut still sat on his head, though the ends were getting
shaggy. I gave him a week, maybe less, before he trimmed it back into shape.
That was Georgie, though. Neat. Predictable. Organized
to the core. He liked his routines, clung to them, even. He was always my first
customer of the day; the first twenty dollars in the till and he never once
asked for change.
“So,” I said, leaning the damp broom against the tree,
“what exactly are you thinking about this time?”
I bent to grab the next stool, but before I could
touch it, Georgie swooped in and lifted it himself. Quick again. Quicker than I
expected. I just stared at him for a beat. Something was different. Sure, he
was always around, but he usually just hovered, watching me work, only
following me inside once everything was in order. Today he was beating me to
it.
“What’s going on?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“Nothing. I just want to help you.”
The laugh that burst out of me was, a little too
joyous for the quiet moment. It made him shift, suddenly nervous.
“Are you finished now?” he asked.
“Yeah. When the sun comes up a little more, I’ll pick
up the rest of these leaves. For now, they’ll just have to sit in the corner.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I hate touching wet leaves. Feels like bugs crawling all
over my skin.”
Leaving the mess behind, I pushed into the shop,
flipped the little hanging sign to OPEN, and headed for the sink. “What
can I get you?” I asked over my shoulder, scrubbing my hands with soap and
water until they squeaked.
He hesitated, then said, “Can you have a coffee with
me this morning?”
That stopped me. Hm… that’s new.
Coffee. He wanted me to sit down and drink coffee. The
irony nearly made me laugh again. Owning a coffee shop didn’t mean I loved the
stuff—I’d tried, believe me. I’d tested every roast, every blend, every way you
could drown the bitterness; mountains of sugar, oceans of milk. None of it
worked. That harsh bite always clung stubbornly to the back of my tongue.
“I don’t drink coffee,” I admitted, drying my hands.
His eyebrows lifted in surprise; a look so puzzled it
almost made me giggle.
“You don’t drink coffee?”
“I know how it sounds,” I said, grinning as I walked
toward the counter. “But I’m a milk tea girl. Always have been.”
He followed me with his gaze, still looking
unconvinced. “You’re surrounded by coffee all day—the smell, the taste—and you
don’t like it? That’s… unoriginal.”
I laughed. “I adore the scent. I adore the business.
Just not the taste.”
“What would you like then?” he asked.
I drew in a breath. “I can’t have coffee. I’ve got
bakery items to set up for the customers anyway.”
“Okay,” he said lightly, then hesitated. “Can we go
out to dinner? Tonight, or sometime?”
My breath caught. Dinner. With Georgie. This wasn’t
the kind of thing that happened to me—ever. I’d only ever been with one man in
my life; my ex-husband. Back then, he was the only person who ever made me feel
attractive… until he stopped. Since then, I’d stretched my expectations down to
zero. The idea of anyone asking me out, let alone a man like Georgie,
was something I’d never imagined.
“Uhm…” My voice stumbled, my thoughts scattering like
the leaves outside. I looked at him, really looked at him. Clean-shaven, neatly
dressed, everything about him put-together. And then there was me; messy blonde
bun, flour smudges I probably hadn’t noticed, a life unraveling thread by
thread. I couldn’t possibly go out with him… could I?
“Well?” he prompted gently, sliding a twenty across
the counter. As always, he didn’t wait for change.
“Uhm…”
“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” he said quickly, as
if bracing himself for the letdown.
“I want to,” I blurted out, then tried to cover my
panic by glancing out the window. The sky was heavy with clouds, dark and
swollen with more rain. Of course it’s going to pour tonight. But then I
looked back at him; those eyes, already carrying the weight of rejection,
already dimmed with sadness and I couldn’t take it.
“Tonight,” I said firmly. “We can have dinner.”
“Really?” His voice splintered with disbelief,
surprise lighting his face in a way that made me almost laugh. He looked like a
boy who’d just been handed the answer he’d been too afraid to hope for.
I really wanted to say no. God, every part of me
wanted to. But I’ve never been good at saying no. I hate it. I hate
disappointing people, hate being the one to shut something down. My whole life
I’ve been quiet, easy to push around, always letting people take a little more
than I had to give. I never stood my ground, on anything. Not with people. Not
even with my own business, which was slipping through my fingers more each day.
“Yes. I would love to go out with you.” The words came
out smoother than they felt inside. Truth was, I wasn’t sure at all. Georgie
wasn’t exactly the kind of man who seemed like he was in the dating spotlight.
He was handsome, yes, but not in that fawned-over, everyone-stares kind
of way. Just quietly, comfortably attractive.
And me? I was… well, I was relatively pretty, in the
way people sometimes called fat girls “pretty for what you are.” Blond hair,
green eyes that sparkled when the light hit them—but the package wasn’t the one
man wanted. They wanted the skinnier version of me, the one who matched the
stereotype of what a blonde was supposed to look like.
“Tonight, at seven?” he asked, his eyes hopeful.
“I close at five, so… seven works.” I forced a smile,
moving behind the counter. I poured his usual five-dollar coffee and opened the
donut box, sliding his regular half-dozen toward him.
“I’ll see you then,” he said warmly.
“Sure,” I replied, though it came out more like a
question than an answer.
He picked up his coffee and donuts and walked out,
each step of his saunter humming with quiet happiness. And me? I stood behind
the register, feeling like I was crumbling. What was I going to wear?
In the last year, I’d gained more weight than I’d
managed to lose. There was no way I could just run to the store for a new
dress; September’s budget had no room for something as ridiculous as “date
night.”
I sighed, stepping out from behind the counter,
sinking into the familiar ache of self-pity. I had let myself go, and I knew
it. Makeup had stopped being part of my routine months ago. Mirrors were my
enemy; if I looked, it was only to catch a side view, to convince myself I
looked thinner from the profile than I did straight on. But head-on? There was
no hiding it.
I smiled to myself. Someone had asked me out. Me.
I should’ve been happy. It meant, in some way, I was still seen as pretty.
Maybe even desirable.
I started tidying up the shop, sliding the stools from
the counter back beneath the tables. The little café was cozy—small,
intimate—but the price of keeping it running was anything but small. Rent alone
felt like it was strangling me, and with winter around the corner, the heating
bill would be another noose. My “aesthetic little shop” might’ve looked
perfect on a college kid’s Instagram feed, but behind the filters, it was
draining me dry.
I walked toward the display window, already reminding
myself that I’d need to pull out the fall decorations soon. Customers loved a
cozy seasonal touch; a few pumpkins and garlands could mean a small rush of
extra sales. Everyone wanted to chase that holiday feeling.
Outside, the far-off groan of an intercity bus caught
my attention. I watched as it pulled up to the stop across the street, one of
its regular times: 9 a.m., noon, and again at six in the evening. The route was
practically stitched into the rhythm of this town. Edinburgh, America wasn’t a
big city, but it had become a little holiday hotspot. If you wanted Halloween
magic—or later, Christmas charm—you booked a ticket here. Planes, trains,
buses, it didn’t matter.
The smile I’d been holding slipped when only one
passenger stepped off. A girl. She carried nothing but a backpack. She paused
on the sidewalk, her head turning slowly, taking everything in. From the way
she lingered, I could tell she wasn’t local. Maybe she had family here. Maybe.
Her gaze flicked toward my shop window, though she
didn’t move closer. Instead, she kept scanning, as if expecting someone to
materialize. Finally, her eyes landed on the bus stop bench, the one
technically meant for waiting passengers, though most of the time it was just
claimed by locals hanging out.
She sat, but there was something unsettled about the
way she moved. This street stayed busy, like a miniature city without the
skyscrapers, and yet she looked… adrift.
Maybe I was assuming too much, but the thought lodged
in my mind anyway; she looked lost. Not just direction-lost, but life-lost.
Like she didn’t know the next step to take. Like she was running from
something.
I turned quickly away from the window, shaking my head
at myself. Stop it, Harper. Too much assuming in one second. I had
enough to worry about; a failing business, bills piling up, and now a date I
didn’t know how to prepare for.
I really should’ve said no. But I couldn’t. I’d die
before I said no.
Stay tune for next
chapter or subscribe to my Patreon. This book is complete on patreon. Click here
Comments
Post a Comment