“This came today.” I slap the envelope on the counter.
Gabriella skims the news, then tosses the letter onto the counter. “This is ridiculous! Doesn’t he know about your dad?”
“Probably. But that doesn’t mean he has an actual heart.” I bite my lip, focusing on the steady drip of coffee and the rich, bittersweet aroma of fresh espresso. “I don’t have a clue what we’re going to do, because somehow I need to double our profits. And that should’ve happened months ago.”
I turn and check our bakery case. Except for one lone poppy seed muffin, it’s a ghost town in there. Normally, this would be a good problem. But not today, when I have literally zero time to whip up another batch. Mom used to help with the baking, but these days, she’s always at an appointment with Dad.
“Please tell me we have blueberry muffins in the back.”
“Sold out an hour ago,” Gabriella announces. “The Crushers decimated our entire stock. Speaking of Crushers…guess who was in here at seven sharp, asking where you were?”
My stomach turns over.Not again.Why does he have to show up like clockwork? It’s almost like he wants to annoy me just by sitting at the same table every morning, right in full view where I steam milk.
I shake my head and play dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, you do. Your not-so-secret admirer who comes in every morning.”
“He’s not my anything,” I state flatly. “We’re friends.”
Brendan Marco used to come in during summers when we were teenagers, back when his family stayed at the Marco beach house. He’d sit at the corner table for hours, pretending to read, and I’d pretend not to notice him watching me over the top of his book.
She tilts her head. “Friends who are secretly pining for each other?”
“No,justfriends.” I’ve said it enough times that I’m tired ofit. “He’s had twelve years to ask me out.Twelve,Gabriella.If that isn’t an obvious sign, I don’t know what is.”
But the worst part is that I still notice him, every single morning, when he walks through that door with his backwards cap on and sits at the table near the barista counter. I notice everything; I’ve just gotten good at pretending I don’t.
I measure coffee beans into the grinder. “Besides, I don’t have time for dating. I need to figure out how we’re going to bring in more money to keep the cafe in business.”
Gabriella leans closer. “You know what could solve all your financial problems? The Ice House Arena is looking for a new food vendor. It’s what you’re already doing now—just expanded to a new location. Imagine the foot traffic during game nights.”
I stop, mid-scoop. “How am I supposed to convince Rafael Marco to let a local cafe owner set up shop in his fancy arena? I have no experience with sports venues.”
“Easy.” Her face lights up like she just had a brilliant idea. “Talk to Brendan. He could put you in touch with the right people. His uncle owns the arena.”
I shake my head. “Anyone but him.” Even the thought of asking Brendan for a favor feels wrong. We don’t have that kind of friendship anymore—not since the night back in high school that ruined everything between us.
Besides, I know how his world works. The Marco family does nothing small with their lavish estate, charity galas, and press events. Brendan’s uncle built a sports empire and has nothing to show for it personally except a divorce and a hockey team he’s married to instead. His world and mine have never actually overlapped. They just look like they do from the outside.
“Things are weird enough between us since the incident at last year’s Crushers Christmas party.”
I start the grinder as Gabriella gives me a mischievous smirk. “You mean when Brendan serenaded you at the Christmas party after Jaxon brought you as his date?”
“That wasn’t serenading—more like public humiliation afterhe’d had one too many. Slightly endearing public humiliation, maybe, but still.” I wipe the coffee grounds off the counter, just to avoid the questions that will inevitably follow.
Gabriella tilts her head. “Or maybe seeing you with one of his hockey players made him realize what he was missing. You know Coach Marco doesn’t like to share.”
CoachMarco. I’m still not used to Brendan’s new title or the way my heart leaps in my chest when I hear it. Brendan Marco is off-limits for so many reasons, I could write a freaking book on it. He’s my brother’s former best friend. The team owner’s nephew. The guy I foolishly kissed during summer break in high school. And the jerk who ghosted me afterward. Even his stint in the Marines didn’t erase the awkwardness between us.
When Brendan returned to Sully’s Beach, we never quite figured out how to be normal around each other again. More than a few times, I’ve caught him studying me—mostly with that stern expression that’s become his signature stare. Sure, he hangs around this place with his players, but he doesn’t really talk to me. He mostly treats me like I’m invisible, except when he needs coffee.
“Jealousy reveals itself in many forms, my friend,” Gabriella says, winking. “Desperate pining is one of them.”
“A stupid serenade is hardly a sign of desperate pining.”
She shakes her head. “It’s not like Brendan to let loose like that. That man is always in control.”
I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”