I was a waitress in college, so food service isn’t new to me, but when I got my art history degree, I thought I’d put my food and drink service days behind me. I’d been so excited for a job—any job—in the art field.
When I wipe down the tables in the lobby area of the coffee shop, I always start with ones by the wall that displays art for sale by local artists. Those tables always get a more thorough wipe down, because my gaze is half focused on the art at all times.
I always loved art as a kid, but I’ve never been any good at making it. I found my niche in an art appreciation class in high school, though. I learned to discuss and analyze art from prehistoric times to modern day. In a college class, we did a project where we chose art groupings for different types of spaces, and I loved every second of it.
Right before graduation, though, I got pregnant with Nolan and married Dean. I never felt like I lost out on my dream, because becoming a mom was another dream of mine.
Now that I have to work, though, I wish I could do something more stimulating than making coffee drinks. The tips are nice, but I can’t see myself working here thirty hours a week, especially with no benefits and with Virgil as my boss. What if it’s my only choice, though?
Most of the paintings for sale right now are by a local artist named Katie Curtis. She does stunning portraits and landscapes, and her work deserves to be displayed in a better place than Just Brew It. I guess it’s good that she’s getting her start somewhere, though.
Just being around art makes me yearn to work in the art field. Unfortunately, I have very little work experience and I need a flexible schedule because of Nolan.
Maybe when he’s older. I want a job that satisfies me. Something that makes my son proud of me. I let Dean pin me into the role of supportive wife and stay-at-home mom. He told me he needed to focus on his business completely, and that he didn’t have any energy left for parenting. I love taking care of Nolan, and since I fell for Dean’s bullshit about how much money his business was going to make, I thought we’d be set financially.
Never again will I let a man decide my path, or Nolan’s. Rue has a private investigator serving Dean with divorce papers today, and I can’t wait to be free of him in every way.
“Indie, hey,” a male voice says from nearby.
I look up from the table I’m wiping down and my jaw drops when I see Pike Morgan grinning at me.
“You got the note,” I say, relieved that the front office didn’t just toss it in a garbage can. “I was fifty-fifty on whether they’d give it to you.”
“Yeah, I got it.”
I pick up the wet towel and approach him, gripping it tightly with both hands.
“I really am so sorry. I’m embarrassed by—”
He puts up a hand to halt what I’m about to say next. “It’s okay. We’re good.”
“Really?”
Now I feel even worse. If someone treated me the way I treated Pike that day, I wouldn’t forgive them so easily.
“We all make mistakes,” he says, shrugging. “I’m just glad you found your grandma’s ring. And I’m sorry your month has been so lousy.”
Oh geez. I’d forgotten all about writing that in the note. I’m going to have to work on being less of a put it all out there in front of strangers kind of person.
“Well, I’m sure you’re here for some coffee,” I say, eager to move on from any mention of my disastrous personal life. “What can I get you? On me, of course.”
Pike smiles again, and it hits me for the first time—he’s really good-looking. He’s tall and muscular, with dark blond hair, a short beard, and eyes as clear as the bluest sky. I didn’t pay much attention to his physical appearance the first time we met since I was so angry, but now that I’m getting an up close and personal look, I feel awkward in my green Just Brew It polo and visor.
“Actually, I was hoping to buy you some coffee,” he says. “Can you take a break?”
What? Why? I stop myself from blurting those words out, but I imagine the expression on my face is speaking for me. Pike just waits patiently, though, for me to answer.
“I don’t know,” I finally say. “I can ask my boss, but he usually decides when we take our breaks.”
I walk behind the counter and drop my towel in the dirty towel bucket, then approach Virgil, who is handing a drink to a customer.
“Have a great day, Eli,” he says with a smarmy smile.