At La Vida Mocha, located on one of the busiest streets in downtown Carlsbad, Chloë let herself in via the service entrance which led into the storage room/office at the back of the coffeeshop. Her boss, Vanessa, was there, putting away some supplies. She turned when Chloë entered.
“Hey!” Vanessa greeted.
“Hey!” Chloë answered, her voice a little muffled by the face mask local ordinances required she still needed to keep on during the entirety of her shift.
When Chloë was sixteen, she’d had a bad mountain biking accident which busted up her right knee some. Back then, Vanessa had been doing a side gig as a personal trainer and Chloë’s parents had found her and hired her to help Chloë rehabilitate her knee. Though Chloë had never admitted this, she’d had a raging crush on Vanessa. It was practically impossible not to, despite Vanessa being nearly thirty at the time. Vanessa was gorgeous; like, movie star gorgeous, and Chloë would often find herself not being able to breathe whenever Vanessa, in her capacity as Chloë’s trainer, would put her hands on Chloë’s leg to help her move or stretch it.
During Chloë’s rehab, she and Vanessa ended up actually becoming friends, a fact which did little to diminish Chloë’s crush on her as time went on. In fact, the day Chloë turned eighteen, she harbored a fantasy of Vanessa realizing there was no longer any reason they couldn’t be a couple and throwing herself at her.
Never happened.
Three years later, when Chloë turned twenty-one and celebrated in Las Vegas with her gang of friends, including Vanessa, Chloë had dreams of somehow being able to seduce Vanessa into a night of wild sex in her hotel room at the Bellagio.
That also never happened. Nothing ever happened. Her and Vanessa just remained good friends, frustratingly platonic, until Chloë eventually gave up any hope of Vanessa regarding her as anything other than a little sister. When Vanessa was finally able to open La Vida Mocha a little over a year ago, Chloë was her first employee and was now the manager.
“I’m taking off soon,” Vanessa told her. “Megan and I have some new furniture about to be delivered. Luli is out front with Amber. Do me a favor, train Amber on the POS today.”
Chloë rolled her eyes but said, “Got it.” Amber was the new hire. She seemed to be working out okay but she was a little skittish.
“So, are you excited about coffee club tomorrow?” Vanessa asked.
“I am!” Chloë replied, bouncing on her toes. Coffee club nights were Chloë’s favorite nights to work, especially the monthly Friday night gatherings called Lesbeans, which was marketed to and attended by gay women. Chloë hosted them along with Vanessa, on each occasion presenting various exotic coffees to the attendees. This month’s coffees arrived a few days ago, five each from Africa and South America, along with four from Turkey. Chloë and Vanessa had spent the past few days trying various brewing methods for each one, tasting them and making notes together about flavors and aromas, all in preparation for presenting them tomorrow.
“That Tanzanian peaberry is going to be a big hit,” Chloë added. “Did you taste the coconut notes in it? Ooh, and pineapple!”
Since working at La Vida Mocha, Chloë had learned that she apparently had an amazing palate when it comes to coffee, one that even rivaled that of her mentor, Vanessa.
“The pineapple, yes,” Vanessa agreed. “Somehow the coconut escaped me but I still have some at home and I’ll try it again tonight. But I’ve always said, you’re like a wizard when it comes to tastings. Anyway, I’m off and so the shop is all yours.”
Chloë still swelled with pride whenever Vanessa said that. The trust in her that Vanessa displayed sometimes made Chloë downright giddy.
“I’ll get Amber on the POS as soon as I get out there,” she promised Vanessa, gesturing towards the front of the shop. “Tell Megan I said hi.”
Chapter 2
Third date.
Morgan continued twirling the fettucine onto her fork, watching the noodles wrap around the utensil.
This is our third date.
“Morgan?”
Date numero tres…
“Hey, Morgan?”
Somehow, she became aware that Mitch was addressing her. Tearing her eyes away from the fettucine, she looked up at him.
“Hmm?”
Mitch raised his eyebrows.
“You’ve been twirling that pasta for a long time now. Is everything alright?”
“Have I?” Morgan asked, genuinely unaware that she’d been at it long enough for anyone to think it odd.
Mitch reached across their table to put his hand over hers. It was a sweet gesture from someone who was, Morgan couldn’t deny, a very sweet guy. And not annoyingly sweet, either, like those guys who act like they can’t believe someone as good-looking as Morgan agreed to go out with them. No. Mitch was the perfect kind of sweet: attentive but not pushy; polite but not wimpy; respectful but not meek. And he was certainly easy on the eyes, with a captain-of-the-football-team handsomeness that was somehow only heightened by the strands of gray hair at his temples. And damn men for being able to use gray hair as a beauty accessory!