Espresso Page 2

  “Chery!” bellowed Dwayne, slopping barbecued pork onto a toasted bun.

  Cheryl appeared out of the small office next to the kitchen. Cheryl Ford was one of those women who would draw people’s attention when she was seventy. She had a voluptuous figure, close-cropped black hair, and creamy brown skin that didn’t have a flaw. Her eyes were her finest feature, drawing you in with their warmth and sincerity.

  “What?” she shouted at him, then spotted Zion. Coming over, she gave Zion a hug. “How about dinner, sweetie?”

  Cheryl was probably ten years older than Zion, but it didn’t matter. They’d hit it off from the beginning.

  “I’d love some dinner.”

  Cheryl grabbed two baskets and held them out to her husband. He made two sandwiches and took the baskets, adding coleslaw on the side. He passed them back to her and kissed her cheek. She nudged him with her hip and nodded for Zion to open the door. As Zion did so, Pedro came back in with his bucket full and went to the sink.

  Cheryl paused on the other side of the door. “Daryl, bring us two beers,” she commanded.

  “Anything you want, Princess,” Daryl said, bowing.

  Zion smiled at him. The Ford family always made her happy. Their love and dedication to each other made her a little envious. She wouldn’t mind having that for herself.

  She and Cheryl took a seat in an empty booth. Cheryl passed her a basket and they both dug in. A moment later, Daryl appeared with their beers and Zion took a sip, washing the spicy barbecue down. She loved eating here and she probably ate here more than she should, but it was hard to pass up something that tasted this good.

  “What’s going on?” asked Cheryl, looking at her over the sandwich she held in her hands.

  “Nothing. I had the day off and I was tired of sweeping down cobwebs.”

  “That’s not it. Something’s bothering you.”

  Zion looked around the restaurant. “Does Sequoia do anything for Halloween?”

  “What?”

  “Like decorate the stores or hold events.”

  “Not really.”

  Zion considered that. It might draw more people to their businesses if they did. She could present it to the Chamber of Commerce. “‘What if we had a Halloween festival? We could offer kids candy to trick-or-treat in our stores. We could put up fliers and post it on the Sequoia social media sites.”

  Cheryl frowned. “Does Sequoia have social media sites?”

  “It sure does. And I heard the fairgrounds are doing a haunted house this year to attract tourists.”

  Cheryl considered it. “That Sabrina Clark, the event planner at the fairgrounds, sure has brought some new ideas to the town.”

  “Well, they’re not bad. Look how much money we made off Redwood Stock.”

  “And someone died,” said Cheryl.

  “True, but that was an isolated incident.”

  Cheryl nodded and took another bite, chewing contemplatively. Her eyes narrowed on Zion. “Something else is bothering you.”

  Zion shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Damn Cheryl’s motherly instincts. It was hard to resist those penetrating brown eyes. “I’m just wondering if I made a mistake leaving everything in the City to come here.”

  Cheryl set down her sandwich. “Where’s this coming from all of a sudden? I thought you loved it here.”

  “I do, but you’re my only friend.”

  “That’s not true. You have Deimos and Dottie.” She braced her chin with her hand. “Is this about Tate?”

  “What?” Zion reared away. “No.” She shook her head, her red curls bouncing. “No, not at all.”

  “Mmmhmm,” said Cheryl, eyeing her.

  Zion pushed the basket away and leaned on the table. “I feel horrible about David. He won’t even talk to me.”

  “Do you want to talk to him?”

  “Well, I’d like to be friends.”

  Cheryl waved that off. “I’ve never been friends with an ex in my life. It doesn’t work.” She took a sip of beer. “Do you like Tate?”

  “What? No, no!” she said emphatically.

  Cheryl’s brows rose. “Really?”

  Zion held up a hand and let it fall. “I don’t know, okay? I felt so guilty about David that I wouldn’t return Tate’s calls. We’ve been avoiding each other for months now.”

  “Why do you feel guilty about David?”

  “We were supposed to go away for the weekend and then I kissed another man, in my store, in front of people.”

  Cheryl gasped, fluttering a hand against her chest. “Heavens to Betsy,” she said dramatically.

  Zion laughed. “Stop it.”

  “You hussy!”

  Zion laughed harder. “You’re impossible.” She picked up her own beer and took a sip.

  “Just answer a simple question, okay?”

  “Okay,” Zion said.

  “Did you like the kiss with Tate?”

  Did she like it? It’s all she’d thought about for months now. “It’s not that simple.”

  “It is that simple. Did you like the kiss? Yes or no?”

  “The thing is Tate has issues. He left the police force – why? He got divorced – why? He moved here – why?’

  “Yes or no?”

  “And when I look into his eyes I can see shadows. I see that he’s seen or done things he shouldn’t have. It scares me. I need a guy that’s stable and collected and grounded.”

  “Yes or no?”

  Zion closed her eyes briefly and drew a deep breath. “Yes,” she said reluctantly.

  “Then why don’t you give it a try? What have you got to lose?”

  My heart, thought Zion, but she kept it to herself. “Nothing I guess. It’s better than painting nudes.”

  Cheryl thought about that one for a while. “What?”

  Zion pulled the basket back to herself and took another bite of her sandwich. “Let’s just say my mother has a new hobby and leave it at that.”

  Cheryl nodded. “Enough said for certain.”

  * * *

  Zion slowed her car as she drove past Tate’s house. His windows were lit from within and she wondered if he was still awake. It was only 8:30, so odds were he’d be up, but she panicked and drove on to her own house. What a coward she was becoming!

  She got out of the car and walked up to her door, fumbling to find the right key. She should have left the outside light on, especially now that it was getting dark earlier as fall moved toward winter. Pushing the right key into the lock, she turned it and shoved the door open, wondering if she was ready for winter in Sequoia. Would she need snow tires on her Optima?

  She would have asked Tate in the past, but they weren’t exactly speaking to each other. Maybe that was her way back into his life. She could drop by the hardware store and talk about tires. Oooh, that would be such a sexy conversation!

  She slammed the door in frustration and Cleo jumped off the couch, making a trilling noise as she walked over to weave around Zion’s legs. Zion hung her purse in the closet and went into the bedroom, throwing off her jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt and tugging on her pajamas. She shoved her feet into her fuzzy pink slippers and went into the bathroom to wash her face.

  Pulling her heavy hair up into a ponytail, she looked at her reflection in the mirror over the sink and reach for the moisturizer, squirting some into her hand. She smoothed it over the freckles across her nose and cheekbones, then sighed. What was wrong with her today? She usually didn’t mope around like this. Why was she feeling so lonely all of a sudden?

  Her phone rang on the sink next to her and she looked down, a flush of happiness washing over her when she saw Rebekah’s name on the display. She grabbed it up, hurrying out of the bathroom and shutting off the light. She thumbed the phone on and put it to her ear as she climbed beneath the covers on her bed. Cleo jumped up next to her and began kneading the blanket.

  “Hey, Becks,” she said into the phone. “I’m so glad to hear from you.”

  In response, Rebekah burst into tears.

  “Whoa, whoa! What’s going on?”

  “I broke it off with Wendel,” Rebekah sobbed.

  Wendel had been Rebekah’s latest doctor boyfriend for the past two years, the one she’d convinced herself was the right one to marry. She’d agreed to move in with him instead of getting an engagement ring. Zion had tried to convince her it wasn’t a good idea, since Rebekah had lived with five men since college. Wendel was just the most recent of these. Rebekah always winded up worse off than the men, homeless and without furniture of any kind.

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. What happened?”

  Rebekah sniffed dramatically. Zion knew this was an ugly crying session by the amount of sniffing because Rebekah was one of those rare women who could cry prettily if she wanted. Everything Rebekah did was pretty. While Zion was tall, buxom, and freckled, Rebekah had a svelte figure that fashion just draped over, gorgeous straight black hair that came to the center of her back, naturally tanned skin, and almond-shaped, heavily lashed dark eyes. If she was sniffling, the breakup had to be serious.

  “He’s such an ass!” she wailed.

  Zion drew a deep breath and settled back in the pillows. This was going to be a long night, she could tell. “What happened?”

  “We went to the mall to see a movie and as we were walking by the jewelry store, I suggested we go inside.”

  “Okay?”

  “And he said…” Sniffle. Sniffle. “He said…”

  “What, Becks? What did he say?”

  She burst into tears again. “Why?”

  Zion winced. “God, I’m sorry, honey. That’s awful.”

  “I asked him if he ever saw himself buying a ring and he said he couldn’t imagine one reason why he’d want to.”


  Ouch. That was harsher than usual. “Wow, what an ass!”

  “A total and complete ass. I went and grabbed a suitcase, loading it with a few of my things.”

  Or as most people would call it, a wardrobe.

  “And I went to the Fairmont for the night.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. I wish I was there for you.”

  She sobbed some more. “I wish you were too. I need someone to eat ice cream with me.”

  Except when they ate ice cream together, Zion ate the ice cream and Rebekah watched. She had an iron will, that one.

  “Well, you know you can come here if you want.”

  Rebekah went silent and Zion knew it was a silly gesture. Rebekah hated quiet, little Sequoia and would never think of leaving the City. Besides, she had a good job with the insurance company Zion used to work for.

  “I thought he was the one,” sobbed Rebekah. “I thought we were going to get married.”

  “I know, honey. I know you did.”

  “I did it again, Zion. I’m homeless. Can you believe it? I’m homeless again. When will I ever learn? When will I stop letting men treat me like a doormat?”

  Zion thought of Tate and David. They both treated her well, but David had been too possessive. She wasn’t sure what might have happened if she pursued something with Tate. Maybe he would have become possessive too, but he let her work the murder cases with him, so that spoke well for his ideas of equality.

  “Are you listening to me?” Rebekah whined.

  “I am, I’m listening, Becks.”

  “What’s wrong with me, Zion? Why can’t I keep a man?”

  Then the tears became a waterfall and Zion felt drowned out. She snuggled back into the pillows and waited. Yep, it was going to be a long night all right.

  CHAPTER 2

  Tate’s phone buzzed as he got near the door of the Hammer Tyme, his hardware store. He pulled it out and looked at the display. A text from Logan flashed at him. Something came up. I won’t be in today. Sorry. Tate frowned. He didn’t ever remember Logan calling in sick or asking for a day off. The kid worked like a machine. Of course, school had started up again and Logan was trying to go to regular classes, rather than the continuation school he’d been going to. Tate had urged him to complete his senior year with his class. Maybe he had something for school he had to take care of, or maybe he just needed time to study.

  Tate unlocked the door and went to the back to turn off the alarm and turn on the lights. When he returned, Bill Stanley, his morning help, stepped inside, pulling a Hammer Tyme ball cap over his grey hair. Tate had succumbed to Bill and Logan’s urging to brand the store. He’d gotten aprons and ball caps for them to wear while they worked. For some reason, Tate couldn’t remember to bring his ball cap with him, so he left it in the back of the store with his apron.

  “Hey, Bill,” he said, smiling at the older man as he went to open the blinds.

  “Morning,” said Bill, lifting the counter to duck under it. He carried a carton with two coffees on it.

  Tate tried not to salivate, but he loved his morning cup of coffee from the Caffeinator, even though he couldn’t go get it himself anymore. He’d screwed up his friendship with Zion by moving too fast and now he didn’t feel right going into the store and making her uncomfortable.

  He stared out the window at the street. He could just see the awning over the coffee shop door from here and he knew her white Optima was in the municipal parking lot. He looked for it every morning without fail.

  He wished he could take back the impulsiveness that had made him kiss her in her store, in front of everyone, but he didn’t regret it. He hadn’t wanted her to go away with David. He knew it wasn’t his place to ask her not to go, but he couldn’t help himself. Except now, they weren’t even friends anymore and that hurt.

  Although being friends with Zion had been eating him alive, especially because he wanted so much more. When they saw each other at social functions, it was awkward, but the pull he felt toward her hadn’t diminished in the months since he’d made his monumental blunder.

  “You gonna stand there, looking outside all day?”

  Tate squared his shoulders and turned around, walking to the counter. Bill picked up a paper cup and held it out to him.

  “Dottie made this special for you. She said it was your favorite. I don’t hold with all those fussy drinks, but people seem to love them.”

  Tate took a sip. Bill usually just brought two black cups of coffee, which was fine with Tate, but Dottie must have figured out the second cup was for him. The coffee that touched his tongue now was sweet with a hint of mint, the very drink Dottie had introduced him to six months before.

  “She’s the best,” he said, smiling.

  “She wanted to know how you were. Why don’t you go down there?”

  Tate drew a deep breath. That was a conversation he wasn’t having with Bill Stanley. “I’m trying to save money,” he lied as he lifted the counter and grabbed his apron off a peg just inside the storeroom door. Tying it around himself, he watched Bill grab the basket of return items that needed to be restocked. Walking into the storeroom, Tate took his hat off the shelf and pulled it on, then he went to the safe and got money for the cash register.

  He’d just finished counting out the money, when the buzzer sounded and the door opened. Deimos, Zion’s hippy barista, stepped into the shop, hovering by the door. Tate frowned at the anxious look on Dee’s face.

  Deimos Hendrix had blue eyes, shaggy blond hair, and lately he begun growing a patchy beard on his jaw. He wore a pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt that said Caffeinator on it. A few months ago, he’d been a suspect in a murder case and he’d had a rough go of it, but he was cleaning up his act. Zion’s mother, Gabi, had helped him get off pot and start eating healthy. The two of them had done yoga in Zion’s front yard for weeks. Tate smiled now in memory of Deimos in hot pink yoga pants, bending in ways the human body just shouldn’t.

  “Hey, Dee,” he said, lifting the counter and approaching him.

  Bill Stanley was arranging the screws and nails in the bins, giving Dee a skeptical look from the corner of his eyes. Bill Stanley was a hard worker, but he could be judgmental. Tate would probably let him go if he didn’t need the help, especially with Logan back in school.

  Dee’s worried blue eyes flashed to Tate’s face and he gave a breathless laugh. “Tate dude, how’s it hanging?” He held out a hand and when Tate accepted it, he pulled him in for a hug, patting his back.

  Tate smiled, extricating himself. He’d always liked Dee. “Good, how are you?”

  “Dude, I’m all sorts of awesome.” He shot another anxious look around. He hadn’t left the doorway yet. “So, I thought I’d come see you, see the store.” He tucked his hands in his back pockets and rocked on his heels. “See the nails.”

  Tate gave him an amused frown. “Right, you don’t like nails.”

  “Dude, I so don’t like nails. Jesus and all.”

  “Right, I remember.” Tate glanced over and saw Bill Stanley not even trying to hide his disapproving glare. “So, you just came to visit.”

  “Yeah…no.”

  Tate’s brows rose.

  “I mean, sure, I wanted to see you. You haven’t been in the Caffeinator in months, Tate dude. Look, whatever happened with Zion, man, you and me, we’re cool, right?”

  “We’re cool, Dee.”

  “Awesome,” said Dee, jerking his chin up. “But I also came ‘cause stuff needs fixing at the shop.”

  Tate crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s broken?”

  “The bar door, you know? The hinge is loose. It’s hanging all wonky.”

  “Okay, you probably just need to tighten the screws.”

  Dee pointed at him. “That’s it. But I don’t have one of them screw doodads.” He made a twisting motion with his hand.

  “A screwdriver.”

  “That’s it,” he said again, laughing and pointing at Tate.

  “Phillips head or slot head?”

  “Yes,” Dee said, nodding.

  Tate glanced at Bill Stanley, who gaped openly at Dee. “What else?”

  “The toilet just keeps running, all the time.”

  “You probably need a new flush valve gasket.”

  “Probably,” said Dee enthusiastically.

  Tate fought his smile. “You don’t have any idea what I’m talking about, do you?”