Page 1 of Banter & Blushes

CHAPTER 1

CADE

It’s been a long trip. I desperately need some food before embarking on the next phase of my journey to reach my beachfront rental house and set up my home office. Finding an open parking spot, I whip into the space, squeezing my cherry red Porsche Boxster between a rusty beater pickup truck and a VW bug. This tiny beach town is overflowing with visitors since we’re at the height of tourist season, that time after July 4thand before the kids go back to school when everyone heads to the beach. So, parking is at a premium.

This street is full of funky shops, unique eateries, and plain old tourist traps. Seabreeze Harbor is known for its eccentric occupants—a combination of aged hippies, new age Gen Zers, and crotchety fishermen. Many appear to be artisans, the storefronts overflowing with crafty items. A plethora of seashell-based products sit proudly in the windows of the shops dotting the main drag.

As I switch the ignition off, I chuckle, my eyes drawn to a prominent sky-blue sign hanging above the business I just parked in front of. Bold lettering declares: “PLOT TWISTS & PERFECT MATCHES” with smaller letters underneath saying “Matchmaking, Books, and Baubles. We also serve Specialty Teas & Pastries.”

Matchmaking?I wasn’t expecting that. With the clock ticking on the terms of my trust fund, I could use such a service. Even though I’m not a believer in matchmaking, I may be desperate enough to give it a try.

My feet are drawn as if of their own volition towards the peculiarmatchmaking bookstore/tea shop.Do they not offer coffee?Maybe that’s just an oversight on the sign. Curiosity killed the cat, but hopefully I’ll just end up with a beverage and a pastry.

The store’s front window is engaging and unusual, with a display featuring the latest bestsellers along with homemade candles and brightly colored chunky jewelry hanging from a rotating carousel. Mom and my sister would go ga-ga over this place.

Bells tinkle pleasantly as I stroll through the door. A soothing aroma fills the air—possibly from eucalyptus essential oils? My sister uses those, so I’m very familiar with the scent. A new age–sounding instrumental song plays softly in the background. Slipping my sunglasses into my pocket, I blink several times as my eyes adjust from the bright sunshine.

“May I help you?”

The lilting voice comes from the opposite side of the room. Turning, I stare at an attractive brunette—a few years younger than me, if I’m any judge of age. She’s wearing a swirly orange-and-yellow flowing skirt that hits well below her knees, an equally billowy yellow blouse, and multiple bracelets on each arm. When she walks—more like floats—out from the dim corner, I notice she’s wearing a canary yellow pair of Converse Chuck Taylor All-Stars. A small tinge of respect hits that she’s not a slave to fashion, and she obviously isn’t averse to wearing comfortable shoes.

Caught off guard by her unusual outfit, I mutter the most ineloquent of openings. “Um, well...”

She smiles but doesn’t interrupt, waiting patiently for me to collect my wits. I wasn’t expecting to stumble upon an attractive gypsy, but considering the name of this shop, am I surprised?

Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—my stomach growls rather loudly. The sound echoes throughout the cramped shop and the noise jump-starts my brain. “I was hoping to get a cup of coffee and a pastry.”

Her smile slips. “We don’t serve coffee. You’ll have to go to Zoe’s bakery or the truck stop off the interstate. But I hear their coffee puts hair on your chest.”

A laugh leaks out despite my disappointment. “Is there a reason you don’t serve coffee?” I should just keep my mouth shut and order, but I’m slightly thrown by the obvious deficiency.What bookstore café doesn’t offer coffee?

“I lost the coin flip,” she says with a shrug, as if that explains everything.

Several seconds tick by as I wait with bated breath for an explanation, but she doesn’t offer any. “Coin flip?” Why I feel compelled to ask is beyond me.When she settles in, leaning against the checkout counter like she's about to provide a long-winded account, I instantly wish I could stuff the words back down my throat.I don’t have time for chitchat.

“Okay, so here’s the thing—I never,neverwanted to offer food in my shop. Books and crumbs? No thank you. But then my friend Zoe, who owns the bakery, convinced me that modern-day bookstores must have snacks. Like, apparently, people can’t just enjoy a good book without a pastry in their hand. I was skeptical. Very skeptical. But then she hits me with this plan: she'll supply the pastries, handle all the buttery chaos, and I just deal with the drinks. Honestly, how do you say no to someone who's bribing you with croissants?”

I nod, surprisingly interested and amused at this rather rambling story.

She draws in a loud breath and continues. “So, we hashed it out. Her shop’s, like, two doors down—close enough that if we both had coffee machines, it’d be a caffeine war. No survivors. So we flipped a coin, because that’s obviously how all serious business decisions are made. Heads, she gets coffee and I get tea. She wins, of course, and in hindsight, thankgoodnessbecause, really, can you imagine a bakery without coffee? What would people do—dip their muffins in chamomile?”

My amusement screeches to a halt.I could get coffee only two doors down?That’s my main takeaway from that meandering, albeit entertaining, discourse. Debating whether my need for coffee exceeds my interest in this woman, I consider whether to split or to stay. Mentally flipping a coin, the beautiful woman wins.

“Got any tea with caffeine?” My voice holds a twinge of reluctance. Maybe I can slug down hot leaf water as long as it’s caffeinated.

“Absolutely.” She waves her hand, motioning for me to follow her to the opposite side of the room, where I notice the tea bar and bakery case. My mouth waters at the baked goods offerings—especially what looks like brownies.

“Are those brownies?” I blurt excitedly. “I haven’t had a good one of those since my grandmother used to make them.” My neck heats at the oversharing, and I’m sure my face is turning red.

She shoots me an amused grin, glides behind the bakery case, and says, “Oh, they’re actually fudgyblack beanbrownies. Yeah, I know—beans in brownies don’t exactly make your mouth water. But Zoe’s baking skills have perfected the recipe, so you won’t even detect the beans.”

Not exactly a raging endorsement. Maybe I should go with the cookies?

Perhaps she can see the indecision on my face, because she adds, “I only serve low-sugar desserts, because why feed into society’s sugar addiction when we’re all basically one cupcake away from a dentist intervention? Zoe, of course, has no problem dumping in the sugar, but I’m on a mission here. Trust me, though, these brownies are sweet enough to knock your socks off—and pair perfectly with a cup of organic black oolong tea. It’s like health food, but fun!”

Did she just wink?

Her salesmanship and flirting charm me, but I’m still a bit skeptical about the wacky food offerings. First no coffee. Now no sugar?

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