Page 21 of By Any Beans Necessary

"For heaven's sake, Jeff," she whispered to the empty alley, the hurt catching in her throat. "Why couldn't you just be real?"

There was no answer in the rustle of the breeze or the distant sound of the town waking up. Only the echo of Harold's words and the sting of betrayal, as bitter as over-brewed espresso.

The rest of the day passed in a slow blur. Michelle went through the motions of serving customers, her mind elsewhere. She found herself staring out the shop's window, watching the townsfolk go about their business, and wondered how many of them were just like Jeff—interested in all the wrong things.

As the sun began to set, she made her way to the small park across the street. She needed to clear her head, to get away from the whispers and stares that seemed to follow her everywhere she went. Sitting on a bench beneath an old oak tree, she watched the children playing on the swings and slide, their laughter a stark contrast to her own melancholy.

She thought back to when she first reconnected with Jeff, how charming and attentive he had been. She had been flattered by his interest, but now she couldn't help but wonder if it had all been an act, a ploy to get closer to her for his own selfish reasons.

The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. How dare he use her like that? How dare he pretend to care about her when all he really wanted was to boost his own reputation?

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Michelle made a decision. She would confront Jeff and tell him exactly what she thought of him and his underhanded ways. She deserved better, and she was going to make sure he knew it.

With a newfound resolve, she stood up from the bench and began to walk back to the Coffee Loft. She would face Jeff, and she would make sure he understood the depth of his betrayal. She wouldn't let him get away with hurting her like this.

Michelle stormed into the Coffee Loft, her eyes scanning the room for Jeff, who should be arriving at any moment for his mid-day pick-me-up. She spotted him behind the counter,chatting with Emily. She marched over to him, her anger palpable.

"Jeff," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "We need to talk right now." Each word was a struggle, heavy with the weight of Harold's revelation.

He turned to her, a smile on his face. It quickly faded, however, when he saw the look of anger in her eyes. "Michelle, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

"Don't play innocent with me," she spat, placing her hands on her hips as her face burned red with fury. "I know what you did. I know you were never really interested in me. You just wanted to use me to boost your own reputation."

Jeff looked shocked, like he had been caught red-handed. "Michelle, that's not true," he stammered.

"Don't lie to me," she hissed, her hazel eyes searching his face for any sign of further deceit. "I'm not stupid. I know that's what you were doing, that you were only with me to clean up your image."

"Whoa," Jeff stepped back, hands raised defensively. "Where's this coming from?"

"Harold Bernstein." Michelle's voice was a whisper, but it carried in the silent space between them.

"Harold?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "You're going to believe that guy over me? Didn't he just come back to town because he ended up ruining his own marriage? You can't trust a guy like that."

"Are you saying it's not true?" There was a plea hidden in her question, a desperate hope for denial.

"Look, I—" Jeff hesitated, his defensiveness morphing into frustration. "It's not that simple."

"Make it simple." Her words were sharp, clipped.

"Okay, yeah, I want people to take me seriously as a handler. So what? That doesn't mean I don't care about you." His tonewas earnest, but there was something in his eyes that didn't sit right with her.

"Doesn't it?" she crossed her arms, feeling her heart break inside her chest.

"Come on, Michelle. You know this town, how people talk. It was never just about reputation." He reached for her, but she stepped out of his touch.

"Wasn't it?" Michelle's thoughts were a whirlpool, sucking her down into a place where trust and love seemed like foolish indulgences.

"Look, Michelle, I'm trying here," Jeff's voice rose, the strain evident.

"Are you?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through the tension.

"Fine." Jeff threw his hands in the air, the universal sign of surrender—or defeat. "Clearly, you had already made up your mind before you even decided to talk to me."

"You could have convinced me otherwise," she snapped, her heart sinking as she watched the widening rift between them.

"Not my fault," he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets, his shoulders rigid.

"Same old Jeff," she muttered with anger. She turned to leave for the backroom, but not before delivering one final blow. "I hope it was worth it because you just lost the best thing that ever happened to you."

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