Page 30 of The Pumpkin Spice Romance
“Thank you,” I said, grabbing her wrist as she reached my belt. “That’s enough.”
“I am so, so sorry,” she gasped, staring up at me. Her eyes were round as saucers and an unusual shade of jade green.
I wanted to say that this was what I got for trying to wear casual clothes. I’d retired so I could finally start living, but mostly what I felt was awkward and out of place. And now damp. And also turned on. Pumpkin spice was probably going to make me fantasize about chestnut-haired baristas from now on. Like I hadn’t already been doing that.
“I’m going to go now,” I said, letting go of her.
“Please come back tomorrow!” She called after me. “I’ll give you all the coffee you want.”
2
MADDIE
I should have taken the morning’s incident at the coffee shop as a sign. Spilling coffee on a customer should have been a hint that I was not meant to interact with other humans for the rest of the day. And yet, here I was, in the middle of a business networking event, feeling like the biggest fraud in the place. And also, like I’d dressed completely wrong.
The dress code had saidbusiness casual,but I ran a coffee shop. My baristas dressed in styles ranging from punk and gender non-conforming to skater and preppy. And in Romeo’s case, gothic-vampire-meets-coastal-grandma because he was trying to use sustainable fabrics, so he kept dying cotton and linen black and tailoring them to his aesthetic. I usually dressed in jeans and whatever shirt I thought would contain my boobs, and then threw an apron over the top. Tonight, I’d done my best to go for what I hoped was business casual in a dress and heels, but I could see that what I’d thought was a fun floral print stood out too much in a sea of black and beige. And my boobs, as usual, were too big.
“Well, I graduated with an MBA,” said the woman I was talking to. “What about you?”
“Botany,” I said.
“Botany,” she repeated.
“That’s the study of plants.”
“I know what it is. I’m trying to figure out what good that would do.”
“Botanists work in agriculture, forestry, horticulture, and basically any industry to do with plants.”
“So. . . you’re a farmer?” She looked like I’d announced that I’d graduated in Fine Arts or something. “I thought this event was for small businesses.”
“Uh, well, actually, farmingisa business, but I run a coffee shop.”
“So you’re a barista?” asked a man, turning around and looking me up and down. He had a mentor badge on his lapel, but hadn’t bothered to put on one of the name tags that were supposed to be mandatory. He had blond hair and a look of snobby amusement on his face. The mentors were the people I wanted to meet. I had a dream of opening a second location and maybe franchising, but I had no idea how to get there. A mentor was exactly what I needed. Only perhaps not this one.
“Are baristas not allowed in?” I asked, trying not to feel insulted.
“Of course,” said the mentor. “We can always use a little coffee.” Then he looked around at the circle of attendees for a congratulatory laugh, which he got.
It certainly wasn’t the first time someone had made that assumption—including my own family. There was nothing wrong with being a barista, and in general, I sucked up my pride and let the misunderstanding slide. But right now, I was feeling a little bit picked on.
And it was about to get worse.
Mr. Yummy was going to show up, and I would want to die of embarrassment.
I decided that I’d had about all I could take of what should have been a glorious Pumpkin Spice Day.
“Nice to know what you think about baristas,” I said and did an about-face, intending to stalk off with dignity. Only there was no striding away and certainly no dignity. I walked straight into Mr. Yummy’s chest.
FELIX
I looked down into Maddie’s beautiful green eyes and realized she was about to cry. I could not allow that to happen. So, as much as I wanted her gloriously soft body plastered against me, I reluctantly got her stabilized and stepped back. She looked even better than usual. Her dress hit her in all the right spots, and her hair had been curled. Although if I were being honest, I still liked messy bun day best.
“I guess your botany degree explains all the plants at Deja Brew,” I said, smiling at her. I’d recognized her voice instantly, but it had taken me a minute to get out of my conversation and get over to her. Unfortunately, Stanhope Wallace had beaten methere. I’d been looking forward to this mentorship program, but I was dismayed to find out that some of the mentors were really there to boost their own egos—Stanhope being chief among them.
“Oh, yes,” she said, blushing. “Well, the plants are a bit of a side quest. Really, I started Deja Brew because I thought people would appreciate a local, sustainable, and ethical coffee option in town.
And now I felt like as big of a jerk as Stanhope. She was the owner of Deja Brew. No wonder she was there every day.
