Page 22 of Rare Blend
She smiles, looking pleased with her sale, and grabs a cup and a sharpie. “Name for the order?”
“Marisa.”
She scribbles my name across the cup and hands it off to a worker. While swiping my card, she asks, “Are you in town for a wine tour?”
“No, I’m visiting family. My dad.” I shouldn’t have specified. She doesn’t actually care. She’s only doing that thing that all baristas do, which is to make uncomfortable small talk while your order is being made.
She hands me back the card with a curious look on her face. “Oh, my gosh! You’re Marisa.”
I pause midway through returning the card back to my wallet. “Yes…I just said that.”
She laughs, but I’m not quite sure what’s so funny. “Sorry, what I mean is you’re Marisa, as in Marisa, Sadie’s stepsister. She’s one of my part-timers,” she explains.
Stepsister. That’s the first time I’ve been called that. And now I feel bad that I’ve only spoken to Sadie once.
She hands me over a baggie with the warm croissant. “I’m Ariana Ledger.”
It’s not a common last name, which means she’s likely related to Ethan. Maybe she’s a distant cousin?—
“I heard about my brother’s dog jumping you. He’s honestly such a sweet boy most of the time.”
Brother?It’s becoming more evident that Ethan is the bad seed of his family, because his dad and sister are perfectly nice and normal. He must’ve been dropped as an infant. There’s no other explanation.
I smile tightly, feeling a desperate itch to get away. “Well, it was nice meeting you.”
If she senses my discomfort, she ignores it. “Nice meeting you, too.”
The line is long behind me, so I’m safely able to find a seat in a hidden corner while Ariana continues ringing up customers. My eyes nearly roll back in my head when I bite into the croissant.Shit, that’s good.
After devouring the croissant, I decide to stroll through town while I finish my coffee. If I had to guess, I would say Main Street is a mile long, if that. There are numerous tasting rooms and a variety of restaurants, more than I expected for such a small town. The cuisines range from a standard American-style diner, to a French bistro, a Thai restaurant, and a fancy looking brunch spot. There’s even a piano bar that I make a mental note to check out one of these days. Shops catering to tourists sell trinkets and clothing adorned with grapes and wine puns. There’s an art gallery advertising they will be hosting live music this evening. I’m pleasantly surprised there’s plenty of things to do and see in this small stretch.
By now, the farmers market is coming to a close and the vendors are packing up their stations and dismantling their tents. Traffic starts flowing down Main Street again, and parking spots fill up at the storefronts. I catch sight of a tall man wearing a baseball cap in the distance, loading a vendor tent on the bed of an old work truck. He stands out among the crowd due to his imposing height. Even from a distance, I can make out the defined muscles in his arms straining as he pulls down a rope, winding it around his shoulder and elbow. From the way he’sstanding, I’ve only been able to get a side profile view, but I’d be willing to bet he’s easy on the eyes. Coffee and a show?Don’t mind if I do.I take claim to a street bench and get comfortable so I can enjoy the arm porn. I’m no better than a man sometimes.
He’s chatting with another vendor who’s loading up his respective tent. In the middle of his conversation, he turns his hat around so it sits backward—a move that shouldn’t be as attractive as it is. It’s only after several minutes of gawking that I realize the man I’ve been staring at is Ethan. My coffee goes down the wrong pipe, forcing me to cough loudly, and the sound travels across the street, like I had intended it directly for him. We lock eyes, mine wide and flustered, his narrow and suspicious.
Shit.
Averting my gaze, I tip my chin down and practically jump off the bench. I think that’s enough exploring for today.
CHAPTER 9
Ethan
I’M LIKE A FERAL ANIMAL
That was a fucking nightmare. If there’s anything I hate, it’s having to run the farmers market booth. Normally, Gavin does it, because he loves interacting with people while they try his wines. He’s also very good in social situations, something I seem to lack.
And now I have to do another nightmarish thing…ask my little brother Shane for a favor.
“This place is a shit hole.” I look around Shane’s apartment and try to keep myself from gagging. Every square inch of flooring is covered in discarded clothes, food wrappers, and empty beer bottles.
He snickers at my disgusted face, seemingly proud of his disaster.
“And what the hell is this?” I ask, digging out whatever is poking me from under the couch cushion. I instantly regret it when I find a woman’s bra with a high heel dangling from it. My hand drops the items, and Shane catches them before they hit the floor.
His face splits into a smile, and he laughs. “Sorry about that.” He sets the stuff on a recliner, still smiling to himself. “We were wondering where the other shoe ended up.”
A full-body cringe starts to set in. “Please don’t tell me you fucked some random girl on this couch and now I’m sitting in it?”
