Christina Skye - The Accidental Bride

Jilly gave a guilty smile, painfully aware of the promise that she was about to break. “I’m having a transformational experience here. No point in rushing it.”

“Cool.” He smiled and pointed to the painted blackboard covered with local ads. “Mind if I go write that down for a testimonial?”

“Be my guest.”

Jilly still didn’t drink the coffee. She was pleased at her restraint. Waiting was good.

Meanwhile, a phone rang somewhere in a back room. Two women in jogging pants came in, ordered lattes and left. More people came and went. Sunlight poured in a golden cloud over the narrow street. Jilly cradled the coffee between her hands, fighting an urge to drain the frothy cup in one greedy gulp.

But she closed her eyes, counted to five and then regretfully pushed the steaming cup away.

Another phone rang. Three more customers came in, ordered coffee to go and then wandered out. You could make a lot of money with a good business in a town like this. Both locals and visitors appeared to be spending money, and every parking spot on the street was taken. There were no For Rent signs or closed-up windows. And in ski season, with good staffing, a restaurant could—

Jilly shook her head. There she went, building another business empire.

“Would you like a refill?” the young man asked.

“No. I’m just fine.”

“But … you haven’t drunk any yet.”

“Just taking my time.”

The lanky worker hesitated. “In that case, if you aren’t in a hurry, would you mind keeping an eye on things here for a few minutes? They just called me from the bank and I need to run over to sign some papers.”

Jilly would have been more surprised at this trust afforded a stranger, but growing up in Summer Island she had seen the same easy manner. “I guess so. But are you sure—”

“I’d really appreciate it. Unlimited coffee on me as a thank you.”

Great. Add torture to temptation, Jilly thought. “No need. I can stay for a while. Nothing special to do.”

“That’s cool. What did you say your name was?”

“Jilly. But—”

“Great. Thanks, Jilly. Just tell any customers that I’ll be right back, okay?”

Jilly had barely managed a nod when he waved once and strode outside. The silence pulled at her, calming and deep. She studied her coffee, bemused.

The door opened. “Uh, is Jonathan around?” A small girl in a jean jacket glanced at Jilly, frowning. “I wanted to get a coffee.”

“If Jonathan is the man with the red hair, he just left. He said he’d be right back. Something at the bank.”

The girl looked anxiously out the window. “I have errands to finish. My brother will be waiting.”

Jilly stood up. “What do you want? I can make it.”

“I’d love a mocha latte, please. And some of Jonathan’s hazelnut syrup. But I thought you were a customer.”

Jilly walked around and checked out the serving area. “No problem. I can work the machines.” After two summers working at a coffeehouse in Portland, she knew her way around an espresso machine and a steaming wand. “Have a seat while I make it.”

She filled the silver coffee filter, pulled a shot and then went to work on the steamed milk, efficient and precise. The girl looked surprised at the frothy milk design that Jilly poured over the top of her drink.

“Wow, that looks great. You should teach Jonathan that. He always has problems with that new espresso machine.” The girl pulled some froth onto her finger and licked it thoughtfully. “Wow,” she said again.

The front doorbell chimed but Jilly barely noticed as she finished cleaning the small filter, rinsed the milk wand and leaned down to check the heat level on the boiler. Nothing ruined fresh beans faster than high heat or a bad grind.

She heard a man clear his throat. “Is anyone here? Jonathan?”

Jilly shoved back her hair. The air seemed dense, too heavy to breathe. She was painfully afraid that she was blushing as she turned and saw the tall man by the counter with the well-behaved brown dog right beside him.

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