were over, the shop would pick up again. The college kids wouldn’t be here until they rolled out of bed and came in for a little caffeine to counteract the frat party headache, but after that, business would be pretty steady until late afternoon. “Why did I ever agree to let Cade work here? I’m trying to divorce him, not hire him.”
Kelly ran a finger along the rim of her coffee mug. “Maybe a tiny part of you doesn’t want to divorce him.”
Melanie shook her head, resolute. “This is the best thing, trust me. Cade isn’t going to change.”
Hadn’t he proved that yesterday? Just when she thought he might be a little vulnerable, might tell her some of the secrets he kept locked in his heart—
He’d mentioned work. Always the job, never the man, never how he felt.
“Whatever you say.” Kelly shrugged, but there was disbelief in her face. “He’s your husband.”
“Not anymore.”
As the words left her, though, they were tinged with sadness. What would her life ahead be like without Cade? She’d been so busy getting the business off the ground that she hadn’t paused to dwell on the empty rooms of her apartment, the lack of a second voice at home.
How would it be to wake up in five years, ten, and realize Cade was truly gone from her life? That the man she’d spent half her life loving was with someone else? Melanie shook the thoughts off. A bit of regret was normal with any divorce, no matter how the marriage had ended. After all, she’d been with Cade for twenty years. She’d only dated two other guys before him. He was what she knew, what she’d always known, and giving that up for good was bound to leave her a little melancholy.
Add to that seeing him again after a year apart and Melanie had a Betty Crocker-worthy recipe for regret. That’s all it was—the opposite of cold feet. Regardless of what she might think she saw in his eyes or felt in her chest, she wasn’t going to change her mind. The decision had been hard enough to make—there would be no rethinking of it.
“So, when’s he coming in?” Kelly asked.
Melanie glanced at the clock, watching the hand sweep upward to nine o’clock. “Any minute now. I thought he could learn the ropes today. The weekdays are way too busy for me to have time to show him anything.”
“Sure you don’t want me to stay?”
Melanie grinned. “You’re just looking for an excuse to get out of that baby shower.”
“Hey, I am so done with diapers, I don’t even want to look at them. Even the smell of rash cream brings back bad memories.” Kelly rose, pushing her empty cup to the side. She laughed. “Oh, what am I saying? I miss my boys being little. Every time I turn around, they’ve grown six inches.” She let out a sigh, then swung her purse over her shoulder. “Maybe I’ll take a sniff of the Desitin. Just for old times’ sake.”
Melanie was still laughing after Kelly had left, a second morning brew in a to-go cup. Five seconds later, the bell jingled and Cade walked in, wearing jeans and a blue T-shirt. Emblazoned across his chest was an ad for a wine festival.
Cade.
She watched him cross the room, still handsome as any man she’d ever seen in a magazine, with that lazy, tempting grin and a twinkle in his eyes that seemed to always tease at the edges of laughter. She told herself he no longer affected her. That she could get through a day of working with him—
And not lose her mind or worse, her heart.
Yet, as he drew closer and she read the words curving across his chest, her heart stopped with the memory of the fall weekend when they’d driven up to Michigan to attend the wine festival. Two, no, three years ago. She’d planned the time away for a couple of weeks, reminding Cade several times to clear the weekend on his schedule.
She’d rented a room at a bed-and-breakfast, bought a little sexy black nothing, and hoped the two days alone would bring back the magic that seemed to have disappeared sometime between late night bottle feedings and school plays. She’d thought it would be as simple as throwing on a lacy negligee and spending a few extra hours in bed.
It hadn’t. The weekend had been a disaster of epic proportions, with Cade talking on his cell phone more than to his wife. There’d been one moment, when they’d spread out a blanket on the grass, shared a bottle of Chardonnay and a block of cheese, and laughed—oh, how they’d laughed. She’d thought maybe…just maybe, they were recapturing the magic.
Then his phone had rung and the spell had shattered as easily as a crystal vase dropped on concrete.
And yet, as Cade approached, Melanie found herself wondering if that spell had really been broken or merely needed to be reworked a bit.
“So,” Cade said, “where do you want me? I’m dressed to work.”
Cade had taken her “dress casual” advice to heart and was clearly attempting to appear relaxed. Between the Levi’s and the way he was leaning on the counter, he was the poster boy for relaxed. Only she knew that underneath that well-pressed T lurked a man who hated any kind of disorder.
Nevertheless, desire stirred within her, picturing them together again. On the counter. Against the wall. In her bed. She ran a hand over hot cheeks and pushed the fantasy away.
“How about we start with the basics?” Melanie said, keeping her focus on work, not the shirt and the memories it resurrected. And certainly not on Cade’s face, on eyes that still had the power to set her pulse off-kilter. “I’ll show you how to brew the coffee, then we’ll work up to cappuccino.”
“Before you know it, I’ll be a brewmaster.” He cocked a grin at her and she found herself returning the smile. He slipped behind the counter to stand next to her. A year ago, when Melanie had opened the shop, the space had seemed so much wider, particularly when it was just her and Emmie. But Cade made the place seem confined, too tight for two.
Or too tight for her and the one man she didn’t want to get close to, not again. Too close and she was risking another heartbreak. One was enough.
“Here’s our, ah, main coffee station,” Melanie said, clearing her throat and indicating a cranberry and black countertop machine with several spouts and dials. “We brew it here, put it in the carafes, then make a fresh pot whenever the coffee’s temperature drops below 150 degrees.”
“Doesn’t that waste a lot of coffee?”
“Not really. On a busy day, we can go through twenty pots or more.”
“Can’t you use the old coffee to make those iced things?”
“No, not unless you want to risk cross-contamination. For iced coffee, I have a special five-gallon brewing pot.” She opened the fridge and indicated a big white plastic container shaped like a coffee urn.
“Do you roast the beans yourself, too?”
She stepped back, surprised. “You’ve been reading.”
He gave her a grin as familiar as her own palm.
“You know me. I always do my homework.”
Except for with me, she wanted to add,
