Chapter one
Noelle
Theworstthingaboutowning a café? Having to listen to your patrons talk about fucking your best friend.
Like yeah, he’s hot. This man is sculpted like a fucking Greek god, with a smile that could thaw the permafrost and a bone structure that would be a blessing to any bloodline.I get it.But I don’t need to hear about him fucking randoms—I have enough trouble trying not to imagine him naked as-is.
Suds soak my candy-cane striped nails as I scrub the counter, trying to get the sticky soda spill off the surface. I should really stop giving soda to kids; it only ever leads to more work.
At the other end of the counter, the hushed tones of two young women I don’t recognize carry enough for me to hear every word of their conversation. One of them spotted a cute guy at the hardware store, and she’s pretty certain he’s a hockey player. The other girl counters that his name is Marvel something, and that he slept with her twin once.
Yeah, right. She’s far from his type.
I know, because she looks like me. AndI’mfar from his type, as evidenced by the last supermodel he dated.
The milky sun streams in through the large windows to land on the checkered tile beneath my feet, shining from the fresh polishing I did this morning. I turn my back on the girls and their mindless gossip to fix one of the picture frames that hangs crooked on the light-pink wall. It won’t stay in place, always swaying one end or the other, and it pisses me off more every day. But what did I expect? I’m a café owner, not a handyman. And it’s not like I have anyone to ask for help.
As if she were summoned by the thought, the bell at the door rings to reveal my mother in all her flighty and immature glory, the latest boyfriend-of-the-week hanging on her arm.
“No-No!” she exclaims, and I can barely keep the grimace off my face. As childhood nicknames go, I’m sure it’s not the worst. But it gets really irritating when she still calls you that when you’re twenty-four and more of an adult than your mother ever was.
I force a smile to my face. “Mom, what brings you here?”And more importantly, how can I get you to leave?
I’m sure most people would be thrilled to see their mother, especially to have them there to support their business. I wouldn’t know. I’ve been the owner of the Candy Cane Café for three years now, and this is only the second time she’s ever stepped foot in it.
My mother glances around her, taking in every chip in the paint and tear in fabric. I’m sure she disapproves, but she thankfully doesn’t say. “I heard about that terrible storm heading our way, and I just wanted to make sure my baby was okay. You know, Harry and I would love to host you for the weekend at his house. He has a spare bedroom.”
I stare at her for a long moment, biting back a laugh. There’s a vast list of things I would rather do than take her up on her offer; sleep outside and freeze to death in the snow, drink a milkshakemade from the sludge in my gutters. But even after all she’s put me through, she doesn’t need to know that.
“No, thank you. I’ll be fine.”
My mother cocks her head, scanning my face. “Baby, I don’t think I can leave here knowing you’ll be going through this all alone in that tiny apartment. Did I see a crack in that window just now? Is that even safe?”
Of course she had to see that. She didn’t notice when her boyfriends barely let me eat or drink or even speak when I was a kid, but a flaw on my end? That’s something she’ll never not notice.
“I won’t be alone, nor will I be here,” I say. It’s a total lie, of course, but I’m desperate for her to leave. Never mind the memories, her energy alone pisses me off. “I’ll be at Cole’s. He is picking me up after closing.”
Surprise passes through my mother’s expression for only a moment, a bright smile taking its place. You can’t tell me it’s not fake. “Oh,that’sstill going on?”
I’m not sure what she means by that, but I’m not about to ask.
“Sure is. Hope you guys stay safe!” I smile. It looks like she wants to say more, but I don’t give her the chance. Instead, I rush into the kitchen and press my back against the door, blowing out a breath. My chef, Manny, shakes his head with a smile.
“That woman never learns, does she?” he smirks, one grey eyebrow jutting up when he shakes his head. There is only one thing Manny loves more than food, and that’s gossip. It’s one of the things I love most about him.
“Can’t learn something you don’t want to hear,” I sigh. “Status?”
Manny glances through the window into the café, eyes narrowing slightly. “A few more seconds and she’s gone.”
“And we’ll all be better for it.”
I can’t believe she’s pulling this shit again. After all those years of living in uncertainty, of being homeless the moment her boyfriend is done with her…I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. If you make your kid go through that, you’re beyond saving.
My heart tightens at the thought of spending the weekend with them, to be forced to rely on someone for the basics again. I worked too hard for too long to let myself slide back into that arrangement again. You can’t expect anyone to provide for you, in any department. You have to do that for yourself. No one is going to save you if things go sideways.
My lungs burn and I draw a deep breath to push the panic down, but all it does is give oxygen to the fire.
Pull yourself together. I glance around the kitchen, dodging Manny’s worried glance. I don’t feel like explaining my fucked up childhood even more; he knows the basics, which are bad enough all on their own. There’s a pot on the stove holding soup, so I go over and slap my hand to the side, leaving it just long enough to snap me out of my panic but not long enough to leave a burn.
