Coffee Cup Confessions - Trish Williford Page 0,45
I respect, and I promised him I’d take the best care of you.”
My heart thumps against my rib cage, and even Drew is affected.
“Swoon,” he whispers from behind me.
“Hey, Drew. What does HAF J mean?” Jake questions.
Through my rearview mirror, I scowl at Drew, which only makes him smile.
“Not today, Jake … not today.”
Drew teases.
20
Jake
“You look tired.”
Carrisa glares at me through the screen. “Haven’t you learned anything about women in your thirty-one years of life? You never tell them they look tired. It’s an asshole move.”
“Watch your mouth. I’m just observing. Have you been going out too much, or is school wearing you down?”
“Don’t freak out; I haven’t been partying too much. I’m worried I’ve bitten off more than I can chew with my end-of-the-year project. I’m just feeling overwhelmed.”
Welcome to the real world, kiddo. “I’m sure you’re being hard on yourself. Don’t stress too much; you’ll be fine.”
“Jake, I’m getting gray hair. Look!” She puts her head to the camera, but all I see is a head full of blonde hair.
“You’re not even twenty-one yet. Calm down. There’s no gray hair.”
She sits back in her chair and pouts. “Get my mind off school for a bit. How’s Mama Java’s doing?”
“It’s been really busy. A few months ago, I started selling baked goods from a local baker, and we can’t keep her stuff in stock. We’ve gained a completely new customer base just from selling her items.” I leave out the little fact that Misha is the baker.
“That’s really cool. How about the Saturday night concerts? Are they still bringing in crowds?”
“They really are. Last weekend, we reached the occupancy limit. That was a first.”
“Amazing. I’m so happy to see Mom’s baby doing so well. She’d be so proud.”
“Yeah, she would.” If Mom could see how successful Mama Java’s was, she’d be over the moon. The thought puts a smile on my face. “I’ve had this idea for the past few days … would it be possible to do some updates to the kitchen?”
“At Mama Java’s? Of course.”
“Actually, I was thinking about at home.”
Carrisa narrows her eyes at me through the screen. “Why would you want to renovate? You don’t cook anything but frozen pizza. Besides, the house is only two years old. What’s wrong with it?”
Shit. I knew she would see right through me. “There’s nothing wrong with it. I was thinking of maybe adding a few things. Updating some appliances.”
A knowing smile crosses her face, and I’m in for it. “This is because of Misha, isn’t it?”
“Carrisa, don’t.”
“You have to give me something here, or you’ll need to find someone else to help you.”
“Fuck.”
“Mouth!” she scolds me.
“Fine, it’s for Misha. We don’t get to spend a lot of time together because she’s busy with her baking. If I can renovate the kitchen, I thought maybe she could bake here, so I could see her more.”
“Whoa, wait a second … is Misha a baker? Are you selling Misha’s items at Mama Java’s?”
“Yeah …”
She squeals and bounces in her chair. “Jake, this is fantastic! So romantic. I love this girl, and I haven’t even met her yet. She must be so special for you to go to these extremes.”
She has no idea.
It’s been a little over a month since Misha and I have come back from Curaçao, and although we might not see each other often, we talk every opportunity we can. In a way, not being physically together often gives us a chance to get to know each other better because when we are next to one another, there isn’t much talking that happens. With each conversation we have, I fall a little more.
“Ideally, I want her to be able to do all her baking here. I was thinking about putting in an island, so she’ll have more counter space for decorating. Her best friend sent me Misha’s wish list for when she owns a bakery, so we can work off that.”
“Oh, this is going to be awesome. When do you want to start?”
“Yesterday.”
Carrisa shakes her head with a laugh. “Wow, you’ve got it bad. I’ll work up some sketches. When you pick the plan we’re going to move with, call the contractor Mom worked with on Mama Java’s. He’s still local and well recommended.”
“When can you have the sketches back?”
“Tomorrow afternoon at the latest—as long as you’re not a dick and change things around fifty times.” She gives me a pointed look, but she doesn’t scare me.
“What about your project for school? I don’t want this to interfere.”
“It