Must Love Coffee Read online

  Must Love Coffee

  Sarah Mayberry

  Small Cow Productions Pty Ltd

  First up, credit where credit is due - a big thanks to Fraser and Harriet for living many of the events in this story and giving me your blessing for riffing off your LOLs. You made so many people laugh with your screwball antics, and I hope this story helps extend the smiles a little further.

  Big thanks also to Fedora and Karina for cheerleading me into getting off my backside and writing this sooner rather than later.

  And as always thanks to Mel, aka the Blurb Guru, and Wanda, who always makes me better.

  And finally, with love and thanks to Chris and Max, who make it all worth while.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Also by Sarah Mayberry

  1

  Daniel was having a good day. Then suddenly he wasn’t.

  He and Pete were about to enter Cuppa Diem to order the second of what would probably end up being five coffees for the day. The sun was shining. The smell of freshly ground coffee was in the air. Then he made the mistake of glancing up the street.

  The dog was trotting along with his ears perked up, his tail a delighted curl in the air behind him. His fur was a mottled salt and pepper, and there was a white patch on his chest that looked exactly like an old-timey tuxedo bib. He was interested in everything, eyes bright, tongue lolling—and he looked so much like Daniel’s Schnauzer, Walter, it was a kick in the stomach.

  Daniel froze, his hand on the door. Pete walked into him, pushing him against the cold glass.

  “Sorry,” Daniel mumbled. He ducked his head as he entered the shop.

  When grief ambushed him like this, it felt as though an Irish Wolf Hound was sitting on his chest, making it hard to breathe. He figured that was the price you paid for having unconditional love in your life for fifteen years, but that didn’t make it any easier to cope when the Hound came calling.

  “Grab me a long black, will you?” Pete said.

  Daniel nodded, still avoiding eye contact. Willing the moment to pass.

  It had been two months. He knew his friends didn’t really get what was going on for him, how deep his grief ran. To them, Walter had been just a dog. They didn’t understand the effortless companionship he and Walter had enjoyed. They hadn’t participated in the walks, the faux wrestling, the hours watching football on the couch together. They hadn’t gladly endured room-clearing farts, bad breath, and early-morning calls of nature in exchange for the warm weight of Walter’s head on their knee and his steady brown gaze.

  “I saw him, too. Almost thought it was Walter for a second,” Pete said quietly.

  Oh, God. Pete was trying to be a good friend, but Daniel was so not up for this conversation.

  “You know what this place needs? A loyalty program,” he said, apropos of absolutely frickin’ nothing.

  “What?”

  “We’re hard core, committed coffee drinkers. I think we deserve some kind of recognition for that, don’t you?” Daniel said.

  He was one person away from the front of the queue and he caught the eye of the bearded barista behind the mammoth espresso machine.

  “Be honest with me,” Daniel said. “I’m your best customer, right? Five coffees a day has to put me up there.”

  The barista laughed as he finished steaming some milk. “You’d be surprised. Don’t know if anyone ever told you this, but caffeine is addictive.”

  “I reject that unwarranted attack on my favorite beverage,” Daniel said. “You guys should hand out loyalty cards. Better yet, how about a ‘customer of the week’ club?”

  “Let me guess—you’re volunteering to be our first winner,” the bearded barista said as he created foam art on a latte.

  “Someone has to be the first. I’m happy to be the Neil Armstrong of coffee,” Daniel said. He could feel the tightness in his chest easing. The Wolf Hound was gone. For now.

  “That’s very noble of you,” the barista said.

  Daniel ordered their coffees, and five minutes later they were walking into the warm lobby of their office building.

  “Gotta be honest, I was only half joking about being customer of the week,” Daniel said.

  “Oh, I know.” Pete was smirking as they stepped into the elevator and hit the button for their floor.

  “This could be my big chance to be somebody.”

  “That’s so fucking sad,” Pete said.

  “That was a full joke.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think it was,” Pete said. “I think you’re secretly looking for some way to put your mark on the world now that you’re thirty-two and you haven’t been recruited for a major sporting team, won the lottery, or been invited to star in a Hollywood blockbuster.”

  “You can read me like a PowerPoint slide. It’s scary,” Daniel said as they reached the point where they went their separate ways, Pete to his office, Daniel to his.

  “It’s good to feel seen.” Pete raised his coffee up in silent goodbye.

  Back in his office, Daniel checked his email—just the twenty notifications since he left his desk ten minutes ago—then returned three phone calls. Before he got to work on the marketing report, he spent a couple of minutes creating the world’s worst “Customer of the Week” flyer with a goofy selfie of himself front and center before flicking it to Pete via email.

  Less than sixty seconds later he got a two-word reply: DARE YOU. Daniel huffed out a laugh. It had been a while since he and Pete had participated in some pointless office shenanigans. They were about due, he figured.

  Two hours later, Pete appeared in his office, miming drinking from a cup.

  “Perfect timing. I was just starting to get twitchy,” Daniel said, grabbing his coat.

  “Not that caffeine is addictive.”

  “Wash out your mouth, you heathen.”

  They made the short trip to Cuppa Diem and while Pete was busy putting in their order, Daniel sidled up to the wall near the cash register and pulled his flyer from his pocket. He’d brought a wad of adhesive putty, and he stuck his poster to the wall with a defiant press of his thumb.

  Then he stood back and waited for Pete to notice.

  Pete finished bantering with the blonde server, then joined Daniel in the waiting area. Daniel watched as his friend’s gaze flicked idly around the room and knew the exact moment he spotted the flyer.

  “You’re an idiot,” Pete said, snorting out a laugh.

  “Didn’t want to disappoint you. A dare is a sacred pact.”

  “Consider me officially undisappointed.”

  The bearded barista caught sight of the flyer then. Before long, all five members of staff had found their way over to have a laugh and poke fun at him. Daniel shrugged and laughed with them.

  It was a joke. It was supposed to make people laugh.

  “You have to leave it up now,” the bearded barista told him.

  “Mate, I’m just glad you’re happy to make it official,” Daniel said.

  Pete waited until they were walking back to work before he cleared his throat nervously. “So. You know how you’re not seeing Melissa anymore.”

  “No,” Daniel said automatically.

  “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

  “Were you about to try to set me up with one of Libby’s friends?”

  “She’s really great. I think you’d like her.”

  “I’m sure she’s amazing. I’m just not up for anything right now.”

  “All right. But hit me up when you’re ready to get out there again, okay? I doubt sh
e’ll still be single, because she’s pretty awesome. Really nice eyes. Great sense of humor. But Libby has other friends.”

  “You’re a humanitarian,” Daniel said. “But I’m going to stick with lonely bachelorhood for the moment.”

  “Noted,” Pete said. “We shall never speak of this again. Unless you bring it up. And then I’m all ears.”

  “There’s an operation for that these days,” Daniel said.

  They stepped out of the elevator on their floor. Pete raised his coffee, Daniel followed suit then they peeled off in the direction of their respective offices.

  “Now, I know it’s still early days. I know you’re still doing the licking-your-wounds thing. But there’s this guy Pete works with,” Libby said.

  Cassidy looked up from the email she was firing off. “God, no. Also, can we never say ‘lick your wounds’ again? It gives me disturbing visuals.”

  “Really? Not even a little coffee date?” Libby looked crestfallen.

  “I’m a mess,” Cassidy said. “My house is still full of Jon’s boxes. I have an appointment with a lawyer to discuss the divorce settlement next week. I grind my teeth in my sleep. Trust me, no innocent man wants me in his life right now.”

  “Jon still hasn’t picked up his boxes? What an asshole.”

  “Total dick.”

  “Complete fuck puppet,” Libby said.

  Cassidy pushed away from her desk then shouldered her bag. “Let’s do this.”

  “The reason I mentioned this friend of Pete’s is because he’s a bit of a catch,” Libby said on the way to the elevator. “He’s funny, really sweet. And he’s got a beard. That’s your catnip.”

  Cassidy shook her head. “Sorry. Give him to someone else. What about Allie? She’s single again, isn’t she?”

  “He’s a human being, not a sushi platter.”

  “Mmmm, sushi. Let’s do that for lunch. But coffee first. I’m about to go into withdrawal.”

  To Cassidy’s everlasting relief, Libby let the idea drop. Cassidy had tried to keep her refusal light, but she really was a complete basket case right now. It had been six months since Jon had left her for another woman, and Cassidy had thought she was through the worst of her rage/grief/shame, but lately it had risen from the dead to bite her on the backside again.

  It was pretty galling, since she was certain Jon wasn’t sitting around with his new girlfriend thinking about Cassidy. That was one of the things she resented the most—the fact that he was still so present in her thoughts when he was noticeably absent from her life. She didn’t want to be the bitter, scorned ex. She was thirty-frickin’-one, for God’s sake. The failure of her marriage didn’t define her.

  “You should tell Jon to collect the rest of his stuff,” Libby said as they entered Cuppa Diem. “Tell him if he doesn’t take it, you’re donating it to a homeless shelter. And if he doesn’t come for it, do it.”

  “You are such a hard ass. Does Pete know how vicious you are?”

  “He loves it. The usual for you?” Libby said, joining the queue to order.

  “Yes, please. A large one.”

  Cassidy hovered in the pick-up zone, thinking over what Libby had said. There wasn’t a lot wrong with the advice. Cassidy had been patient. Reasonable. And she was sick of living with Jon’s stuff hogging the spare room. Before she could talk herself out of it, she pulled out her phone and sent her ex a text.

  She felt a thud of satisfaction afterward, immediately followed by a fillip of unease. If Jon came to the house, she’d have to see him. She really didn’t want to see him, ever again. Clearly, not a very realistic position to take, given they had yet to negotiate a property settlement, but it was the way she felt. He’d pleased himself when it came to their marriage, she should be able to do the same – just walk away and slough him off like a snake loosing its skin.

  That wasn’t the way the world worked, though. She was going to have to be civil and sensible and mature. She was probably going to have to sell the home she loved, too, and upend her whole life.

  Anger blazed through her, hot and pointless. Then her gaze fell on the single sheet of paper stuck haphazardly to the wall near the register.

  “Customer of the week? What’s this bullshit?”

  She moved closer to inspect the flyer. A bearded guy blinked awkwardly in the world’s worst selfie. The title above the shot claimed he was the café’s Customer of the Week.

  “Did you see this?” she asked Libby when her friend joined her. “I practically have shares in this place, I drink so much of their coffee. Where’s my award?”

  Libby stared at the flyer for a long beat.

  “Um, yeah.” She frowned.

  “I want to know who this guy is,” Cassidy said, moving over to the counter. She caught the barista’s gaze. “Ari, since when have you guys had a customer of the week program?”

  Ari held both hands in the air in the classic don’t-shoot-me pose. “Not our idea. Danny’s a regular, it was just a joke.”

  “So he made this sign himself? He’s a self-appointed Customer of the Week?” Cassidy double-checked.

  “That’s right. Pretty funny, huh?” Ari’s mouth curved into a smile as he invited her to share the joke.

  “It is funny…But also a little inaccurate, I think. I mean, come on,” Cassidy said, indicating herself.

  “Absolutely. You’re a great customer, too,” Ari said.

  “How many coffees does this guy buy a day, anyway?” Cassidy asked.

  “I really couldn’t say.”

  “Did you…did you just invoke barista-client privilege, Ari?” she asked.

  “I think I did, yeah. Sorry, Cassidy.”

  She smiled. “Not a problem.”

  She returned to where Libby was staring at the self-appointed customer of the week flyer, a bemused expression on her face now.

  “So, apparently this guy nominated himself,” Cassidy reported.

  “Really?”

  “Which means there’s only one thing for me to do.”

  “Okay…?”

  “I’m going to have to skip lunch, though. Sorry.”

  They called Libby’s name then, and her friend went to collect their coffees.

  “What are you going to do?” Libby asked when she came back.

  “I’m going to set the record straight. Of course. An injustice has been done and I can’t just stand by and let that happen.” Cassidy said it lightly, but it wasn’t really a joke. She was sick of being on the losing end of the win/lose equation.

  She explained her idea and Libby laughed until she realized Cassidy was serious.

  “You’re really going to do it?” Libby asked.

  “You sound shocked.”

  ‘No. It’s just you’re usually so… I don’t know. Sensible?”

  “Sometimes you’ve just got to draw a line in the sand,” Cassidy said.

  She left Libby at the café, heading back to the office. It took her ten minutes to compose a suitably worded certificate appointing herself as Customer of the Week (Every Week). She was even a little proud of how real it looked—with the right font, you really could take over the world.

  After she’d sent it to the shared printer, she opened the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled out the photo frame she’d stashed there six months ago. A picture of her and Jon on their wedding day smiled out at her.

  “Vomit,” she muttered before ripping the back off.

  It was the work of seconds to replace the image with her commendation. Once the back was in place, she gave a satisfied nod at how pro it all looked.

  “Dude, you have so met your match,” she said as she grabbed her handbag.

  A quick stop by the stationary store then she returned to Cuppa Diem.

  “These hooks come off if you pull them, I promise it won’t leave a mark,” she assured Ari.

  “Go for it. I love it,” Ari said, laughing.

  Cassidy pressed the hook in place, then hung her frame. Compared to the other guy’s
sloppy, casual effort, it looked killer.

  “Suck on that, bitch,” she murmured under her breath.

  Then she collected her fourth coffee for the day and headed back to work.

  2

  Daniel dumped his laptop on his desk and pushed a hand through his hair. Conference calls were the worst. People talking over each other, which meant no one could hear anything or anyone. Too-long pauses as everyone tried to find a rhythm. Someone needed to invent teleporting, pronto.

  Fifteen emails had arrived while he was gone, and his phone was blinking with messages. Ah, the joys of being a semi-indispensible cog in the digital division of an international company.

  “Coffee,” he decided.

  He shrugged into his suit jacket and headed for the elevator. He didn’t bother checking with Pete, who drew the line at three cups of java a day. The pussy.

  When he entered the coffee shop, he noticed a handful of customers clustered around the wall where he’d posted his flyer. His little joke was getting some mileage, it seemed.

  He was standing in line to order when the people moved off, giving him a clear view of the wall.

  “What the fuck?” He stepped out of line to confirm what his eyes were telling him.

  A prim, perfectly framed certificate sat on the wall next to his hastily made flyer, declaring the brunette woman pictured Customer of the Week (Every Week).

  “When did this happen?” Daniel asked the bearded barista.

  “Isn’t it great? So funny,” the barista said. “We couldn’t believe it when she came in.”

  “But is it true? Is she a better customer than me?” Daniel asked.

  The bearded barista shrugged happily. “Hey, man, I am not here to make those kinds of judgments. It’s just awesome you’re both so passionate about our coffee.”

  Daniel wanted to argue, but he knew it would make him look ridiculous. It was a joke. Clearly, it was a joke. And whoever this woman was, she’d taken his joke and run with it.