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The Cosy Coffee Shop of Promises
Kellie Hailes
Curl up in The Cosy Coffee Shop of Promises with a latte and a scone, the perfect antidote to a grey day!Mel’s dream of opening a coffee shop is finally a reality! A cosy little place turning out the best flat whites and most delicious pastries in Devon. In the picture-perfect town of Rabbit’s Leap no one can stand in her way – especially local pub owner, Tony. She doesn't care how gorgeous he is, she will not let him steal her customers with his fancy new coffee machine!There is only room in their small town for one coffee shop…but when Hurricane Val – aka her mother – is due to blow into town, Mel is in desperate need of an instant boyfriend. She can’t face another hunt to 'find a man' and while Tony may be her business rival, Mel can’t help but notice he’d make the perfect fake fiancé…If they can strike a deal all they need to do is stick to it, no falling in love, no real feelings and definitely no dreams of a happy-ever-after!
Curl up in The Cosy Coffee Shop of Promises with a latte and a scone, the perfect antidote to a grey day!
Mel’s dream of opening a coffee shop is finally a reality! A cosy little place turning out the best flat whites and most delicious pastries in Devon. In the picture-perfect town of Rabbit’s Leap no one can stand in her way – especially local pub owner, Tony. She doesn't care how gorgeous he is, she will not let him steal her customers with his fancy new coffee machine!
There is only room in their small town for one coffee shop…but when Hurricane Val - aka her mother - is due to blow into town, Mel is in desperate need of an instant boyfriend. She can’t face another hunt to 'find a man' and while Tony may be her business rival, Mel can’t help but notice he’d make the perfect fake fiancé…
If they can strike a deal all they need to do is stick to it, no falling in love, no real feelings and definitely no dreams of a happy-ever-after!
The Cosy Coffee Shop of Promises
Kellie Hailes
ONE PLACE. MANY STORIES
At the age of five KELLIE HAILES declared she was going write books when she grew up. It took a while for her to get there, with a career as a radio copywriter, freelance copywriter and web writer filling the dream-hole, until now. Kellie lives on an island-that’s-not-really-an-island in New Zealand with her patient husband, funny little human and neurotic cat. When the characters in her head aren’t dictating their story to her, she can be found taking short walks, eating good cheese and jonesing for her next coffee fix.
To my husband. From the day I came home and told you I was going to write romance novels you never once doubted me. Thank you for sitting opposite me every morning at our local cafe while I banged out words and drank my flat white. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to chase my dreams. Thank you for being you.
To Louisa George. I thought I’d struck gold when you agreed to be my mentor. Gold? More like diamonds. Thank you for pushing and supporting me. As a mentor and a friend, you’re a gem.
To Susie Frame. Thank you for your thoughtful advice, support and friendship. Oh, and the comma policing. Best critique partner, ever.
To Chris and Peter Hailes, Laura Hancox, Natalie Gillespie and Wendi Lane for putting up with my endless questions and never failing to come through with an answer.
To my amazing editor, Victoria Oundjian. Thank you for giving my characters a chance to see the light of day. Thank you for making my dream come true.
For Aaron, who always believed in me.
Contents
Cover (#ua4ceb7b4-f0de-5802-b120-d1f5ac409bda)
Blurb (#u5eae4aa0-0d93-50ad-840c-39e3d1475723)
Title Page (#u7325857e-4b22-578d-b623-63d0d654decd)
Author Bio (#u45b546a7-3b4f-563d-9ef7-c17dc25f7d79)
Acknowledgements (#u0336d5e7-ecee-56ed-a855-d9d7096cd275)
Dedication (#u37244543-2063-5773-a877-bf7c6e63b432)
Chapter One (#ulink_54774540-7b7b-5f48-92b1-a71ff0e10013)
Chapter Two (#ulink_b06b63ad-4e65-526c-8b1e-55b9dbc74506)
Chapter Three (#ulink_893a3f31-c9e6-5abf-9d04-4fc346e560c8)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_9b3d39c4-7cbe-5f8f-bf6e-a5d9d1b787b1)
‘Wine. Now. And don’t get mouthy with me.’
Mel watched Tony’s sea-blue eyes light up as his lips parted slightly…
‘What’s got your knick…’
‘I’m serious,’ she cut in, before he had a chance to be the second person to grind her gears that day. ‘I’m in no mood for your cheek. And I can tell by that twitchy jaw of yours that you’re contemplating still trying to give me some.’ Mel took off her navy peacoat and shuddered as wintry air wrapped its way around her thin form. She promptly buttoned up again and tugged her scarf tighter around her neck. ‘All I want from you is for you to do your job, pour me a glass of pinot gris and leave me to drink it, alone, and in peace. And why is it so cold in here? It’s freezing out. It shouldn’t be freezing in.’ She shook her head. ‘No matter. I don’t care. The wine will warm me up.’
‘Bu…’
‘No. No buts. No whys. No questions.’ She pointed to the glass-doored fridge. ‘Just get the bottle, get a glass, and pour.’ Mel gave Tony her best glare, hoping to get past his notoriously thick skin.
She watched the muscles in his jaw continue to work, as if debating whether to ignore her order to be left in peace or do that clichéd ‘had a bad day, tell me about it’ barman patter. Sensibility must have won, because he turned and bent over to grab a bottle of pinot gris from the chiller, giving her a fantastic view of his toned and rounded rear. A view she’d usually take a moment to appreciate, but not right now, not after the unexpected, and not in a good way, phone call she’d just received from her mother.
Tony sloshed the wine into a tired-looking, age-speckled glass, pushed it in her direction, then punched at the card machine. ‘Here you go,’ he said, proffering the handset.
Mel squinted at the numbers on the screen. ‘Tony, um, that’s not right. You’ve overcharged me.’
‘No, that’s the price.’ Tony nodded, but kept his eyes firmly on the bar. ‘Since the beginning of this week.’
‘Really? You can’t tell me a bottle of wine rose in price by almost double in the space of seven days?’
‘You’re right, it hasn’t.’ He glanced up. ‘But the hole in my muffler is yelling at me to put the prices up. And I haven’t in years, so...’
‘Oh. Okay. Sorry.’ Mel handed over her bank card, embarrassed to have questioned the price rise. She’d heard the village gossip. Tony’s business wasn’t doing so well. Apparently hadn’t been for years, but had got worse since his dad passed away the year before. Not that she knew much about that. She’d been new to town, and didn’t want to get a reputation as a gossip, so had only heard the odd conversation here and there over the coffee cups in her café, nothing more.
‘So, are you going to just stare into that glass of wine or are you going to drink it? Because I don’t have a funnel to pour it back into the bottle. Although reselling it would make my mechanic happier faster. And if you buy two glasses I might even be able to afford to put the heating on.’
Mel shot Tony a grateful smile. Despite his infamous reputation as a ladies’ man, he was also known about the small farming town of Rabbits Leap as being something of a gentleman and had quite the knack of making you feel at ease, which, considering her current heightened state of irritation, was quite a feat.
‘You’re still not taking a sip, or a slug. And, well, it sounds like you needed a slug.’
Mel narrowed her eyes at Tony, hoping to scare him into shutting up with a stern look. ‘What did I say about getting mouthy? And teasing for that matter?’
‘I’m not teasing. You look pale. Paler than usual, and you know you’re pretty pale, so you’re almost translucent right now. Even the bright streaks of pink in your hair are looking a little less hot.’
‘You pay attention to my hair colour?’ Mel’s hand unconsciously went to her hair and tucked a stray lock behind her ears. Tony looked at her hair? Since when? She’d always assumed he’d seen her as nothing more than a regular customer, a friendly acquaintance, not someone to take notice of. Sure, they got along well enough, would chat for a moment or two if they passed each other on the street, or if it was quiet in the pub, but that was the extent of their relationship.
‘Well, you’re about the most exciting thing to happen in this place for the last ten years…’
‘Me? Exciting?’ A tingle of pleasure stirred within her.
Tony winked and turned that tingle into a zing. Since her last boyfriend, the local vet, had taken off to care for animals overseas, Mel hadn’t had any action, let alone a compliment, from a man. And apparently, if that unexpected zing frenzy that had zipped through her body was anything to go by, she’d been craving it.
‘Yeah, exciting.’ Tony’s glance lingered on her face, as if drinking her in. ‘And pretty, too.’
She rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the way her body reacted to the words of approval. She picked up her glass and took the suggested slug. She was being stupid. Tony wasn’t calling her exciting, just her hair. And the only reason he was calling her pretty was because that’s what he did; he called women pretty, he charmed them, he took them to bed, and that was that. And she’d had enough of her love life – heck, her life in general – ending with ‘that was that’ to be interested in someone who’d pretty much created the phrase.
‘Feel better?’ His eyes, usually dancing with humour, were crinkled at the corners with concern.
‘Not really.’
‘Have another slug.’
As she lifted the glass she glanced around the bar, taking in the bar leaners with their tired, ring-stained, laminated tops and obsolete ashtrays in their centres. The tall stools next to them looked rickety from decades of propping up farmers, the pool table needed a resurface, and as for the dartboard… it was covered in so many tiny pin holes it was amazing a dart could stay wedged in it. The village chatter was right, Tony was doing it tough…
Her eyes fell on a machine sitting at the far end of the bar. All shiny and silvery and gleaming with newness. That shouldn’t be there.
Her blood heated up, and not in an ‘oh swoon, a man just complimented me’ kind of way.
‘What is that?’ Mel seethed through gritted teeth.
She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. What was he thinking? Did he have it in for her, too? Was it ‘Let’s Piss Off Mel Day’? She’d moved to Rabbits Leap just over a year ago to try and create a sense of security for herself. A place she could settle down in, call home, maybe even meet a nice, normal guy she could fall in love with. And in one day what little security she’d carefully built was in danger of being blown apart. First her mother calling to tell her she was coming to town and bringing her special brand of crazy with her, and now this?
‘What’s what?’ The crinkles of concern further deepened.
‘That.’ She pointed to the cause of her ire.
‘The coffee machine?’
‘Yeah, the coffee machine. The coffee machine that should not be in your bar, because I have a coffee machine. In my café. The only café in the village. You remember that? The one place a person can get a good cup of coffee? The place that just happens to be my livelihood, and you want to screw with it?’
Tony took a step back as if he’d been hit with a barrage of arrows. Good. His eyebrows gathered in a frown. But he didn’t look sorry. Why didn’t he look sorry? And why had he straightened up and stopped looking stricken?
‘It’s just business, Mel.’
‘And it’s just a small village, Tony.’
She looked at her wine and considered throwing the contents of it over him, then remembered how much it had cost. Taking the glass she brought it to her mouth and tipped it back, swallowing the lot in one long gulp.
She set the glass back on the bar, gently, so he wouldn’t see how shaken she was. ‘There’s only enough room in this village for one coffee machine.’ She mentally slapped herself as the words came out with a wobble, not as the threat she’d intended.
‘And what does that mean?’ Tony folded his arms and leant in towards her, his eyebrow raised.
Mel gulped. He wanted her to throw down the gauntlet? Fine then. ‘It means you can try to make coffee. You can spend hours trying to get it right, make thousands of cups, whatever. But your coffee will never be as good as mine and all you’ll have is a big hunk of expensive metal sitting unloved at the end of your bar.’
‘Sounds like you’re challenging me to a coffee-off.’
How could Tony be so cavalier? So unfazed by the truth? He’d spent a ton of money on something he’d only end up regretting.
Mel took a deep breath, picked up her wallet and walked to the door. She spun round to face her adversary.
‘There’s no challenge here. All you’re good for is pulling a pint or three. Coffee? That’s for the adults. You leave coffee to me.’
She leant into the old pub door, pushed it with all her might and lurched over the threshold into the watery, late-winter sun and shivered. Could today get any worse?
***
Had he done the wrong thing? Was buying that ridiculous monstrosity and installing it in the pub a stupid idea? He’d spent the last decent chunk of money he had to get it. What if it didn’t fly? What would happen next? He couldn’t keep the place open on the smell of a beer-soaked carpet, but he couldn’t fail either. It was all he had left to remind him of his family. The Bullion had been his dad’s baby. The one thing that had kept his dad sane after his mother had passed away. More than that, it was where what few solid memories he had of his mother were. Her smiling at him as he sat at the kitchen table munching on a biscuit while she cooked in the pub’s kitchen. The violet scent of her perfume as she’d pulled his four-year-old self into a cuddle after he’d fallen from a bar stool while on an ambitious mountaineering expedition.
Then there was the promise he’d made to his father, the final words they’d shared as his father breathed his last. His vow to preserve The Bullion’s history, to keep her alive. Dread tugged at his heart. What if he couldn’t keep that promise?
God, why couldn’t his father have been more open, more honest with him about their financial situation? Why couldn’t he have put away his pride for one second and seen a bank manager, cap in hand, asked for a… Tony shoved the idea away. No. That wasn’t an option. Not then. Not now. The McArthurs don’t ask for help. That was his dad’s number-one rule. A rule his father had also drilled into him. No, he wasn’t going cap in hand to a bank manager. He didn’t even own a cap, anyway. He just had to come up with some new ideas to breathe life into the old girl. The coffee machine had been one of them, and he’d spent the last of his personal savings buying it.
But what if Mel was right? What if he couldn’t make a good coffee? Heck, what if she stole into the pub in the middle of the night and tampered with it so he couldn’t?
Tony shook his head. The potential for poverty was turning him paranoid. Besides, the coffee machine was a great idea. Lorry drivers were always stopping in looking for a late-night cup, and who knew? Maybe the locals would like a cup of herbal tea or something before heading home after a big night.
Buy herbal tea. He added the item to his mental grocery list, along with bread, bananas and milk. Maybe he’d see if there was any of that new-age herbal tea stuff that made you sleep. Normally he’d do what his dad had always done and have a cup of hot milk with a dash of malt to send him off. But lately it hadn’t done the trick and he’d spent more hours tossing and turning than he had actually sleeping, his mind ticking over with mounting bills, mounting problems and not a hell of a lot of solutions. Heck, he was so bone-tired he wasn’t even all that interested in girls. Maybe that was the problem? Maybe he needed to tire himself out …
‘Hey, baby brother!’
‘Might be. But I’m still taller than you.’ Tony grinned at his sister and two nephews as they piled into the pub. ‘How you doing, you little scallywags?’
‘Scallywags?!’
Tony laughed as the boys feigned insult and horror in perfect unison.
‘You heard me. Now come and give your old uncle a hug.’
The boys flew at him, nearly knocking him over as they hurled themselves into his outstretched arms. He drew them in and held them, breathing in the heady mix of mud and cinnamon scent that he was pretty sure they’d been born with.
‘Have we cuddled you long enough? Can we have a lemonade now?’ Tyler peered up at him with a hopeful eye.
‘And a bag of crisps?’ asked Jordan, his voice filled with anticipation, and just a hint of cheek.
‘Each?’ They pleaded in perfect unison.
