The Long Way Home (Corps Security #6)(6)

“Soon.”

That’s it.

Just one word.

The first he’s ever spoken to me in the three years he’s come in here. His voice sounds like he never uses it at all.

Rusty, deep, and full of masculine seduction.

I’m so stunned, I didn’t even realize he had left until I feel Ella’s fingertip at my chin, closing my gaping mouth.

“What was that?” she exclaims on a shocked whisper.

“I have no idea.”

What was that, indeed?





“Please Notice” by Christian Leave



“What do you think they’re talking about in there?” Ella asks.

I stop restocking the clean mugs and look toward the room for the hundredth time since the other two men arrived.

“I don’t know. Sports, maybe?”

“Have you ever seen men need to go into a private room to talk about sports?”

“Have you ever understood why men do a lot of the things that men do?”

“Fair played, my friend. Fair played.”

“Why don’t you go top off Mr. W? He should be leaving soon, and you know he doesn’t like Grace to know he’s been sipping Jameson all day. Don’t forget to get the bottle so he doesn’t try to take it home again.”

Ella laughs and walks toward Mr. W. His face lights up the second she sidles up and places her butt on the arm of his chair, rubbing her hand over his bald head.

I look down at the mugs, each one unique and funky, and feel another rush of pride for Olde Mug. Even all these years later, I still feel like it was the first week I opened the doors, and I pray that feeling never leaves.

I’ve always had an affliction for beautiful old mugs. The older and unique, the better. It started from my grandmother, who had an extensive collection, but she never minded that I wanted to play with her expensive mugs like they were nothing but a cheap doll. She was, without a doubt, the kindest adult that I ever had in my life growing up. I knew when I opened Olde Mug that I wanted that part of her—and the happiness those memories gives me—into this place. The rest of the hippie meets Victorian era design was all me and Riley. Of course, she was too young at two to really understand what she was doing, but I purchased any couch or chair she gravitated to during our estate sale hunting. It didn’t take long for the place to come together, and the result is nothing short of flawless—the perfect mix of old historical Boston, a reformed socialite, and a sassy little girl.

Bean & Co.

Riley and me.

Forever.

“Hey.”

I snap my head up from the mug I had been holding in my hand, contemplating while my mind wandered. I adjust my eyes when I realize it’s one of Drew’s friends. Hunt, I believe. A quick glance at the room shows that all three remaining men are still heavy in conversation. I turn my attention back to the man before me, standing straight and keeping my voice calm. They all make me nervous, but more because they’re huge, and larger men have always given me a little pause. For good reason, too.

“Hello, again. I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten your name. It’s Hunt, right?”

“Hunting, but my first name is Ben.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware,” I start, confused. “Which would you prefer to be addressed by?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he responds, seemingly annoyed in tone even though his body language is completely relaxed and calm.

“Of course it does. It’s your name, isn’t it? Surely, you know which you prefer to be called. I have three first names as my full name, so I’m very used to the confusion of people not knowing how to address me.”

“It’s something,” he mutters under his breath. “Call me Ben.”

“That wasn’t that hard, right?” I give him a smile, and his lips twitch. “Well, what can I do for you, Ben?”

He grunts out a laugh. “You always been this scripted?”

My back jerks straight. “Excuse me?”

He holds his hands up. “I didn’t mean to offend you, just trying to figure out if you’re like this with all your customers or if I just got the special treatment today?”

“I’m polite.”

“You are. You’re also someone who I would say would be more prone to the galas and fundraising luncheons, but here you are, rocking a kick-ass coffee shop.”

“For your information, I could do both.” I cross my arms over my chest, trying to relax the whole high-society aura he can clearly see.

“You could, but you don’t.”

“How do you know that I don’t? For all you know, I might have a function tonight.”

Oddly, his questioning and mockery of my upbringing doesn’t bother me. I don’t really have many friends, so this kind of teasing banter is a welcome change to the chatter of Ella and a five-year-old.

“Isn’t much I don’t know, Olivia Elizabeth Kelley.”

“That isn’t exactly master detective work, Ben. My name’s listed on things all over the shop,” I joke.

He just cocks a brow.

“For your information, I haven’t been part of the galas and luncheon world of Boston for years. It’s a product of my upbringing, I’m afraid. Ingrained in a way that you’re just stuck with polite conversation,” I continue, not annoyed anymore.