I looked up at him.

Holst had one of those year-round tans which prompted me to ask, “Are you always this tan?”

He smirked. “Yes. I’m always this tan.”

I knew he was an avid surfer, outdoorsy kinda guy, so I was sure that helped. But he was just naturally tan. His hair looked dark when he was indoors, but I’d seen it in the sun, which accented these amazing highlights. Bastard. I’d kill for natural highlights like that. He was lean, not a solid mountain like Cam and his brother, but it was easy to see that his height and broad chest, well…there was nothing weak about him either…and I wanted to paint him with my tongue.

His caramel eyes smiled down on me as he asked, “Katherine, is there something on your mind you would like to share with me?”

“No,” I quickly returned, and, it took a lot of doing on my part, but I kept any tempting smartass comments to myself.

“All right then.” He grabbed a folder from the desk, opened it, and handed it to me. “Take all the time you need.”

I sat up and put my coffee cup on the floor. A quick flip through all the pages told me Holst had thought of absolutely everything: suppliers, cost, employees, menus…but all of that seemed unimportant when I flipped to a black and white sketch of the interior of the café…or what would be the café when it was done.

“Did you draw this?” I asked, not hiding the shock in my tone.

“There’s one more sketch, and no, I didn’t. I had Frodo help me with that.”

The first time we met, he was cool as Clint Eastwood. All that did was make me more combative.

“I was gonna say you’re talented, but I was wrong,” I mumbled.

“Oh, I have other talents.” He grinned.

“Yeah, I bet you do. I bet you’re good at lots and lots of things.” I was being sarcastic, of course, and I knew he was staring at me. I could feel his eyes on me like lasers.

“I will treasure that back-handed compliment until I take my dying breath, Katherine.”

“Keep calling me Katherine and that dying breath might come quicker than you think,” I rallied, thankful the coffee was bringing me back to my good ole self again.

“There she is.” He smiled wide, and fuck him for having perfectly straight, white teeth.

“What kind of espresso machine did he draw here? It looks…”

“Like the Maserati of espresso machines,” he told me, and that was a pretty good description. “For the price, it might as well be. But I think the reliability and quality would be worth the investment, considering the business we’d lose if it broke down all the time. And the company that supplies them is in Irvine, so if something did go wrong, they could bring us a replacement or service it quickly.”

It was then I looked back at the drawings. They looked like the inside of a log cabin. The picture depicted all the décor of a California mountain getaway with old-fashioned snow shoes, vintage signs, and old glass bottles. I could see his vision, and, lifting my eyes to the room, I asked, “You have a name?” When we’d spoken before, I hated every suggestion he made.

“I do indeed.” He grinned.

“And that is…?” I prompted.

“You worked at Grizzly, the state flag has one on it, so I thought Bear Claw had a nice ring.”

Bear Claw. Perfect for a “coffee shop” that sold pastries with a California theme.

Then I made a decision.

I could be professional, I knew I could. Part of taking better care of myself was to take a risk. And though I was sure Holst calling me Katherine would never cease, I could suck it up. I wasn’t going to let the ghost that lived in my heart or the negativity of my father hold me back from following my dreams. When I felt I could talk again without exploding from excitement, I gave him my decision.

“Drop off whatever I have to sign at my place and give me a couple of weeks to train someone at Grizzly.”

He seemed shocked I’d given my answer so easily.

“You’re sure?”

Well, I was sure about being partners in the business. I was sure I could put my all into it and make it successful. I was sure I didn’t want to do it alone. The only thing I wasn’t sure about was him.

“One thing to know about me, Holst: when I give my word, I never go back on it. Not ever.” Then I moved my stiff body from the chair and walked to the door. “Thanks…for the coffee.”

“Anytime, Katherine,” he called, and, as much as I hated to admit it, the way he said it was growing on me.

Katherine

A week had passed since Tori and Cam’s wedding, and in that time, I’d signed every single document that pertained to Bear Claw. I knew exactly what I was signing on for: a fifty-thousand-hour work week with a man that tested me every chance he got, never lost his patience, and got right under my skin, just like someone else I used to know.

And that hadn’t worked out well for me at all.

Friday morning, I woke to two text messages: one from Tori, inviting me over for coffee and breakfast, the other from Goya, reminding me about his show that night. I washed my face, slapped on sunscreen, jeans, flip-flops, and a black tank…complete with huge sunglasses, and I walked my ass over to Tori and Cam’s for coffee and, hopefully, bagels.

Friday morning was bagel day.

I decided to walk by Bear Claw and see if Holst had done anything during the week. Sure enough, the windows were covered with newspaper, with just a foot clear at the top for light to get inside. A pang of guilt flooded me. I was avoiding him, but I shouldn’t be avoiding the business I’d just invested in. It was as much mine as it was his. I’d been able to push my emotions deep for ten years, and this new…relationship…wouldn’t be any different. I made a silent promise to myself I’d be there tomorrow, armed with cleaning products, to start working on my dream.

Just another few feet, I faced the green gate with the awesome brass knocker and flagstone steps of Tori’s house. I knocked on the front door of the Arts and Crafts home and waited. I was basically furniture at their place, but they were newlyweds, and I’m no prude, but when you walk in on your bestie splayed upon the front stairs of the foyer, her husband’s head between her legs and his naked ass with a peek-a-boo ball sack greeting you….

Dude. You knock.

The door opened to Cam’s smartass grin, which said everything without saying anything. “Kath,” he greeted.

“Coffee,” I returned, avoiding all conversation with him, and walked straight to the kitchen.

I plunked down at the worn pine table, opened my phone to the message from Goya so Tori could read it, and took a sip from the mug Tori had just handed me.

I’d given several kickass—in my mind—housewarming gifts to the new couple. One was a ceramic garden gnome key holder I’d had custom made. Quite similar to the one that lived on my porch…Gozer the Garden Gnome (I loved Ghostbusters.) Gozer needed a mate, and that mate, of course, was Zuul. Most female garden gnomes were busty, but this she-gnome had enormous boobs, wild, red hair, which lifted at the back to hide a spare house key, and a red dress that left very little to the imagination…I mean, if you were into gnomes, you couldn’t disagree this little gnome had it going on.

My other favorite gift was three coffee mugs: two of which read, “My best friend is a whore.” The third read, “I married a whore” and it was just lucky that Cam had a good sense of humor. Most people think the term “whore” is either an occupation or an insult, but I used it as a term of affection. I wasn’t even sure how it began, but I often said it to Tori, and when I did, it came from a place of love.

Tori took a sip from her coffee and lifted her eyes from the message. “Dude.”