I can feel myself bouncing in my seat.
Even though the air in Bean There, Done That is infused with the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee, all I can smell is my own anxiety. I’m sitting across from Dylan, trying to steady my jittery hands by wrapping them around a steaming cup of black coffee.
I don’t think the caffeine is helping one bit.
If anything, it’s making things worse.
“Dude, relax. It’s just coffee, not a marriage proposal,” Dylan says, but his casual tone does nothing to calm my nerves. “Now, if you were meeting up for drinks at Jaded Brews, that woulda sent a different kind of message …”
My fingers instinctively rake through my hair, tangling in the locks as I second-guess each thought racing through my mind. The gesture, almost a nervous tic at this point, does little to ease the knot in my stomach.
“What was I thinking, Dylan? Inviting Carlie out like this after everything …”
Dylan leans back, studying me. “You’re overthinking it, man. It’s just two people having a conversation, getting to know each other outside the gym. That’s normal, bro. It’s how relationships are supposed to start. Or at least, so I’ve heard.”
“Yeah, I suppose. It’s just—”
Before I can get the rest of the sentence out, the bell over the shop’s entrance jingles, and in walks Carlie. She enters with a careful grace, her movements slightly measured, and each step seems a tad deliberate.
The casual elegance of her frilly shirt and ripped up jeans contrasts with the tentative way she tucks a loose wave of red hair behind her ear. A fleeting moment of hesitation flashes in her eyes before she offers one of her pretty smiles that makes her dimples shine.
I rise to my feet, a genuine smile forming effortlessly as I’m struck by her natural, unassuming beauty.
Dylan’s gaze shifts to Carlie, and I notice a flicker of recognition in his eyes. He grins broadly. “Well, look who’s here.”
My stomach tightens. “You know her?”
God, please tell me they didn’t date.
He waves off my concern and rush-whispers. “Relax, it’s not what you think. She’s a regular here—always typing away on her laptop. An author or something. I’ll explain later.”
Carlie approaches our table, her smile widening. “Hey, Adam. Dylan.”
Dylan stands up, giving Carlie a friendly nod. “I’ll leave you two to it. Adam, chill out, will ya?” He pats my shoulder before sauntering off to the counter.
I lean over, pulling out a chair for her. “Hi, Carlie. It’s good to see you.”
She grins, a rosy pink gracing her cheeks. “It’s only been a day, Adam.” She eases into the chair with a barely noticeable wince, but I catch it. Her muscles are sore but she’s trying not to show it.
I rub at the back of my neck. “I know … It’s just, uh—”
An awkward silence envelops us as I drop into my seat, and tap my middle finger on the table beside my coffee.
Carlie’s gaze flickers around the cozy interior of the coffee shop.
“This place has the best coffee. I’m here a lot,” she admits, trying to ease into the conversation. “I was excited when you mentioned meeting up here.”
“Oh, shit—did you want something? I can order—” I begin, flagging Dylan to come back. What an idiot. It should have been the first thing I did.
She shakes her head. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I asked you here. It’s my treat,” I say, motioning to Dylan that he should focus on Carlie. “Can you get Carlie whatever she wants? Put it on my tab.”
Dylan’s lopsided grin emerges, probably at my usage of the phrase ‘put it on my tab.’ Especially since there is no such thing here.
“Sure, the usual, Carlie?” he offers, with the tilt of his chin.
She beams. “That would be great. Thanks.”
Dylan flicks his eyebrows at me and disappears to make her drink.
I lean forward conspiratorially. “So, what is the usual?”
I have to admit, the fact that Dylan knows what that is and I don’t rubs me wrong.
“Caramel macchiato with two shots of espresso and almond milk,” she says, her green eyes sparkling. However, they dim just as quickly. “I mean, I probably shouldn’t knowing the calories and sugar content. But you know …”
My eyebrows pinch in tight and I reach out, placing a hand over hers. “Hey, don’t do that. That mind-fuckery won’t do you any good.”
Her eyes meet mine and she inhales a quick breath. Something zaps between us—like a kind of acknowledgment or appreciation.
“Here you go, Carlie. Make sure my man here takes some deep breaths, would you?” Dylan says, setting her drink in front of her.
The spell between us is broken and Carlie pulls her hand from mine, blinking hard. “You uh—you two are friends?”
“BFFs for life,” Dylan assures her, patting me on the shoulder again before heading back.
I chuckle, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, Dylan and I go way back. He’s the younger brother I never had.”
Carlie nods, a smile playing on her lips. “That’s nice. It’s good to have friends like that.” She takes a sip of her drink, her eyes closing briefly in appreciation.
I watch her, admiring the way her face lights up with such a simple pleasure.
“Carlie,” I start, my voice a bit more serious now. “About the whole Instagram thing ... I just want to say I’m really sorry for how it all went down. You didn’t deserve—”
She looks up, her expression a mix of surprise and something else I can’t quite place. “Oh, Adam, it’s ... it’s okay. I mean, it wasn’t your fault. It just got blown way out of proportion. Besides, you got the brunt of it, being fired and all.”
I shake my head, feeling the weight of the situation. “No, but I feel responsible. That picture, the comments ... I hate how it made you a target. They should never have done that. People can just be such assholes.”
Her reaction is subtle yet revealing. Her eyes, usually so expressive, widen a fraction, and there’s a slight tremble in her lower lip, like the faintest ripple on still water. The whole thing betrays her real feelings on the impact of the incident.
“Yeah, they really can be,” she says, her voice coming out in a breathless squeak. She clears her throat and adds, “That’s why I’ve been avoiding Instagram.”
I feel a twinge of guilt strike me in the stomach. Based on that comment alone, I can tell she hasn’t seen my response post to the trolls.
“I’m sorry, Carlie.” It’s all I can think to say.
She gives me a small, sad smile. “Thanks, Adam. That means a lot.”
“So,” I whisper, eager to know more about her and shift the conversation, “I wanna know more about your writing. You’ve been so vague about it.”
She opens her eyes, the spark returning. “You’re going to think it’s dumb.”
My forehead creases. “No, I won’t.”
She levels me with a stare, then sighs. “All right, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“You can trust me,” I press, hoping like hell the sincerity filters into my tone.
Her lips twist to the side for a second, then she says, “I write romance novels. It’s a bit cheesy to most people, I know, but I love it. There’s something about creating stories where everything works out in the end that makes me really happy.”
I can’t help but smile back. “Sounds interesting, actually.” I lean in, genuinely interested. “And writing romance doesn’t sound cheesy. It sounds hopeful. We could all use a bit of that.”
“Thanks, Adam.” A bloom of soft pink spreads across her cheeks, and she momentarily finds the swirling patterns on the coffee table more interesting—a telltale sign of her modesty in accepting compliments. “It’s just ... well, sometimes life isn’t like the books, you know?”
I nod, understanding all too well. “Yeah, I get that. Life’s thrown me some curveballs, too. Obviously.”
While I meant it in terms of getting fired—my thoughts stray back to Jillian’s betrayal and the fact that her infidelity led me to Club Nocté.
That certainly was no romance novel. More like a steamy erotic short story.
But it was certainly a curveball, nonetheless.
Carlie’s gaze meets mine again, and there’s a shared understanding in her eyes. “Life’s messy, isn’t it? But that’s what makes it real, I guess.”
“Very true.” I chuckle, feeling more at ease. “Speaking of real, you do a lot of your writing here?”
Carlie nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, this place is my second home. Sometimes my Grandma can be a bit much—she’s my landlord and …” She breaks off, dropping her gaze to the table and shaking her head. “A-anyway, it’s peaceful here. Perfect for writing. Plus, I love people-watching. It gives me inspiration for characters.”
“Characters, huh? Ever base one on a clueless fitness trainer?” I ask with a playful grin.
She laughs, a genuine, heartwarming sound and a part of me feels like it memorizes it. “Not yet, but there’s always a first time for everything.”
“That there is,” I say, my eyebrows flicking upward. “You know, I have a secret love for fantasy novels. Sarah J. Maas is actually one of my favorites,” I whisper. “But don’t tell Dylan. He’ll never let me live it down.”
Her entire demeanor shifts at the mention of books. Her eyes, a vivid green, sparkle like emeralds under the coffee shop’s warm lighting, and she leans forward, the enthusiasm radiating from her as if it’s the most exciting secret she’s heard. “No way. I love her books too! A Court of Thorns and Roses is one of my all-time favorite series. But Crescent City is a close second.”
“Mine too,” I admit, feeling a connection that goes beyond trainer and client. “Her world-building is incredible.”
“So are her sex scenes,” she says, then clasps her hand over her mouth.
Her cheeks turn the color of her hair and I have to laugh, even while a certain part of me takes note. There were definitely some strong female sex-positive scenes in those books.
“You like the sex scenes, huh,” I tease with more of a shitty grin than I intended. “Noted.”
Carlie’s blush deepens, but she manages a shy smile. “Well, they are ... creatively inspiring,” she says with a playful glint in her eye.
I lean back, chuckling. “I’ll have to remember that. Maybe I can learn a thing or two for my own ... creative endeavors.”
She runs her lower lip between her teeth, but she doesn’t say anything to that. Yet, I can’t help but feel the atmosphere between us has definitely shifted a bit.
We talk more about books, diving into more of our favorite genres and authors. I find myself surprised at how much we have in common, and how easily the conversation flows when we leave the Instagram fiasco behind.
“So, Carlie, tell me something about you that most people wouldn’t guess at first glance,” I ask, curious to know more—dive deeper.
She pauses, pondering the question. “Well, I’m kind of a closet geek. I love video games and comic books. Not something people expect from a romance author, I guess.”
I raise an eyebrow, impressed. “Really? That’s pretty cool. I used to be big into gaming myself. Haven’t had much time for it lately, though.”
“Yeah, it’s my way of unwinding after a long day of writing. Sometimes, you just have to shoot some shit,” she says, her eyes lighting up. “Do you have a favorite game?”
“Used to be a huge fan of The Witcher series,” I admit. “I could get lost in that world for hours. Haven’t watched the show, though.”
Carlie nods enthusiastically. “The storytelling in that game is phenomenal. I love how immersive it is.”
Our conversation drifts to other topics, from our favorite movies to our hobbies. I find myself more and more intrigued by this woman—by the depth of her interests and the warmth of her personality. There’s a magnetic quality about her that I could totally get sucked into.
Eventually, the topic circles back to fitness, when I ask her how her latest session went. Carlie’s expression turns a bit more somber.
“Jillian’s session ... I have to admit, it was really tough. Not just physically, but mentally too. Is she always like that?” She makes a face and I can tell instantly that whatever Jillian did with that fitness test, it was not her normal behavior.
I lean forward, concern flooding in. “I’m sorry to hear that. I wish I could’ve been there to make it a better experience for you.”
She gives a small, appreciative smile. “Your sessions were so different. Encouraging, you know? I wasn’t even expecting that when I first walked in.”
I nod, feeling a mix of pride and frustration at her comment. “You know, I’ve been thinking about starting my own fitness business, but turns out I have this non-compete clause.”
Since I was let go, I’ve been doing a lot of contemplation into what comes next. For research, I was looking over my old contract with St. Mary’s and I found the non-compete clause. At the time, I didn’t have an Instagram following or any intention of creating a gym. So, none of that mattered.
But now …
Even if I wanted to get Foxx Fitness going, there’s a good chance St. Mary’s would sue if I don’t wait until it expires.
“That’s ridiculous. They can fire you and still expect you to stick to a non-compete?” she asks, concern etched in her features.
I shrug. “Looks like. I mean, it runs out in a couple of years, though.”
“Well, that’s stupid.” Her eyes shine with sympathy and support. “Screw them. You should go for it—you know, better to ask forgiveness than permission. You’d be great at running your own place. I’d sign up in a heartbeat.”
“You would?” I ask, trying to mask the sudden excitement in my voice.
She nods, her emerald eyes sincere. “Absolutely. Your approach to training is ... different. It’s more personal, more empowering. You know?”
I sit back, mulling over her words. The idea of her being one of my first clients in a new venture sends an unexpected thrill through me—even if the non-compete clause looms over me like a dark cloud.
I need to find a way around it.
“You’re right. I’ll figure something out,” I say, more to myself than to her. “I can’t let a piece of paper stop me from doing what I love. Right?”
“That’s the spirit,” she says, beaming back at me. “When you do start your own thing, let me know. I’ll race right over. Okay, well, maybe not race, because chance are I’ll still be in pain from Jillian’s workouts, but you know what I mean.”
The promise in her words fuels a new determination within me. I need to make this happen, not just for me, but for potential clients like Carlie who want what I have to offer.
The conversation continues, and I find myself not wanting it to end. There’s a comfort in her presence, and a sense of ease I haven’t felt in a long time. Maybe ever.
However, as our coffee date draws to a close, I take a deep breath, mustering the courage to ask, “Carlie, would you ... I mean, can we do this again? Maybe grab dinner next time?”
She smiles, the corners of her eyes crinkling in a way that tugs at my heart. “I’d like that, Adam. Dinner sounds great.”
“How does tomorrow night sound?” I ask, wanting to pin her down before she leaves.
She nods. “Sounds perfect.”
As she stands to leave, there’s a moment’s hesitation—a subtle bracing herself before she moves. Carlie’s gait, usually fluid, albeit a bit off-center, carries a hint of carefulness as she takes slow, backward steps toward the door.
Her gaze holds mine, brimming with unspoken words. A tender hope, fragile yet resilient, blossoms in the space between us as she makes her way to the door and waves as she exits.
Dylan comes over, dropping into the seat Carlie just vacated. “So, how’d it go, Casanova?”
I grin, feeling more hopeful than I have in a long time. “Better than I could’ve imagined. She’s amazing, Dylan.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “I told you, man. Just two people having coffee.”
I stand up, feeling like a weight’s been lifted off my shoulders. “Yeah, just two people having coffee.”
But I think it might be the start of something more.