Chapter Eleven

“YOU’RE GOING OUT WITH HIM AGAIN?”

Ana paused in her coffee-pouring to look at Melody. “No, I’m having a business dinner with him. That doesn’t constitute going out.”

“Who’s paying?” Rachel asked, pulling a carton of vanilla ice cream from her old avocado-green freezer. At long last, they’d managed to put together a nonemergency girls’ night at Rachel’s house that they could all attend. Odd that now Ana was the one with the wide-open schedule and Rachel and Melody were the ones who had to squeeze her in.

“What’s the deal with this arrangement anyway?” Melody took the ice cream from Rachel and began scooping little football-shaped dollops on top of the turtle brownies she’d made at the bakery for this very reason.

Ana finished pouring the coffee from the French press into three mugs and fixed them with varying degrees of cream and sugar, her own staying black. “Basically, I’m a business advisor. If we get this investment, we’ll determine the valuation of the business and I’ll get my equity share.”

“So you’re working for nothing unless he makes money,” Melody said.

“I’m still getting paid at a job I’m not doing. I don’t need another paycheck right now. Besides, he’s a friend. It’s not like I left you guys in the lurch when you opened Bittersweet or anything.”

“No one’s saying you did.” Rachel handed the completed sundae to Ana, then took one for herself along with her cup of coffee. “Living room?”

“You guys didn’t need as much help. Bryan’s on a time crunch and a shoestring budget. But he’s got a good story for marketing, and if the product is good, I think it could be successful.” Ana took a spot in the lone armchair in Rachel’s living room, positioning herself opposite the green velvet sofa and curling her bare feet up beneath her. “Besides, it gives me something to do.”

“I knew you were missing work,” Rachel said, settling on one end of the sofa. “How long exactly did you take off from doing anything work related?”

Ana frowned. “I don’t know. A week maybe?”

Rachel held out her hand to Melody. “You owe me five bucks.”

Melody sighed. “You’re seriously going to collect on that?”

“Collect on what?” Ana looked between the two of them suspiciously.

“I bet Melody that you wouldn’t last more than a week before you found some sort of job or side hustle to keep you busy. Sitting still isn’t your strong suit.”

“I don’t know whether to be mad or to demand a cut,” Ana said.

“Neither.” Melody rummaged in her purse before coming up with a five-dollar bill, which she handed off to Rachel. “It’s just the way you are. You hate being idle. But seriously . . . Bryan?”

“I know.” Ana took a sip of her coffee. “I actually feel bad for underestimating him. Did you know he graduated magna cum laude with his business degree? Underneath all that Colorado casual is some brains. And honestly, I think he’s a lot more thoughtful than I’ve given him credit for.”

Melody and Rachel exchanged a glance.

Ana sighed. “Okay, enough with these meaningful glances. Just say what you want to say.”

Another glance before Rachel realized what they were doing and grimaced. “Bryan has been interested in you romantically from the moment he saw you. Are you sure he’s not just taking this as an opportunity to get close to you?”

“It doesn’t matter if he is or not, because I’m not interested in him that way.” Ana sipped her coffee, then realized her friends were staring at her. “What? I’m not.”

“Feeling a little warm over there, liar?” Melody asked. “Because from where I’m sitting, your pants are on fire.”

Ana sighed. “Fine. I’m attracted to him. I always have been. But it’s a just a chemical thing. We can’t control who gives us butterflies, but we can control our own stupid decisions. And he is most definitely not suitable for more than friendship or a business relationship.”

“He gives her butterflies,” Rachel said flatly to Melody, and they both looked at Ana with raised eyebrows.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Ana uncrossed her legs and jumped up from her seat, almost upsetting her sundae. “If you’re just going to jab me about Bryan all night, I might as well leave.”

“No, don’t do that, Ana.” Melody managed to sound a little contrite. “We’ll lay off. We just find your choice of entertainment on your time off a bit . . . interesting.”

Ana paused and then sat back down, regretting her emotional outburst. She wasn’t usually that touchy, but to be fair, it had been a pretty trying couple of weeks. “The thing is, guys, I think this business could be really exciting. I know there are some local roasters who are already getting beans from repurposed coca plantations, but to build a business completely from fair-trade, organic, redeemed farms . . . that’s something I can sell.” Come to think of it, there was a lot more they could do with the socially conscious angle than just the coca-to-coffee thing. She pulled up her phone and tapped a few ideas into her notes app. “If I could get Kenneth Lazarus on board . . .”

“Who’s Kenneth Lazarus?” Melody asked at the same time Rachel said, “Oh, I love him!”

“Recently retired Rockies pitcher,” Ana explained. “I didn’t know you liked baseball, Rachel.”

“Alex does. We watched the entire last season together. We’re talking about getting season tickets one of these days. Turns out when I have time for sports, I actually kind of like them.”

“Traitor,” Melody said, and Rachel and Ana laughed. Melody’s idea of sports was reading about lawn tennis or croquet in her extensive collection of classic novels.

“What about him, Ana?” Rachel asked.

“Well, he has that whole foundation teaching baseball to inner-city kids to keep them away from drugs. If we could do some sort of benefit, with Solid Grounds providing the coffee, it would be great publicity. The tie-in makes so much sense.”

“That’s the name of the company? Solid Grounds?” Rachel turned it over for a moment. “I love that. It fits so well.”

In more ways than one. Bryan really seemed dedicated to the venture, determined to build something steady and lasting. She wouldn’t be surprised if it had taken on a new layer of meaning for him as well.

“Anyway, this all hinges on us getting the funding, buying the equipment, and roasting the beans. I’ve done a little research, and it sounds like there are a lot of elements that go into making coffee good or not. The bean quality has a lot to do with it, but so does the skill of the roaster. You can make up for lower-grade beans, depending on the faults, if you’re a good roaster, but even great beans won’t meet their full potential if you don’t know how to treat them.”

“And you think Bryan has that level of skill?” Melody asked, a tinge of skepticism in her voice.

Ana quashed down a sudden swell of defensiveness. “I honestly have no idea. I hope so, or this whole thing is going to be a bust. I looked up the guy he learned from in Oregon and he’s pretty much regarded as the father of the third-wave coffee movement, so I’d like to believe that Bryan knows what he’s doing.”

“Well, I should have some design ideas for him in two weeks,” Melody said. “I just need the dimensions of the space so I can draw it out. Speaking of . . . What did you think about the sketches I sent you last night, Rachel?”

“I got busy with the deliveries and totally forgot to tell you. They’re amazing. Ana, did you see these?” Rachel pulled out her phone and brought up her photo gallery, then passed it to Ana.

“These are for the farm?” Ana scrolled through the sketches. Melody’s vision was beautiful and magical, and yet they still had the stripped-down industrial vibe that Ana had come to associate with Rachel’s minimalist taste. Rustic wooden tables, old-fashioned metal folding chairs, earthenware place settings with a mix of textures and colors. “It’s like supper club, wedding edition!”

Rachel laughed. “I never thought of it that way, but that’s exactly right. I love it.”

“These are fantastic, Mel,” Ana said softly, feeling a pang at the realization that once again, she hadn’t been included. “What do you need me to do?”

“I’ve already ordered the rentals for the tables and chairs,” Melody said. “If you can just help me with the coordination of the rest of the decor, I think we’ll be good. Rachel has the food thing in hand.”

“Caleb Sutter agreed to cater,” Rachel said.

“No! Seriously?” Caleb Sutter was perhaps the hottest chef in Denver —a spot that would rightly be Rachel’s had she not decided to step out of the fine dining space in favor of Bittersweet —and currently had two of the most celebrated restaurants in the city. He’d also been one of the chefs who had abandoned her in her hour of need, not wanting to hitch his own career to hers.

Rachel nodded slowly. “He’s had this farm concept in the works for a while, and with the success of the Saturday Night Supper Club, he wants to start his own down at his farm. My wedding is going to be something of a proof of concept for him. I gave him free rein, of course . . .”

“Of course.” Ana shook her head. “This is going to be amazing, Rachel. The event of the year.”

“Even better, I got my dress back from the seamstress today. Do you want to see the finished version? The sample you saw doesn’t really do it justice.”

Melody and Ana stared at her. “Um, yes,” they said in unison.

Rachel laughed. “Stay here. I’ll bring it out.”

As soon as she left the room, Ana looked at Melody and said, “I can’t believe she didn’t lead with that. It’s all about the dress.”

“Not for Rachel. It’s all about the food and the place settings. I had to remind her that you couldn’t buy a wedding dress off the rack.”

“Well, you could, but you shouldn’t. What’s taking her so long? I thought she was just bringing it out.”

Rachel appeared in the doorway then, and they gasped. She wasn’t carrying the dress, but wearing it, a simple confection of draped white silk muslin with a deep-V halter.

Ana rose to her feet. “Rachel, that’s stunning.”

“I never expected to go for couture, but I couldn’t help myself with this one.” She gave a little twirl, showing that the halter straps crisscrossed over the back and then tied in front again as a belt. “And look, it has pockets!”

“Hallelujah,” Melody said. “A designer finally figured out that brides need pockets.” She pressed her hands to her mouth, tears forming in her eyes.

“Oh, Mel, don’t cry.” Rachel rushed to her and put her arms around her. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”

“You didn’t!” Melody squeezed her and then backed away. “You’re just such a beautiful bride.”

Rachel sank down onto the sofa, just inches from where Melody had left her chocolate-covered dessert. Ana cringed and swooped it out of the way before it had a chance to tip. “Are you sure that’s all it is?”

“Of course,” Melody said brightly. “And now I know how I’m going to tweak the design of the place settings to match the dress. It’s going to be beautiful.”

Rachel looked like she wanted to argue more, but Melody’s posture said she just wanted to drop the subject. Ana jumped in. “Remind me what kind of flowers you selected, Rachel?”

“Well, I’d picked roses and lilies, but that was before we had the farm setting. I mean, we’re going to be on a flower farm. Do you think Darcy would do my flowers?”

“I think she would be delighted to do your bouquet and arrangements,” Ana said.

Melody jumped in. “What about your deposit for the other florist?”

“I’ll take care of that,” Ana said. “If we agree to do some business with them next year, I’m sure . . .” She broke off when she realized she no longer had any influence over what Massey-Coleman did. As far as the other publicists were concerned, she was all but fired. It was going to come as a huge surprise when she showed up in fifteen weeks and got back to work.

“It’s okay,” Rachel said. “He can keep the deposit. It’s my fault that I made the change. I just think there’s a poetic symmetry about having the flowers done where the wedding is being held.”

“Woo, poetic symmetry,” Melody said. “Someone’s getting all romantic.”

Rachel rolled her eyes and got to her feet. “I should get out of this before I mess it up. You really like it?”

“It’s gorgeous,” Ana said softly. “You make the most beautiful bride. Alex is going to feel like the luckiest man on earth.”

Rachel repressed her smile, but happiness practically seeped from her pores, giving her the bride-to-be glow that countless cosmetic manufacturers attempted to bottle. “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as Rachel left the room, Ana turned on Melody. “Okay, what’s up?”

“Why would you say anything’s up?”

Ana made a face. “Melody, I know when you’re hiding something. Those tears didn’t have anything to do with Rachel’s dress.” She sat down on the sofa next to her. “You can tell me. I won’t tell Rachel if you don’t want me to.” Then a thought hit her. “It isn’t Justin, is it?”

“No! At least not in the way you think.” Melody glanced nervously toward Rachel’s bedroom and lowered her voice. “The charter isn’t doing so well in Florida.”

Ana’s hand moved to her mouth. “Oh no. Justin’s dad isn’t working out?”

Melody shook her head. “He’s great with the pilots, but not so much with the office staff. Monica quit, and she was the backbone of the company’s sales and marketing efforts. Justin is worried he’s going to need to go out there and get things in hand.”

“Oh, Melody. What will you do?”

“I don’t know. No, that’s not right. I do know. I love him, Ana. If he goes, I’m going with him.”

“And you’d be leaving Bittersweet.”

Melody nodded. “Neither of us want to leave. Justin loves his job at Mountain State, but he’d have a similar schedule and more freedom if he took the charter over. And Rachel and Alex can afford to buy me out.”

Ana sat back on the sofa, feeling like the wind had been taken out of her. She already felt like she was losing Rachel to Alex. If Melody moved away, they’d be losing her for real. No more late-night dessert meetings. They could still have phone calls and out-of-control group texts, but it wasn’t the same as being here together.

“On the upside,” Melody murmured, “Justin technically owns several planes. I could probably convince him to fly me here for a girls’ weekend every couple of months . . .”

“Well, there is that.” Ana took herself in hand and hugged Melody hard. “You need to do what’s best for you and Justin. You may not be married yet, but we all know you’re going to get there.”

“He’s already starting to get antsy,” she said. “And so am I.”

“Get thee to a chapel, then,” Ana said with a laugh. Melody was a commitment girl at heart, and she was determined to make it to her wedding night before they slept together. But the heat between her and Justin was practically searing, so it couldn’t be easy, especially since they’d decided to date for a minimum of a year before they started talking about marriage. Which, by Ana’s calculations, was already up.

And even that thought made Ana feel like a loser. She hadn’t met a guy who wanted to wait until the second date, let alone until marriage. Modern dating when you were a thirtysomething Christian woman was beginning to feel downright laughable.

Rachel came back, dressed again in her jeans and T-shirt, and looked between them. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing. Just trying to figure out a way to fix the bouquet toss so Melody can catch it.” Ana winked at Melody and moved back to her position in the chair, where her ice cream had melted into a pool over the brownie.

“Is that a possibility?” Rachel asked. “Are you really talking about it?”

“We’ve been talking about it,” Melody said. “But I don’t want to rush things.”

“You’ve known each other over a year,” Rachel said. “That doesn’t sound like rushing things.”

“And once more, the happily engaged wants everyone else to join in holy matrimony,” Melody said, sounding almost like she was quoting out of one of her books. “We need to get you married first. Now, I was thinking . . .”

As Melody detailed more ideas for the wedding venue, Ana listened with half an ear, only contributing when a question was sent in her direction. It was impossible not to look at her two blissfully coupled friends and wonder, if they’d found love, why couldn’t she? What was so wrong with her that good men flew from her like mosquitoes from a citronella torch at a barbecue?

No, she knew what. Her mother gave her a list of reasons every time she went home: too independent, too assertive, too opinionated. Too wealthy, even though she was more likely to call herself upwardly mobile. And next month, when she returned home alone for her father’s birthday, she would again prove everything they’d always thought about her was true.