Page 36 of The F*ck-It List

I’ve long since stopped being surprised when complete strangers know my name, news spreads around this village like herpes at an orgy.I smile wide and come out from where I was stood behind the counter, arm outstretched toward her.

“Hi, yes, I’m Bea.”

“Ruth James,” the lady says, shaking my hand with a firm grip. “It’s so good to finally meet you, dear. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, yes. The whole village is talking about the pretty new coffee girl and the promise of a lively new café.”

My cheeks heat and for the briefest moment I wonder if August was one of the ones calling me pretty, but that screams desperation, so I mentally kick myself. “Well, I don’t know about lively, but I can promise decent coffee and hopefully some good food.”

“We’ve been much in need of such a place, and I hope for all our sakes you thrive.” She puts a warm hand on my shoulder and squeezes slightly. “Now, I know you’re not open, but might I trouble you for a coffee and somewhere to sit?”

I can’t help my smile, this woman reminding me of all the good parts of my grandmother, the parts that made me love her and want to spend time with her even though she usually spent our time together complaining about my mother. “Actually, I’m happy to welcome customers today. Please take a seat, maybe I could join you for a cup?”

The smile she gives me makes me feel like I’ve said the right thing. “How much do I owe you for a latte?” she asks, as she sits in one of my mismatched chairs, the claws of her tiny companion scratching at the wood floor as he struggles to get grip and catch up. Choosing a plush wingback that suits her well, she picks up her simple but designer black leather handbag, lifting it to her lap.

“You’re my first customer,” I say. “Coffee is on me. I’d love to throw in a cake or cookie if you tell me the kind of thing you like, I’ve been busy baking since yesterday.”

Again, her amused smirk is almost prideful, and I get the impression I’ve passed some kind of test. “Well, that’s very generous of you, dear. I happen to be a slut for chocolate.”

I choke on my own breath and spill the milk I’m pouring into the jug for steaming. I don’t know if I’ve gone pale or bright red when I spin back to look at her, mouth gaping, eyes bugging. The woman—who I have to assume is closer to eighty than seventy—throws her head back and cackles.

“Oh, you’re going to be fun, Bea.” She laughs, and her little dog yaps.

I don’t know what to say to that, so I scoop my jaw off the floor, clear up the milk, and make a latte before plating up my gooiest square of brownie. I sit with Ruth James with my own coffee and we chat for what feels like hours. I find myself falling in love with this woman. She’s funny and crude, warm and charming. She asks about my books, which gives me endless things to say, and she listens like it might actually interest her.

“Bea, I have to say, you are an absolute delight,” Ruth says, popping the final piece of brownie in her mouth. When she’s swallowed it down, she dabs a napkin around her still perfect lipstick. “You’re going to be good for Port Doone.”

I smile in amusement. “Have I passed your test?”

“With flying colours,” she says, not even trying to deny it. “This village is important to me, to a lot of people, and I want good things for it. You’re good things.”

“Well, thanks.” I chuckle.

The bell chimes again and I sit up straight when Connor bursts in, not wearing his school uniform like he usually does when he comes to me in the afternoon. Instead, he’s in jeans and a Metallica t-shirt with multiple holes, carrying long planks of wood over his shoulder.

“Men are here,” he says in a forced deep voice. “We build for the women folk.”

“What?” I scrunch my face up, completely confused.

Connor proceeds into the café and carefully places the wood down, resting it up against the wall where the ill-fated bookshelves were but are now basically firewood in the back storage room.

“Con, what are you—?”

The bell rings again and I basically get whiplash from the double take I do. August appears in the doorway, swathed in summer sunlight, dust motes dancing in the golden hue behind him creating a shimmering halo effect. His torso bare and his t-shirt hanging from his working jeans pocket, the denim splattered in white paint and tight to his enormously thick thighs. A large toolbox hangs from one hand at his side, his forearm straining with the weight, veins protruding.

“Okay.” He sighs in that grumpy grumble I’m starting to associate with him. “Let’s build you a library.”

My mouth has dried like the Sahara, a tug pulling low in my belly and my heart making itself known beneath my breast.

“Are you quite alright, dear?” Ruth asks me, the side of her mouth tipped up in amusement.

“That is the single sexiest thing that has ever happened,” I breathe, my brain losing any filter I may have had.

Ruth laughs quietly to herself as she brings her cup to her lips again. After an obnoxiously loud sip, she addresses the half-naked dreamboat promising me a library. “August, darling, did you forget your shirt, or are you just trying to impress the young lady?”

I blanch, fumbling with my coffee, nearly spilling the dregs left at the bottom. August frowns, looking down at himself like he forgot he was bare. Tugging the white t-shirt from his jeans, he pulls it on.