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TRACY BROEMMER
TASTE ME
Tracy Broemmer
Taste Me © 2022 Tracy Broemmer
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This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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BLURB
Taste Me
He likes whiskey. She thinks it’s a weakness.
Charlie Murphy wants it all—true love, a blushing bride, and a house full of kids. And Charlie’s found the one he wants. Raised in an Irish Catholic family, Charlie’s used to the chaos and support from a big family. He’s ready to share all of that, ready to share his life with the pretty girl who visits his mom’s coffee house daily.
Tatum Pettit doesn’t believe in or want love—of any kind. She’s lost too many people she’s cared for, and she’s decided it’s time to guard her heart. Sure, Charlie Murphy is tempting—good looks and a kind heart would turn any girl’s head. But Tatum knows if Charlie really knew her, if he got too close and saw the baggage she’s always carried, he would run the other way, too.
But when push comes to shove and Tatum’s dysfunctional past and family come looking for trouble, Charlie not only promises he’ll stick around—he actually does. What’s Tatum supposed to think about a man who actually keeps his promises? Is it enough to make her change her mind about wanting love?
1
Charlie Murphy needed coffee. Yesterday. He’d already guzzled a travel mug full, and when he made it at home, it was strong enough a spoon could stand straight up in his cup. Not that he needed a spoon; he drank it black. Always had.
“Where you goin’?”
Ignoring his little brother, Charlie slipped out the back and headed next door to Murphy’s Brews, his mom’s coffee house. No doubt Sev and his other younger brother, Mal, were in the add-on to the restaurant ragging on him right now, but he didn’t care. Yeah, they’d barely started their morning, and it wasn’t time for a break yet. But then he didn’t need fifteen minutes.
He needed coffee.
And just a glimpse of the woman who always sat at the small two-top at the east wall of the shop. He’d seen her earlier through the window where he was working in the add-on he and his brothers were building. Dressed in pale blue leggings and an oversized t-shirt, hair piled in a messy twist at the back of her head, full pouty lips doing their thing—as usual.
Charlie wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her smile.
Too bad, since his damned face lit up like a fucking Christmas tree every time he saw her. Thank Christ his brothers hadn’t been around to see it this morning, although the day wasn’t over yet. The woman—her name was Tatum—was a creature of habit, and she tended to spend the majority of her day at his mom’s place. Odds were, he would see her a few times today, get all jelly-brained and his heart would pound outside his chest like a stupid cartoon, and his brothers would damn sure notice that.
He pulled the door open, not sure if he needed the coffee or the peek at Tatum more. He hadn’t slept the past two nights. His damned sisters were always trying to make something out of his insomnia, but Charlie didn’t have any baggage. Nothing to unpack. No dark memories from a bad childhood or being overseas in the service. In fact, he knew damned well he had a pretty good life. Didn’t mean he didn’t work his ass off right there beside his brothers every day, but no—no deep, dark drama making him toss and turn at night.
Damned Vianne had to go and bring up that article she’d read about the link between insomnia and Alzheimer’s disease. Now that was something to worry about. Charlie’s paternal grandfather had battled that ugly disease and lost just a few years ago. Definitely not something Charlie wanted to think about in those small, dark hours before dawn.
His sister-in-law meant well. They all meant well, but damned if his family wasn’t just outright exhausting sometimes.
There she was. Laptop open on the table, she stared intently at whatever was on the screen. She cradled a coffee mug in her hands, left leg crossed over her right knee. Charlie took a moment to admire her slender, shapely leg. The few inches of tanned skin between the end of her legging and the start of her gray and blue running shoe.
“Good morning, Tatum,” he called to her as he crossed the floor to get to the counter. The place was packed, as always. Only one table was open at the moment, and both cozy loveseats were occupied. Two stools at the far counter were empty, but Charlie knew those were the last seats to be taken. He’d sat there a few times for the 515 Whiskey tastings, and the flat wooden seats were hell on a guy’s ass after a few minutes.
At the counter, he peeked over his shoulder to see Tatum had barely looked up from her laptop. She rolled her eyes and looked back at the screen. Charlie turned back to the counter with a grin on his face. One day, she would break. She would say hi. Good morning, maybe. He’d make her smile if it was the last damned thing he did.
Then again, she might get sick of him and tell him to take a hike.
Not one to give up easily, he would keep trying. Even if she did tell him to go to hell, he would just remind her hell might be a bigger party than the place upstairs, and that he planned to enjoy himself, no matter where life took him.
