For her, I would do anything. For that asshole she’s related to, I’d rather make him a nice big cup of sewer water.
But I can’t. I have to play nice for my best friend, and that means treating Carter well.
“Sure.” My smile is brilliant and I let my gaze drift so it meets Carter’s, who’s watching me very carefully. He’s lurking a few feet behind her, as if he’s afraid to get too close, and I’m thinking he’s smarter than I first gave him credit. “What do you guys want?”
“Iced caramel macchiato for me, please. Nonfat milk, you know the drill. Carter?” Caroline turns to speak to her brother. “Get over here. Stella wants to know your drink order.”
He makes his way to the counter very slowly. Cautiously. Like I’m a wild animal who will snap his pretty head off with one bite. I wish I could. That would be immensely satisfying. “I’ll have whatever you’re having,” he tells Caroline, not bothering to look at me, the jerk.
His deep voice is just as delicious as I remember. And he’s just as attractive as I remember too. I mean, no surprise, right? Of course his voice is still sexy. Of course he’s still gorgeous.
I hate him.
“I didn’t think you liked macchiatos.” Caroline frowns at Carter, and he frowns right back. “Too much milk, remember?” Want to know a fun fact? When we were younger, these two didn’t get along. At all. It remained the same right into adulthood.
But somehow over the course of their relationship, Alex has convinced Caroline that family is everything, and while I’m a big believer in that sentiment and come from a very close family myself, I feel like having Carter here will be an enormous pain in my ass and could possibly push Caroline and me apart.
Yes, I’m that petty. So sue me.
“Are you lactose intolerant?” I ask Carter, my voice light and airy. Like I’m a sweet little barista who has great concern for my customer’s bowels.
He barely looks at me. Guess he can’t face me when we’re this close. Does he remember the last time we were this close? When his mouth came down on mine and his hand slipped between my legs…
“No. I happen to love macchiatos.” Oh, he sounds like a complete snot. It’s almost funny. “I just…prefer them hot. And definitely with nonfat milk. One less pump of caramel, too.”
Sighing, I grab a paper cup and my black Sharpie. I know where this is going. I believe we’ve had this sort of conversation before, Carter and I. Pretty sure I’ve made him a drink or two at Sweet Dreams in this lifetime. Before everything as we know it changed. “Would you rather have a skinny vanilla latte?”
The relief on his face is almost comical. “Yes.” He pauses for a moment, and I lift my gaze to find he’s watching me with a hint of smolder. Ooh, fuck that smoldering bit! I hate it! “Please.”
“Coming right up!” I scribble a little special something on his cup and get to work, making Caroline’s drink first. The line at the counter is long, as usual, and it’s midafternoon, so they’re all looking for a quick coffee break to take them through the rest of their day. Some want sweets as well, and we have plenty of those to offer.
Caroline didn’t bother going to the register because she knows my father will turn her money away. Carter, on the other hand… I’d ask my father to charge him double the normal amount, and I bet he’d do it too. Especially if I never mentioned who Carter was.
But my father knows Carter. Vaguely. My brothers definitely know Carter, and they’ll give him free wine and food too.
So annoying.
He doesn’t deserve freebies. Or niceties. My brothers should string him up by his balls. My father should sock him right in the kidneys. I’d like to smack my palm across his obscenely handsome face. Maybe kiss it first. Kiss his lips, I should add. Just once. To see if he’s still just as skilled as he was last time—
“Stella! Where’s my chai latte?”
I jolt, glancing up to find my cousin Sabina watching me, irritation written all over her pretty features. She works the front counter for us mostly on the weekends, but sometimes after school. She’s only seventeen, and full of attitude, so I glare at her, muttering naughty words in Italian under my breath as I go about finishing up Caroline’s drink order.
“Give me a minute,” I finally say to Sabina, who only rolls her eyes in response.
Our other barista—Glenn, who should be called a baristo, in my opinion—magically appears beside me, tying his apron on as he scans the line of empty cups that represents all the orders that are backed up. “Looks like I arrived just in time.”
“You’re my hero,” I say sarcastically, but I mean it. Glenn is sweet. He’s fifty-five years old, with a thick graying beard and kind brown eyes. He started working at Sweet Dreams almost a year ago, and is an excellent barista.
He’s also loaded—maybe more than my family—but he got bored once he retired after selling all of his very successful and varied businesses. His wife gave him an espresso machine for Christmas and he became so skilled with it, she started teasing him that he should work at a coffee place. That’s how he came to us. His hobby has turned into a job. A job that pays very well, but I don’t think Glenn cares about the money. He’s satisfied with making specialty coffees four hours a day, four days a week.
Whatever floats your boat, am I right?
I make Carter’s skinny vanilla latte next—I wish I could put something in it to give him hell (nothing poisonous, of course) but there’s no time—and set both drinks on the counter, offering Caroline a smile. “Here you go.”
“You are a life saver, Stel.” She leans in and gives me a quick peck on the cheek, and my heart softens. I love my best friend. I really do. She’s been there for me through thick and thin, and I’ve done the same for her.
But her brother is a complete asswipe, and if I could, I’d toss his skinny vanilla latte at his chest and pray the coffee would permanently stain his pristine white button-down shirt.
Just like the memory of our one night together is permanently stained on my brain.
Three
Carter
“It’s always so busy in here. I wonder if Stella’s had a break yet,” Caroline says worriedly, shooting a contemplative look in her best friend’s direction. I don’t bother glancing over my shoulder. I know exactly what Stella looks like.
I even know what she looks like naked. Not that I’d say such a thing to my sister.
“I’m sure she has. Doesn’t she practically run this place? I’m sure she’s as busy as she wants to be.” Sweet Dreams is always packed, as it is currently. I’m surprised Stella made me a free drink, exactly what I wanted. I take a sip—it’s damn good too.
Everything about her is damn good, if you ask me, but I’m thinking she’s not too pleased with me right now. Might have something to do with how I snuck out of her bedroom in the early morning hours after our one—fucking amazing—night together, and then never talked to her again. Until this very moment.
She probably hates me. I deserve her hatred too. Hence my reason for not wanting to approach her at first. I worried she might fling hot coffee in my face and scar me for life.