Grounds for Romance (The Coffee Loft Series: Fall Collection)

23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

Devon

D on’t get a speeding ticket. I repeat the mantra over and over as I exit the expressway and navigate the narrow streets of Crestline. My fingers squeeze the steering wheel tight, the Coffee Loft a mere minute away.

I replay my afternoon one last time. After Zara hung up on me when David showed up unannounced at the café, I held my breath. For twenty minutes, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. For twenty minutes, I debated, leaving the set and racing to her. For twenty minutes, I realized she was the most important thing in my life.

We’re slowly rebuilding what I nearly destroyed, and I must remember I can’t fast-forward to the good parts.

Twenty minutes later, she texts me with a cryptic message— I need you at the café tonight at seven p.m. Don’t call, don’t ask. I’ll explain when you arrive.

The minute my car turns the corner, I realize Zara is up to something. Something good. A tall man, dressed as a valet, white collared shirt, black pants, and vest, stands in the middle of the street, waving a flashlight in my direction.

He points toward the coffee shop. The entrance is adorned with a Hollywood premier velvet rope and a bright red carpet laid across the concrete from curb to door.

What’s going on?

Three dozen people crowd behind the velvet rope. Camera phones in hands point at me. I pull to the curb, and the valet pops open my door. I recognize the kid; he’s one of Stacy’s classmates. Of course.

“ Welcome, Mr. Alexander. Miss Zara is expecting you inside.” The kid delivers the line better than some of the actors I’ve worked with.

“Should I even ask?”

His smirk provides the only answer I expect. I toss him my key and step around the car where Stacy is standing, waiting for me.

She’s dressed in a long, black evening gown, her hair pulled up in a high bun, and for the first time since I’ve met her, she’s wearing makeup. She sticks a large microphone in front of me as the crowd cheers. The flashes from their phones decorate the early evening like fireflies.

“Mr. Alexander, welcome back to the Coffee Loft. How does it feel to be back at the spot where it all began?” She waves her hand toward the front of the café. A printed Hollywood framed poster hangs in the window— The Coffee Loft Presents the Return of the Bumbling Barista. The graphic shows a cartoon version of me tripping and spilling coffee on a crowd of customers.

I snicker, my hand rubbing across my chin at the ridiculousness being played out in front of me. “No other place I’d rather be tonight.”

Stacy gives me a brilliant smile. It eases some of the concern I had on the drive over. For the entire afternoon, I felt bad I was on set, unable to be with Zara. Unable to be here if she needed me. Wondering if David selected another firm, and she was alone. Stacy reminds me of the incredible support system Zara has always had.

“There you have it—the return of the bumbler,” Stacy directs her comment to the crowd and waves a hand for me to head into the café. I don’t.

I step next to her, placing my hand on top of her shoulder, posing for pictures. It’s a distraction so I can get next to her and whisper, “How is she? Did she…”

Stacy twists and gives me a wink. “It’s nice that you worry about her. I’ll let her tell you what’s going on.” She takes a dramatic curtsey and extends her arms for me to take a bow. “My sister is a jewel. Treat her well.”

Her words give me hope. “I always will.” I walk the red carpet, something I’ve seen others do a hundred times. I’ve yet to earn this moment, and I embrace it. Zara and Stacy have done all this for me. The reason still escapes me.

One of Stacy’s classmates is waiting for me at the door. She’s dressed like a movie theatre usher, holding the door open for me.

When I step through the doors, Mrs. Whitehead is holding a bucket of popcorn, which the café doesn’t sell.

“Welcome back, Devon.” She pulls me into a side hug and pushes the bucket into my hands. “Compliments of the host. Please select your beverage from a specially prepared collection curated by our newest barista.” My gaze follows Mrs. Whitehead’s raised arms toward the counter.

Standing behind the counter, elbows pressed to the countertop, wearing the brown Coffee Loft apron, is Zara. She stares at me with a mischievous grin that lets me know she’s better than good. She’s great.

My feet eat the distance between us. “You got the contract.” I state it as a foregone conclusion. My voice filled with excitement.

“Hush, you.” She smacks my forearms with an adorable smile on her face. “This night is about you, not me.”

“Me?” The sign, the red carpet, I can see they’ve put so much effort into me, but if she’s landed the contract, tonight should be about her. “We should be celebrating you.”

“Plenty of time for that. I like my celebrations much quieter, one on one if you get my drift.” She flirts with me, and it’s the greatest thing.

“That I can do.” I lean across the counter and give her a quick kiss on the lips. It’s not what I want to do, but it’s the most we’ve shared since she found out about my profession.

“Now, kind gentleman, as you can see, I’m the new barista tonight, and I need you to select your drink for the evening.” Zara strides from behind the counter, her movements graceful and confident. I follow her, my curiosity piqued. She leads me to the windowsill where she normally sits, the Hollywood spotlight outside lighting the window like the morning sunrise. It streams through the glass, casting an angelic glow on her skin.

I notice on the windowsill a series of drinks lined up along the length of the windowsill, nearly a dozen in all. A mix of familiar scents hit me next: vanilla, cinnamon, pumpkin spice. She’s been busy.

“Wow, you’ve been working hard,” I say, my voice filled with genuine awe.

Zara turns to face me, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I wanted to show you what a real barista can do,” she says with a playful grin. Her enthusiasm is infectious, and I can’t help but smile back.

Standing this close to her, my heart does what it always has—it beats out of control. I’ve missed this. Being close to her. Stealing glances, our hands brushing against one another when I hand her a latte, us sitting together on my break and laughing.

She lifts her chin, and our eyes lock. There’s something in her gaze—an unspoken connection, a shared understanding. It’s as if she can see right through me, down to my core, the real me underneath.

She stops at the first drink on the table, pointing, and I take a step forward to see what she’s pointing at. “Each drink contains a special stencil art that required half of Stacy’s classmates to help me create. But I think you’ll find it was time well spent.”

“No way.” I can’t believe my eyes. The first cup contains a stencil of a guy kicking a giant mascot head.

“Yep, that was our meet cute.”

My heart wants to burst at the creativity, care, and time she must’ve spent forming this special moment.

“Here’s you dropping yet another set of saucers.” She points to the next drink, the emergence of the bumbling barista.

She directs my attention down the line of cups. “This is your Dr. Pepper collection.” I laugh at the reminder of how my awful drinks drove her to a sugar addiction.

“Here’s one of you knocking over the display case of mugs.” Zara continues to narrate the story of us. Each cup contains a memory I’ll cherish forever.

My hand wraps around her waist as she pauses at the next cup. Our first kiss. I press my lips to the back of her neck. Her scent and warm skin take my mind on a trip I never want to return from.

“Careful,” she whisper-warns, “my sister is watching.” She lifts her chin, and my gaze follows. Sure enough, Stacy and her friends are on the opposite side of the glass, phones pointed at us, snapping away.

“I”—I press another kiss to the crook of her neck—“Don’t”—and another—“Care.”

Zara lifts her right hand, framing my face, pressing it against her neck. “Neither do I, but you have to see the rest of these stencils before they melt away.” She paces to her right. “This is you modeling.”

My feet follow her movement, like a student following a teacher at a museum. She rushes through Xenia’s appearance in the café, a reminder of my deceit. Rushing instead to highlight me appearing as Mister Magic. It’s a majestic portrayal of me, hands on hips and head held high.

She steps to the final cup on the ledge. A drawing of a man in a convertible, driving away, the famous Hollywood sign in the distance. It’s me leaving her. Heading off to make my movie.

I’m confused. Did I misread this entire setup? Is she trying to tell me I’ve raced off to get my dream, and now she’s about to do the same?

“I didn’t leave,” I start to explain. “I’m here. I’ll always be here for you, Zara.” I feel a pressing need to explain myself. I won’t let her walk away without knowing how I feel.

She turns to press her palm to my chest. The familiar move immediately calms me. “I know, Devon. I know.” She tips up on her toes and presses a gentle kiss on my lips. “I have one final cup for you.”

My heart races as she strides away. She steps behind the counter, and the door opens. Stacy and her friends stream through the doorway, filling the café. I turn to the sound of the coffee steamer whirling. Zara has her head down, preparing a final drink.

I hold my breath and wait.

She looks up, a short smile that melts my heart. It pounds against my ribcage as I take in the vision of this beautiful soul. She’s a vision from heaven, and I want her in my life.

I steal a glance at the line up of beverages on the table behind me. The history of us. We’ve come too far and have been through too much for all of it not to mean something. Zara approaches, holding the cup awkwardly, one hand holding the saucer and the other holding another saucer, hovering about two inches above the top of the cup.

“You’re my future,” I blurt out the words before she reaches me. “Future you already knows. But I want you to hear it. Really hear it.” The smile on her face spreads, reaching from ear to ear. I wave toward the cups behind me. “You’re going to need a whole lot more stencils because this is just the start. You and I have a lifetime of memories ahead of us. I’m not going anywhere, Zara. I want you in my life.”

Her giggle fills the air. Her gaze locks on me as if there weren’t dozens of people staring at us right now. I’m the performer used to an audience, but she’s the calm one as if she’s already read the ending. And when she lifts the saucer top, I realize she has.

Her eyes twinkle with a mix of anticipation and something deeper. I glance down at the cup, and my breath catches in my throat. The final cup. The final stencil. The final message she’s constructed for me to see.

Two words, one image. The words I and you. The image, one that tugs at my heartstrings, a perfectly formed heart.

I. Heart. You.

The simplicity of it is striking, yet it carries a weight that hits me right in the chest. My heart pounds as I stare at the latte, the message clear and undeniable. It’s more than just foam art; it’s an affirmation, a declaration that leaves me momentarily speechless.

I look up at Zara, and she’s watching me intently, her expression a mix of hope and vulnerability. The air between us feels charged, electric. I feel the sincerity behind her gesture, the courage it took to put her feelings out there so openly. The amount of trust needed for her to do this. I take none of it for granted.

“Zara…” I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. I swallow hard, trying to find the right words. “This…” Water wells in my eyes. She’s heard me all along. She sees me. Me. “I heart you, too,” I whisper.

She places the drink on the ledge next to the others, and I wrap my arms around her. She nestles into my chest; her welcoming warmth allows me to release a week-long breath I’ve been holding. She presses her chin to the center of my chest, looking up at me. She’s so beautiful. “From this day forth.”

Her words are the declaration I’ve been waiting for.

Our noses touch in an Eskimo kiss. “From this day forth,” I repeat the words. An affirmation and commitment rolled into one. I squeeze her tight. “To have and to hold.” Our lips are a mere inch from one another.

“Are you about to kiss me in middle of the café in front of the world? Remember, my sister is watching.” I hear the humor in her voice.

I nod. “I know. And I hope she’s taking notes to see what two people falling in love looks like when it’s real.”

The corner of her lip curls up—half smirk, half smile. “For real?”

I say the words that are unnecessary but warranted. “What we have will always be real.”

She’s the architecture of this evening. The mastermind, and for that, she gets the final word. The perfect ending. The final words before she presses her lips to mine. “For real. For love.”

***