Page 7 of Mountain Bean Dream
Taking a chance on finding something palatable in the motel office, I left my room and meandered my way to the motel check-in where there was always a basket of fresh fruit and packets of peanuts, a coffee machine with a wide variety offlavoured pods, and a small fridge with cheese strings.
“Hey, Jeremy,” I said as I entered and headed straight for the food.
The office smelled faintly of burnt coffee and citrus cleaner, the kind that promised a shine it could never quite deliver. Jeremy’s desk was a battleground of receipts and sticky notes, a battered coffee mug teetering near his keyboard.
“How are things going in here today?” I pocketed a packet of nuts.
A raspy inhale, followed by a breezy exhale. “Busy, can’t you tell?”
Was I missing something? He and I were the only ones in here, and the parking lot was fairly quiet, maybe a half dozen vehicles.
Going by Coffee Loft’s expectations, this place was deader than dead. Perhaps the motel business was a far cry from a bustling coffee shop.
Still dressed in his white tee and grey hoodie withRiverside Motelembroidered over his heart, his ball cap was noticeably missing. It was a nice change to see his unencumbered wavy, brown hair all askew—a sharp contrast to the perfectly manicured beard. It gave him an irresistible rugged kind of look.
Trying not to let my gaze linger too long, I shrugged and rooted through the red apples, searching for the perfect one. I found it and gave it a quick toss in the air. “Busy is good for business, am I right?”
He didn’t bother lifting his eyes from the computer screen. “If business was good, sure. What I wouldn’t give for an injection of cash. Renters are leaving for the season, costs are skyrocketing, and things keep breaking.”
“Like the washer?” I asked with sweet curiosity and sashayed my way across the small space and over a beam ofsunlight peering in through the big window.
“Yeah, among other things.”
I hadn’t noticed what else he could be referring to, but then again, I wasn’t in the motel business. “Is the laundry room going to be fixed soon?”
No need to share with him how yesterday I’d purchased a fresh pack of underwear, which was now drying in my bathroom. Colours in dusty rose, blushing beige, and matrimonial white were hanging on full display for all non-existent visitors to my motel room.
I gently rested on the counter, garnering a long, lingering look from him while I twisted the silver ring on my right middle finger. I too stared down at my unmanicured hands, wondering what had captured his attention so firmly.
Our monthly rates understandably did not include room services so there were two washers and dryers on site for the regulars to use in a locked room. There was also a supply closet with basic cleaning supplies tucked into the laundry area.
Refocusing back on his computer screen, he clicked away. “Part’s coming Friday morning. Should have everything good to go by Friday afternoon.”
For a fraction of a heartbeat, he lifted his gaze and made the briefest of eye contact. Why had I never noticed until now that his left eye was blue and his right was a light brown? It was enchanting. The blue was a darker shade, like a ballpoint gel blue, and the other was a light brown, like a light roasted coffee bean.
“Friday, excellent. Friday’s great.” Two days away. I smiled and as much as I wanted to keep staring and studying his eyes, I tore my gaze away to his hands poised over the keyboard as it felt deeply personal to make that connection. “Thank you. I appreciate you a latte.” I couldn’t help myself; it was as ingrained in me as breathing. Most of the time. Tapping the counter witha slight smile, I turned and started toward the door. “See you around.”
Tomorrow was my day off, so I wasn’t going to see him at the Coffee Loft, but I more than likely would see him tinkering on something around the motel.
“Oh, Molly?”
“Yeah?”
“Idris Elba played Heimdall in some Thor movie.” He rose from the desk and walked toward the end of it.
I blinked and searched around the room, wondering what on earth he was talking about.
“This morning? The crossword?”
I nodded, feeling more than a bit stupid. “Right. I told you to do some research on him.”
“And I did.”
“Well, that’s good to know.”
Jeremy carried on, moving to lean on the back and cross his arms over his chest. “Also, he races cars, is a disc jockey, and has a foot fetish.”
My brows knit together, and I took a couple of casual steps backward. “Two of those are interesting, one is just plain weird.”