Closer to You (Book One ✓)

O N E

I hum along to the country radio station we have playing behind the counter, ringing out the ragged, old wash cloth above the soap bucket. Suds drip down my hands and run down my forearms, leaving sticky residue on my skin. I scrub happily at the wooden tables, wiping away old coffee mug rings and excess sugar that spilled onto the smooth surface. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and flowers fills my nostrils as I clean my way around the cafe, scooting in stools and comfy arm chairs.

Nadine is busy chatting with some of our regulars about appointments, dance recitals, family pets, you name it. She's owned this shop for as long as I've lived in this small town, and she's something like family to many of the shops frequent customers. And with a town this small, almost everyone is a frequent customer. After the accident a few years back, Nadine really helped me out by giving me a job and even letting me rent the apartment above the shop for next to nothing. She's the big sister I never had growing up.

I look up at the ringing of the small brass bells on the door signifying another guest. "I've got it," I offer promptly, letting Nadine continue her conversation with Miss Eleanor, a plump old woman with a flare for the dramatic. That conversation will probably go on for ages.

"What can I get for you?" I smile from behind the cracked, blue countertop. I look up at the customer and immediately have to force my polite smile to remain in place. It's not the spiky dyed black hair, piercing green eyes and dark eyeliner that startle me. It's the man behind the dark appearance - Beau Lewis, guitarist to the hottest band out this summer, that I'm taken aback by. The same Beau Lewis, I remind myself promptly, that recently got arrested for a drunken bar fight. And not the first one he's been in, if I remember correctly.

"Did you hear me?" He mumbles impatiently, drumming long, calloused fingers on the counter top. "I said black coffee to go."

I blink at him slowly before kicking my brain into gear. "Black coffee, coming right up. Size?" I ask, reaching for a paper cup as I do so.

"What?" Beau snaps, taking a break from glaring at his phone to glare at me instead. His eyes would be so beautiful, I note, if they weren't so mean.

"I asked you what size you would like," I repeat politely, my own irritation growing.

He has had it rough the past month from what I've read in the tabloids, getting into more and more trouble with the press. I don't know what he's doing here, or why, but I do know that I didn't cause any of his troubles and I don't deserve to be treated like I have.

"Oh. Large," He barks, his green eyes bloodshot with tired, dark circles underneath. I nod calmly, pouring his coffee and placing the plastic top snugly.

He doesn't look up as he grabs for the cup, instead he distractedly bumps it from my hands, spilling the hot beverage on both of our bare skin. I bite my tongue, this isn't the first burn I've gotten working in a coffee shop.

"What the fuck?" Beau's lips curl in a snarl, as he clasps his hand in shock.

"I'm sorry sir," I mumble, aware of Nadine and a few other customers watching the spectacle now. I grab an old rag and immediately throw it onto the counter, mopping up the liquid. "Would you like to run your hand under the faucet?" I offer, feeling heat building under my own burned skin.

"No, God. Just get me another coffee." I bite my tongue once more, but grab him another coffee and a muffin for his troubles.

"It's on the house." I force as wide a smile as I can manage, giving a courteous wave as he turns to leave. On his way out, I watch him drop the muffin bag into the trash bin, not even seeing what was inside. "Jerk," I mutter under my breath as I finish wiping up the counter. I turn, running the cool water over my raised skin. Hopefully this one doesn't blister, I sigh.

"Isn't he in that little band?" Nadine saunters over to me, hands on her hips.

"Yep," I nod over my shoulder. "I wonder what he's doing here,"

Nadine leans against the counter, her smile bright against her dark skin. "I heard his band is kicking him out or something like that,"

"How would you know?" I giggle. Nadine has just about ten years on my twenty-one. Seems a bit out of character for her to keep up with celebrity drama.

"My girls tell me things," She winks, eyeing the table of teens giggling in the corner. To be so young and innocent - I smile at them, too.

"Well whatever the reason," I mutter, brewing another pot of coffee, "He's a real ass."

"Mhm," Nadine agrees, adjusting her white apron over her checkered dress. "Why don't you get over there in the corner," she points lazily, never the person to rush anything. "I'll cover the counter."

I follow her instruction, making my way to the reading nook. Nadine has really created the coziest spot in town - the cafe offers delicious pastries and cakes, with a coffee menu that can be as simple or as creative as the customers like. There's a bar for quick service, and tables and comfy chairs throughout. But this reading corner is my favorite - large wooden bookshelves line the far wall, perpendicular to a wall of windows. A window bench is lined with brightly colored cushions and blankets to snuggle in. A plush rug is dotted with soft beanbags for the younger crowd. And she has the reading corner fully stocked - magazines, short summer reads, and classic novels fill the shelves.

As it is now, I sigh, children's books lay about the floor, beanbags turned over haphazardly. We had a babysitter in earlier, I remember. Still, I scrunch my nose, this is no way to treat the cafes property. I collect the books and return them to the kiddy shelf, turning the bean bags right side up as I go. I trail my fingers over the spines of the worn books, checking for dust.

I peek outside the window, eyeing the sun high in the sky. The air looks hazy, the way it gets only when it's super hot outside. I notice a dark spiky head on the bench right outside the shop, averting my attention. Really? He got a coffee just to go to sit outside the cafe in this heat? For what?

I take the chance to observe him without his attitude getting in the way. His head is tipped back leaning against the window, hair in a perfect mess around his head. It's long, much longer than most guys around here, at least. He has a dangly earring in one of his ears, but I can't make out the jewelry. He's wearing a ratty grey cut off shirt, the openings for the sleeves cut so low I can see his ribs. His skin is tan, tattoos littered here and there mixing dark and colorful illustrations.

His eyes are closed, ringed in heavy eyeliner. From here though, unable to feel his irritation radiating off of him like a heat lamp, he is handsome. Actually really handsome, despite his unconventional appearance.

His phone rings and I immediately look away, hearing it through the glass. I busy myself straightening the cushions and neatly folding the blankets along the bench. I sneak a peak through my lashes, though, watching his tattooed fingers typing furiously.

A loud thud, thud, thud, against the window grabs my attention, like a fish in a bowl. Beau's face is staring right back at me, green eyes piercing even through the glass. He holds up his phone impatiently, displaying a message.

WHEN ARE YOU OFF WORK

My face crumples in confusion, but still, I hold up four fingers honestly, not knowing what else to do. At that, he looks me up and down lazily and seemingly unimpressed. Then he turns and walks away without looking back.

I stare after him, wondering why Beau Lewis is here of all the places he could be... and what on earth does he want with me?