Catching Harley

HARLEY

The bell rings as I open the door of the café. It was the first thing I had installed when I bought the building, and that little vintage bell just makes me smile every damn time I come through the door.

There’s a line of people waiting for their morning hit of caffeine, but I quickly find Mikayla sitting at our usual table and set the box down in front of her.

My older sister does not look amused. She’s been especially moody recently. Must be the hormones.

But you won’t find me saying that out loud any time soon or I’m bound to get hit. The Harrison women are prone to kicking ass.

“Finally,” she mutters.

“Oh, relax, I’m not that late.” I make my way behind the counter and stuff ten dollars into my swear jar before grabbing some forks.

Every Saturday we use whatever’s in my swear jar to buy drinks at our favorite bar. It’s usually enough to buy all six of us two rounds each. What can I say, I’m an advocate for all the words. All but one.

Mikayla notices my deposit. “What happened?”

I make a pouty face with puppy eyes. “Some prick bumped into me, and I dropped the cakes.”

“Motherfucker.” She slaps her hand over her mouth, then opens the box and looks inside. “Fuuuuck.”

Gutter mouth must be genetic. “I know, right?” I sit across from her. “He didn’t even apologize.”

Marco brings me an espresso corretto. It’s just coffee with a bit of brandy, though knowing Marco, it’s probably brandy with a bit of coffee.

I got a liquor license just so we could make these. Who knew it’d be so damn popular for people to have a little something extra in their morning coffee, especially during the winter season.

A splash of amaretto in the affogato is also popular on hotter days like today.

“Buongiorno, bella.” Marco tries not to let his face falter when he sees the cakes. “Ah, they don’t look too bad. I’m sure they will still taste good.”

He returns to the coffee machine, and I hand Mikayla a fork.

Vanessa and Sam sit down at our table, forks already in hand. Anything food related and these two ladies apparate out of thin air—especially pastries. It’s like a sixth sense.

“We’re here to offer our professional opinions,” Vanessa says in her thick Australian accent.

Sometimes I think she makes it thicker just for kicks, calls it “going bogan,” not that I know what that means. Sometimes it’s best to just nod and smile and pat the Aussie before she bites you or throws a spider your way.

Mikayla knows not to argue with the foodies. Plus, they’re armed. “All right, have at it.”

“Anything for you darlin’,” Sam adds, as if it’s some big sacrifice they’re making by trying the cakes.

They dive into the box and start sampling. And by sampling, I mean shoveling.

Mikayla tries the first cake, then asks, “John’s coming to the wedding, right? I need final numbers.”

I nod, sipping at my corretto. Damn, it’s good. Marco is a coffee god. “Yes, he confirmed last night.”

“He’s so ridiculously hot it’s disgusting,” Vanessa says with her mouth full. “I just want to sit on his face to punish him for how fucking hot he is.”

“And so, so rich,” Sam adds.

“He’s a prick,” mutters Mikayla. “I’m betting he won’t last the week.”

John is the type of guy that draws a lot of attention wherever we go. Women ogle and literally throw themselves at him, even while I’m standing right there.

It doesn’t bother me one bit. I know all too well he’ll be off to fish in another pond any day now. In fact, I’m counting on it, and Mikayla knows it. It’s become a pattern, and I’m not after anything serious.

The whole idea of “nesting” doesn’t really appeal to me, but I’m a woman and I have itches that need scratching with a meat stick.

That being said, John’s been so busy with work lately that the only scratching I’ve been getting is from the battery-operated boyfriend that lives in my bedside table.

I need to change the topic before the girls dig deeper and this whole conversation becomes about sex. “It’s all a bit rushed, don’t you think? The wedding?” Subtle. Good job me.

“I just want to get it over with before I get too big.” Mikayla puts her hand on her belly.

The bun in the oven wasn’t planned, but she and Eddy have been together so long that it’s finally kicked them into next gear.

“Being preggers and unmarried isn’t exactly a big deal nowadays,” Vanessa says with her mouth still full. She sees me watching her and deliberately shoves another massive piece of cake into her already packed mouth. “Dewishus.”

I roll my eyes. “Didn’t you just eat breakfast? Like a goddamn Australian sinkhole right there.”

Every one that works here except for me lives upstairs, and every morning there’s a communal breakfast before we open. I missed it this morning due to my cake assignment, but the woman just ate—where does she put it all?

Vanessa forces herself to swallow. “Can’t you just let me eat cake in peace? I’ll run it off later.”

Her words send my mind wandering to my literal bump-in with that asshat of a Viking earlier. Why was he so damned angry? It’s not as if I ruined his cakes.

I’m so distracted by the thought of his arms and chest bulging out of his tight white shirt, that I don’t hear the girls talking to me.

Mikayla taps me on the arm. “Can you just bring Jack so I don’t have to cut John out of all my wedding pictures later?”

She looks over at Jack, who’s busy taking coffee orders. I’ve known him since high school, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’s gone as my date to an event.

“Jack is bringing Beverly. I think they really hit it off after she did some interior design stuff for the new café.”

“This one,” Vanessa says, and she and Sam both nod approvingly at the mojito cake.

Mikayla rubs her eyes. “Ugh, does it even matter? It’s just cake.”

“It’s just cake? It’s just cake…” Sam feigns overdramatic shock. “~Just~ cake…”

“I think you broke Sam,” Vanessa says, stuffing another chunk of cake into her mouth.

Hmm. The Viking would look pretty good stuffed into a tux. I could wear stripper heels and he’d still be taller than me. I feel myself getting hot at just the thought of him. Damned body, betraying me.