Read String Beans (The Girls of Beachmont #2) for Free Online Page A

bitter, jilted lover. That didn’t fit the woman I’d been, the dreamer,
the glass-half-full woman, the benefit-of-the-doubt girl. But in one day, my
outlook had changed and I’d morphed into someone I never expected—the
woman scorned.
    Add to that, I was
having a hard time finding employment and I should have been wearing a sign
around my neck that read Beware. Bitch
Bites!
    I didn’t hate
everything and everyone…just those who had an extra appendage dangling…if they
were lucky…between their legs.
    My landlord,
Bethany, was great and offered me some part-time work in her bookstore that was
on the first floor of the building. She used to own the whole building, until
bad investments had forced her and her husband to sell.
    She bragged that he
was savvy enough to negotiate a deal where they would remain the landlords for
free, and in exchange they got to keep the bookstore downstairs for themselves.
    Bethany was in her
late seventies, and did everything she could to take care of the tenants. In a few
short days, I’d grown fond of her and enjoyed listening to her stories about
what the neighborhood used to look like.
    But as much as I
liked it, I needed to make more money and I was becoming desperate. I didn’t
want to dip into my savings for too long, but it had been almost three weeks
with no job prospects on the horizon.
    I finished my evening
shift in the store and borrowed one of the books that Bethany recommended. I
was in the mood for coffee, and maybe even some music. It was open mic night and I had yet to check it out.
    No time like the present.
    It had become
routine for me to visit String Beans a few times a week. If Wyatt was there,
he’d make small talk and try to glean some new insight into my life. As
attractive and nice as he was, it was hard to tell if he was truly interested
or just a smooth talker, so I erred on the side of caution.
    It was busier than I
was used to in the coffee shop, so I placed my order and walked to an open seat.
Emma, one of the waitresses I’d talked to a few times, brought my order over
and disappeared as the lights started to dim. I told myself not to look for
Wyatt, yet I found myself searching anyway.
    A burly man that
looked more suited to a biker gang than a hippie coffee shop took the stage
with an old acoustic guitar in hand. There were hoots and hollers as he began
strumming, but my expectations
weren’t high.
    Complete mistake.
    I was blown away by
the voice that boomed from the man on stage. I found myself leaning forward,
completely immersed in his song. It was something familiar, a beautiful cover
of an otherwise crappy rap song. It was incredible.
    When he finished,
the applause was well deserved and I was disappointed that he didn’t stick around
to sing more. As he exited the tiny corner stage, conversation filled the space
and I glanced at my phone to distract myself.
    “Anyone sitting
here?” a deep voice asked, pulling my attention away from the device in my
hand. A man wearing jeans that were too tight and suspenders over a white shirt
with the sleeves rolled up smiled down at me. I did my best to stifle a laugh,
disguising it with a smile.
    “Actually,” I looked
around and spotted Wyatt, offering a wave in his direction. He looked behind
him, probably surprised I’d made the first move, but then he noticed the
hipster in front of me and smirked.

 
    He’s going to make this weird.

 
    The guy standing in
front of me looked over his shoulder and saw Wyatt making his way over,
stepping aside when he was close enough. Nerves swarmed in the pit of my
stomach as he took the empty seat next to me and scooted closer, draping an arm
across the back of my chair.
    “Hey babe ,” he said, drawing out the word
before kissing my cheek. “Sorry I’m late.”
    He tucked a strand
of hair behind my ear and I kicked his foot under the table in response. A few
conversations and harmless flirting didn’t add up to us being close. But he
only chuckled