Better latte than never, p.1
Better Latte Than Never, page 1
Better Latte Than Never
CC Bridges
Published by CC Bridges, 2023.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
BETTER LATTE THAN NEVER
First edition. June 21, 2023.
Copyright © 2023 CC Bridges.
Written by CC Bridges.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Thank You
Also By CC Bridges
About the Author
Chapter 1
Finn wiped the grit from his watery eyes. Who knew that staring at a blank computer screen for so long could cause eyestrain? There had been two paragraphs in his document a few minutes ago, but Finn hated every word and deleted it all with a single click of the mouse.
His head started to pound, and Finn pushed his office chair away from the desk. He wasn’t getting a damn thing done today. It gave him the perfect excuse to go sneak up on his boyfriend, Theo, and demand some private attention.
They hardly got to spend any time together. Finn had this mansion in LA—the one he’d been talked into buying by his accountant—and Theo spent much of his time traveling, scouting locations for his movies. And of course, Finn had to keep their relationship secret.
It wouldn’t do for the foremost author of heterosexual love stories to come out as gay, after all. Finn had a reputation to protect—a reputation and an empire. His books, written under the Morgan Heart pen name, had rocketed him to wealth and fame over the past fifteen years. To be honest, he still couldn’t quite believe in his own success. Part of him expected to wake up one day with his head on his desk in the newspaper office, his boss yelling at him to make his deadline.
Finn climbed the steps, heading for his bedroom en suite. A splash of water on his face would help, and he had some ibuprofen tucked away in his medicine cabinet. That should take care of the headache. Maybe then he could entice Theo into some horizontal activities.
As he made his way down the hallway, getting closer to his bedroom, Finn could make out Theo’s voice. He was on the phone.
Finn grinned. He slowed his steps so he didn’t make a sound on the hardwood floor, intending to surprise Theo with a stealth hug.
After a moment, he started to make out the words Theo was saying, and Finn stopped dead in his tracks.
“Look, it’s not easy. He’s been a hard nut to crack. Never wants to talk shop in bed.” A pause. “Right, right. The point is, I think I’m close. He wasn’t happy with the last producer. I can tell you exactly what to say to get him to make the switch. He has complete creative control over his properties, you know. We don’t have to worry about...”
Finn couldn’t listen to any more of this. He darted forward, turning the corner to meet Theo’s astonished gaze. His face flushed with heat, and Finn could only spit out, “What? What don’t you have to worry about?”
“I’m going to have to call you back.” Theo ended the call and shoved his phone in his pocket. He put an easy grin on his face as he stepped forward, both hands out. “Nothing to do with you, love. Just another business call that couldn’t wait.”
“Is there someone else you’re talking shop with in bed?” Finn spat Theo’s words back at him, gratified to see that handsome face drain of blood, pale even under Theo’s perpetual tan.
“It’s not what you think,” Theo protested.
“Oh, it’s not that you’ve been sleeping with me to get me to what...hire one of your producer friends?” Finn should have known. Why would someone like Theo—tall, handsome, connected—want anything to do with Finn, an aging writer in his forties? Unless, of course, he wanted in on the money that kept pouring in. Finn damn well knew better.
Love was a fickle thing, a spark that sizzled briefly before dimming forever. And it turned out they didn’t even have that between them. Their whole relationship had been based on a lie.
Theo took a step back, flinching as if he’d been slapped. “Finn, please. I only have your best interests at heart. You are not making what you could be with your current production company...”
“Get out,” Finn said between gritted teeth. His jaw clenched so hard the pain rivaled the one pulsing in his forehead. “Take your stuff and get out.”
“Babe. Come on. After all we’ve been through together?” Theo gave him that look, that soft-eyed, pouty-lipped one he often wore in bed. That look had seduced Finn countless times.
And now all he could think of was how it had to be fake, that Theo had been playing him, even in bed. “Leave before I call the cops,” Finn said slowly, clenching his hands into fists by his side to keep his anger in check. “Tomorrow you’ll be hearing from my lawyer about that NDA you signed.”
He’d done it as a precaution—Finn needed to protect his ideas for his next book. Theo had signed it laughing. Finn thought it endearing at the time, but now that laughter took on a sinister tone.
Finn didn’t wait for Theo to respond. He turned on one heel and stalked down the hallway. He needed peace and calm. He never should have moved out to California. Finn couldn’t go back to the room that had been their bedroom. This whole house stank, metaphorically of course, of betrayal. Finn needed to leave.
Chapter 2
A buzzing started up, a low-grade hum that permeated his mind and wouldn’t let Finn keep sleeping. He rolled over in bed, slapping at the end table to shut off the alarm on his phone. Why had he set an alarm for so early, anyway?
The phone fell off the table and crashed onto the floor. “Hello?” a voice came from below.
Not his alarm. A phone call. Finn’s eyes shot open, and any residual sleepiness faded. “Crap.” He leaned over the bed to scoop up the phone. For a moment he perched half-on, half-off the bed and nearly tumbled over to join the phone on the floor. He managed to grab his cell before risking personal injury and held it up to his ear as he settled back onto the bed.
“Hello?”
“Finn. I finally caught you.”
“Oh, hi, Angie.” He should have looked at the screen before answering. Finn had been dodging calls from his agent all week. If only he hadn’t mistaken this one for an alarm.
What time was it? He squinted at his bedside clock. It couldn’t be past noon, could it? He’d lost the ability to set a schedule since moving back to Jersey, staying up too late watching bad movies and staring at his blank Word document.
“I thought I’d check in. Since you haven’t responded to my last email.” Her voice went sharp.
Finn winced. Last five emails was more like it. He’d been marking them as unread, fully intending on going back to respond at some point. Once he had an idea about his next book. Which was due before the end of the summer.
God, he was so screwed. “Oh, sorry about that. Been a bit busy with the move and all.”
“It’s been six months,” she reminded, her tone gentling. “How’s the book coming?”
Finn tossed the covers onto the floor and got out of bed. She was right. He’d moved cross-country six months ago, after selling his place in LA and dealing with the fallout of Theo’s betrayal. Finn wanted a fresh start, and he decided to do that by returning home to the East Coast. This place had come fully furnished, but he’d still needed to unpack his personal items, especially his boxes of books and movie posters that had been carefully boxed up and shipped by his staff in LA before he’d had to let them all go.
He didn’t have staff anymore, other than someone he hired to come clean every other week. Finn wanted to leave all of that behind in California with his broken heart. Here he could be himself again, not constantly on as Morgan Heart all the time. He thought it would make the writing easy again.
Because he couldn’t exactly blame Theo for the blank document on his computer. The problem had started before the messy breakup. Finn had reached inside that well of ideas he kept hidden in the back of his mind and found absolutely nothing.
He couldn’t very well tell his agent he’d run out of ideas. “Um, it’s coming along. You know how it is.”
“Really? What’s it about?”
He usually sent her drafts. Hell, Finn usually started with an outline. Angie would ask a few pointed questions, and he’d adjust based on her feedback. They’d worked well these past fifteen years. Which made it really hard to lie to her. “I figured I’d do a follow up to The Sandbox. Follow Dave and Leah’s kids after her death.”
It sounded terrible. Who wanted to keep reading about the aftermath of one of his character’s deaths? He always ended his books that way, building up the tension slowly, keeping his readers hoping that maybe this time one of Morgan Heart’s heroes would survive.
“Bullshit. You never do sequels.” She sounded way t
“That’s terribly unprofessional of you.” Finn cradled the phone against his shoulder as he threw open the French doors that led out to his balcony. He breathed in deeply the crisp April air. Boats dotted the Navesink river below, and at the moment he wished he was on one of them, sailing his troubles away.
She chuckled. “We’ve known each other over a decade. If I can’t call you on your bullshit, who can?”
She wasn’t wrong. Finn closed his eyes, and then it all came bubbling out. “I can’t write. I haven’t written a word in months. I don’t think I’ll ever write again.”
Now that he said it out loud, the truth of it came crushing down on him. Here he was, a writer who couldn’t write, with a deadline for a book he was still under contract for. A book that didn’t exist, not even in his own mind.
“Finn, breathe.” Angie’s voice was gentle, but firm. “It’s fine. We can ask for an extension. God knows, you’ve been good to them.”
While his publisher might be willing to work with him, Finn had a flash of being roasted on social media, as his fans demanded his next book. His heart started to race, and blood pulsed in his ears. He gripped the railing with one hand. “What if I really can’t write again?”
“You’re not the first writer to get writer’s block,” she said easily, and the blasé tone released some of the pressure inside Finn. This was totally normal. Angie wasn’t worried; why should he be? “I’ll tell you what I tell my other writers. Get out of the house. Go write in a cafe or a park or something. Change your environment.”
“That’s what I tried to do by moving out here,” he let slip, then winced. Angie didn’t know about the breakup. No one did. That had been one of the consequences of having a secret relationship.
“You’re going to be fine. Go get out of your head for a bit.”
“Maybe you’re right.” At this point, Finn would try anything.
HE DIDN’T HAVE TO WEAR a baseball cap and duck his head as he walked through the streets of Red Bank. Unlike in LA, there weren’t any paparazzi lurking on the corners, although most of the time they weren’t looking for Morgan Heart. Finn had learned to be hyperaware of the cameras, and now being free to walk down the street let him breathe easier.
The weight of the laptop in the bag rested heavy on his hip. It reminded him of words that didn’t exist. What if he did as Angie suggested and still couldn’t come up with anything?
Finn cut across the street before the light changed. He knew there was a Starbucks a few blocks down and in the center of town. But something had him turning down a smaller side street. He passed a specialty olive oil store, a magic shop, and an antiques store before finally finding what he’d been looking for.
Two coffee shops, actually, across the street from each other. One had awnings in red, white, and green, with a wooden sign advertising “Aunt Rosa’s Cafe” in rustic letters. The front windows were decorated with window paint showing a stylized cup of coffee with white smoke coming out of the top. Next to it bright cursive lettering declared “Coffee makes everything better.”
Finn liked the whimsy of it. And the hope that maybe things would be better once he had a cup. Across the street the other place was named “Holy Cannoli” with a window sign that said “Free cup of coffee with purchase of each cannoli.”
The coffee must not be very good if they were giving it away.
Finn chose Aunt Rosa’s Cafe. The moment he stepped inside, the pure scent of coffee hit, deep and rich, with the undertone of nuts and sweetness. He had to stop for a moment to absorb it, his mouth watering from this bit of aroma.
He opened his eyes, unaware he’d closed them to enjoy the sensation of sniffing pure heaven in roasted form. Black and white tiles covered the floor in a checkered pattern. Wrought iron tables with white marble tops dotted a room lit with hanging sconces. Along one wall, someone had painted a mural consisting of the Colosseum and the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
Now there was an idea. Had he ever written a book set in Italy?
Finn stepped up to the counter, perusing the glass case filled with a large selection of pastries and cookies. The green chalkboard above listed all the coffee varieties of the day. A woman with dark curls and tired eyes smiled at him. “What can I get you?”
His stomach rumbled in response, reminding Finn that he hadn’t had breakfast, or, more reasonably at this time of day, lunch. “I’m not sure. They all look delicious. Whatever goes good with a large coffee, please.”
“This is your first time here, yes? I make all of these.” She gestured to the case. This had to be the illustrious Aunt Rosa then. “Sit down. I bring you something special. On me.”
Finn wondered if he looked that much of a sad case that coffee shop owners were giving treats away for free. “Oh, thank you.” He paid for his coffee and made his retreat to a corner table, close to an outlet in case he needed to charge his laptop.
He settled into his seat and pulled out his computer. Finn gave it time to boot up, and when the prompt came to enter his password, his fingers froze on the keys. What if nothing happened? What if the words were still missing from his brain? What if the whole debacle in LA had damaged him permanently?
“Hey, here’s your coffee and pastry.” A teenager who looked like a younger version of the woman at the counter showed up with a tray. She wore a black apron with a bright red rose embroidered on the front. “It’s fresh from the oven, so eat it while it’s still warm.”
“Thank you.” A distraction! He examined the pastry shaped like a seashell with ridges cut in the dough and powdered sugar sprinkled on top. “What is it?”
She laughed. “It’s sfogliatella.”
That didn’t help. He took a bite, surprised at the sudden influx of warm cream on his tongue. Combined with the crunch of the pastry itself, it was absolutely delicious. He swallowed and took a sip of his coffee and nearly groaned. This tasted nothing like the burned water he made for himself in the morning. This flavor was bold and rich, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d slurp the whole thing down.
“Enjoy!” The waitress went back to the front counter.
Finn took a moment to savor the treat, knowing he was procrastinating, but not caring. He scanned the cafe as he ate. There weren’t that many people dotting the tables around him. In the opposite corner sat a mother with two children, one in a stroller, the other an older boy alternating between flicking a tablet and sipping his orange juice. Two elderly women with gray curls and flowered dresses chatted away near the front. They had tiny cups of espresso they waved around as they spoke. Other than that, Finn was the only customer.
Finn logged into his laptop and pulled up his empty outline. The “Morgan Heart” system he’d codified with his fifth book always started with the final scene. If he could figure out what tragedy would befall his lovers, then it made it easier to seed the story from the beginning, to plant the fears in the heads of his characters early on. It made the coming death so much more satisfying.
Today he balked at the attempt. The coffee went sour in his belly at the thought. But if he couldn’t figure out how one of his main characters died, how was he going to outline the rest of his book? Could Finn just wing it, like he used to before he developed his tried and true method?
“Excuse me!” The waitress who’d brought out his coffee pulled out a chair from one of the tables and stood on it. Two other young women in green versions of the same apron—who looked so much alike they had to be twins—flanked her with bundles of balloons and party decorations. “Today is a very special day. It’s Enzo’s thirtieth birthday!”
She paused for a reaction, and indeed the others in the cafe clapped and cheered, so Finn clapped along politely.
“I can think of no better way to celebrate our favorite manager than right here with our regulars.” She nodded to the women and then gestured to Finn. “And new guy over here. Thanks for coming. Sorry about the surprise party.”
Finn could only laugh in response. At least nothing about this place was boring. “No problem.”
Aunt Rosa emerged from the back, carrying a cake with several lit candles.
“As you know, Enzo is never late, so he’s about to walk in that door in three, two, one...” The waitress pointed at the front door. The room went silent.
