Everything Between Us Read online

  Everything Between Us

  Pink Bean Series - Book 3

  Harper Bliss

  Contents

  Special Offer from the Author

  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

  Chapter 29

  Excerpt of This Foreign Affair

  Chapter One

  A Note from Harper

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  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Harper Bliss

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  To everyone who has ever felt like they were not enough because of how they looked. You are.

  Chapter One

  “I’ve got this one.” I all but shove Micky out of the way with my behind.

  “All right, all right,” she says. “No need to get physical.” She leans her hip against the counter, watching me—making me more nervous than I want to be for this.

  “Hi,” Caitlin James says on a sigh, as though ordering coffee has become a big chore, even though she gets the same thing every single day. She looks at the board above my head. I try not to stare while her gaze is fixed elsewhere, but it’s hard. Although Micky scrutinizing my every move keeps me in check. “A large flat white, please,” Caitlin says.

  “Have here or takeaway?” I ask, out of habit.

  Caitlin cocks her head and waits a beat before saying, “Have here.” Her glance skitters to Micky, who is just standing there, doing nothing. “How’s it going?”

  “All is well on the barista front,” Micky replies. It’s not that long since she started working at the Pink Bean, and I was the one teasing her about having a crush on one of the regulars. Not that I have a crush on Caitlin James. Not that kind, anyway. She’s too much of an icon for me to have something as mundane as a crush on.

  “Still a lady of leisure?” Micky asks.

  My ears perk up while I prepare Caitlin’s coffee, but I can’t hear what she says over the hiss of the machine steaming the milk.

  “—my new neighborhood,” is all I can make out from her reply.

  “Here you go.” I hand Caitlin her flat white.

  “Thank you.” She looks me in the eye briefly, then turns her attention back to Micky. “I’ll be at my usual table.”

  Micky and I both watch her strut to her table by the window.

  “What was that all about?” Micky asks. “Have you got the hots for her or something?”

  “No, of course not.” I bring my hands to my sides. “But, you know, that’s Caitlin James.”

  “Ha.” Micky stares at me for a moment. “I take it you’ve read all of her books, whereas I have read zero.”

  “I have a couple in my bag. You can borrow them if you like.” Argh. I could kick myself for blurting that out. I don’t want Micky to borrow my Caitlin James books. I’ll happily lend her any others, but not those.

  “Why are they in your bag?”

  “Just… no reason.” I immediately feel put on the spot.

  “Come on, Jo. You can tell me. All the time you and I spend behind this counter together. Don’t you consider me a friend?”

  You’ve certainly gotten a lot of lip since you and Robin started shagging, I want to say, but bite back. I only sigh.

  “I may only be a hausfrau turned barista, but I can put two and two together.” Micky keeps going. “I’m rather sharp for my age, you know?”

  I wish she would just let it go.

  “Since she moved to Darlinghurst, Caitlin has been coming here every day,” she says.

  “Would you please keep your voice down,” I whisper. I feverishly wish for a customer to walk in.

  “You’re a fan girl, or whatever the kids call it these days?” She draws her lips into a pensive pout. “So you carry her books around in case…” She pushes herself away from the counter and leans toward me.

  I don’t give her a chance to finish her sentence. “Yes. You sussed me out. I’m the kind of nerd who wants her books signed by the author. So what?”

  “Then what are you doing standing here while she’s sitting right over there?”

  “I can’t just go up to her and ask.”

  Micky raises one eyebrow. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. It’s disrespectful of her privacy. She came here for a cup of coffee, not to be harassed by the barista.”

  “Oh, come on. She’ll love it. She’s the type who gets off on that kind of attention.”

  “And you know her so well, do you?”

  “What are you two whispering about?” Kristin asks.

  I was so wrapped up in this ridiculous conversation, I didn’t even hear her approach.

  “We have a dilemma on our hands, boss,” Micky says. “Perhaps you can help.”

  “Happy to.”

  Now both Kristin and Micky are staring at me. A blush creeps up my neck.

  “Josephine here is a big fan of Caitlin and she wants to get some books autographed. Whatever can she do to make that happen?”

  “Hm, I don’t know. If only Caitlin were a regular at the Pink Bean. And a friend I’ve known for twenty years. These things could help, I guess. But alas,” Kristin says.

  I shake my head. “Once you’re done mocking me, I’d like to get back to work, please.”

  “Come on, Jo.” Micky elbows me in the biceps. “Take it in jest and just go over to her. Get your bloody books signed already.”

  I look to Kristin for support, or perhaps, for a clear sign that it’s okay for me to do so. She’s the boss, after all. “This is beginning to sound like workplace harassment,” I say, when Kristin remains silent as she’s wont to do.

  Kristin takes a step in my direction and puts her hands on my shoulders. “Trust me. You’ll make Caitlin’s day. She’s not all that famous here in good old Oz. She must be getting attention-starved by now. You’d be doing her a favor.”

  I glance over at Caitlin and see her looking over at us. What must the three of us look like whispering like this behind the counter?

  “Fine.” It is why I put the books in my bag in the first place. Why they’ve been in there for days—days without me mustering up the courage to approach her. And now my boss has given me permission. “Just don’t stare at me like I’m an attraction in the zoo.”

  “We have work to do,” Micky says, shooting me a wink.

  “I’m expecting Sheryl back any minute, so you’d better hurry,” Kristin says.

  “Okay.” I fetch my bag in the back, take a deep breath, and walk over to Caitlin James, my feminist heroine.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Miss James.” I can’t keep the shake out of my voice.

  “Miss James?” The lift of her eyebrow makes something coil tightly in my belly.

  “I’m s-sorry,” I stammer. “I’m a big fan of yours and you’ve been coming here for a while now and Kristin said it would be oka
y if I asked you to sign a couple of your books that I own and have read many, many times, if I may add.” I’m blabbering like a two-year old who’s just discovered the sound of her own voice.

  “Why don’t you sit down?” Her big brown eyes sparkle up at me.

  “Er, yes.” My hands have forgotten the required motion to pull a chair back and my body—huge and looming over Caitlin—doesn’t want to obey.

  “It’s Josephine, right?” Caitlin says, snapping me out of my daze. “Lovely name.”

  I pull myself together and sit down. “Thank you.” Micky and Kristin’s teasing has drained the confidence I need to ask Caitlin James for her autograph, let alone sit with her and have a conversation. Part of me wishes Sheryl would arrive before I make an even greater fool of myself.

  “Which books do you have?” Caitlin puts her elbows on the table and leans close enough so that I can smell her perfume. Something earthy and sensual.

  I pull my bag onto my lap and reach for the three books that, dramatic as it may sound, changed my life. I display them on the table.

  “Well thumbed I see.” Caitlin’s lips draw into a smile. She takes one of the books and leafs through it. “And you love using a highlighter.” She looks back at me. “There’s more to you than the girl who makes excellent flat whites, isn’t there?”

  “I study with Sheryl. I mean, Professor Johnson. I’m one of her graduate teaching assistants and she got me this job because a PhD doesn’t exactly pay the rent in Sydney these days.”

  “Good for you.” She drops the book and intertwines her fingers. “You’re in good hands with Sheryl.”

  “She’s been very nice to me.”

  “She must have picked you for a reason.” Caitlin opens the cover of one of the books. “Do you have a pen, Josephine?”

  “Oh, er, yes.” I dig in my bag, my fingers frantically feeling for the pen I put in there with the books. “Here you go.”

  I try to watch as Caitlin signs three of her books that I’ve owned for almost ten years, but it’s hard to keep my gaze trained on her. It feels like too much of an intrusion. She holds the pen gracefully and is scribbling away when I sense a presence behind me.

  “Am I interrupting?” Sheryl asks.

  I nearly jump out of my skin. Sheryl puts a hand on my shoulder. She knows all about my admiration for Caitlin James, yet in all the time I worked for her, she never mentioned that she and Caitlin go way back. I only found out when Caitlin returned from the United States and walked into the Pink Bean one day.

  “Just signing some books for Josephine.” Caitlin sounds merry.

  “I’ll leave you to it then.” Sheryl turns to me. “Could you stay behind for a bit after your shift? I’d like to discuss Naisha Turner with you. We can have lunch, if you like.”

  “Sure.” I can’t say no to Sheryl, though I don’t have the spare cash to go out for lunch. As usual, because Sheryl knows about my sister, she’ll offer to pay, but I have too much pride to let her.

  “Come upstairs when you’re done,” she says, as though she can read the anguish right off my face. “I’ll rustle something up.”

  I nod and heave a small sigh of relief as she heads over to the counter and slings an arm around Kristin’s waist.

  “She really does take good care of you.” Caitlin leans over the table conspiratorially. “But if you ever need any gossip on Professor Johnson, I’ve known her since she was an eighteen-year-old tomboy,” she jokes.

  This is one of those moments in which I wish so very much I was the sort of girl who has the confidence to say something clever back, but not even on my best days—and certainly not when I’m sitting opposite Caitlin James—am I skilled at coming up with witty repartee.

  Caitlin goes back to signing the books in silence.

  “All done.” She hands me back the pen. “Thank you for reading my books.” She looks me straight in the eye. Another round of blushing starts at the base of my neck. “It was an honor to sign them for you.” She leans against the back of her chair. “What’s your thesis on? Anything I can help with?”

  Oh no. I will happily discuss my thesis subject with anyone but Caitlin James. “Body positivity among different gender identities and sexual orientations.”

  She nods. “Interesting.”

  My cheeks feel like two scorching balls of fire.

  “Maybe you can tell me all about it some day.” She must have sensed the discomfort of a girl clearly at odds with her own body researching body positivity. “I’ll let you get back to work before I have Kristin on my case.”

  “Thank you so very much, Miss James,” I manage to mumble.

  “Please, call me Caitlin.” She gives me a wide smile.

  I don’t need a mirror to know my face is the color of a very ripe tomato.

  Chapter Two

  It is a long afternoon at the university library. I can usually block out all the whispers and rustle of paper, but thoughts of the newly-signed books in my bag steal my concentration and focus. When I arrive home, I find my roommate Eva slouched all over her boyfriend Declan on the sofa. They must have heard me come in, but my pending presence obviously didn’t bother them enough to stop them from having their hands all over each other. A sight I’ve gotten used to over the past few months.

  “I made pasta,” Eva says. “The kind you like.”

  “Thanks.” The thought of food wakes up my stomach and it starts to growl.

  Declan moves out from under Eva. “Do you want some wine?” he asks. “It’s not too bad.”

  “There’s an offer I can’t refuse.” I shrug off my coat and force myself to sit with them for a bit. I was the one who used to sit in the three-seat sofa with Eva and watch the mindless reality TV shows she likes so much. But ever since things with Declan turned more serious, the atmosphere in our small flat has changed. Adding a man to the mix will do that. I have nothing against Declan, who is doing his PhD in Computer Science and is an even bigger nerd than I am, but I would like to sit in what I used to consider my spot on the sofa once in a while, that’s all.

  Tonight, however, I don’t care too much. “Guess who signed my Caitlin James books today?” I can’t keep the glee out of my voice.

  “No way.” Eva sits up. “You asked her?”

  “Asked who what?” Declan gets up and fetches me a glass.

  “Caitlin James.”

  “Jo has only idolized her for… hm, let me think, the past decade?” Eva says.

  “I’ve never heard of her,” he says.

  I suddenly like Declan a little less. I reach into my bag to present him with the evidence of Caitlin’s greatness.

  “Is she like a modern day Germaine Greer or something?” he asks after inspecting them.

  Bless his heart for trying. “More like the Australian Gloria Steinem,” Eva says.

  “I don’t know who she is either.”

  Eva shakes her head and play-pushes him away. “All that time spent in front of a computer and having a girlfriend who’s getting a doctorate in Gender Studies, and it never occurred to you to google feminism?”

  Declan widens his eyes. “I—I don’t…” he begins to say.

  Now I feel sorry for the poor sod. “Caitlin has been teaching in the US for more than ten years, and wrote a couple of very well-received books along the way. And now she’s back in the country,” I say.

  “And happens to be one of Professor Johnson’s oldest friends,” Eva adds and takes the book from Declan’s hands. “Did she write anything special?”

  It almost feels like sacrilege to watch her flip the cover of my well-worn book and read what Caitlin wrote in it—for me.

  “To Josephine, who makes the best flat whites,” Eva reads out loud.

  I huff out a giggle. “I guess she was out of inspiration by the third one.” I hold the other two books protectively against my chest.

  “Come on, Jo. Let me see, please.” Eva reaches out her hands.

  “Oh, go on then.” I’m too proud of my
prizes not to share them with my best friend.

  “To Josephine, the girl with the most beautiful first name,” Eva reads. “That one’s a bit better, I guess.”

  “To Josephine, may you achieve great things. That’s my favorite,” Eva says. “Did you get to talk to her?”

  “A little.” I recall that morning’s stunted conversation and cringe-worthy exit with a strange kind of fondness. The illusion of the infatuated, I guess. It doesn’t matter how much of a fool I made of myself—and knowing myself, it could have been much worse—I got to talk to her and I have her autograph, etched in the pages of those books forever. It would help if I didn’t have to serve her coffee nearly every morning, but that too can be seen as a great gift. I’ll just have to practice my deep breathing and elevate my sense of self-worth.

  I give Eva and Declan the highlights of meeting Caitlin, then retreat to my room with a half-full glass of wine and a plate of the pasta Eva made. I eat too much of it while watching a documentary on my laptop. Today, I don’t care about mindful eating and recognizing signs of fullness in my stomach before I overeat.

  When I wake up the next morning, I reach for my phone in what has become a reflex. Before I’m even fully awake, I press the first number in my favorites. Bea will be waiting for my call already.

  “Hello, Beatrice speaking,” she says, her words official but her voice chirpy as ever.

  “Hey, Bea. It’s me.” Hearing her voice always puts a smile on my face. “Did you sleep well?”

  “I woke up twice,” she says. “Once to go pee and the other time because Andy next door was shouting. He yelled something about a fireman. I thought there was a fire.”