Some Like It Hotter. Isabel SharpeЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Prologue

      THE SUN WAS setting over the Pacific. Eva Meyer sat on Aura Beach on California’s Central Coast, a cup of her own blend of orange chamomile tea in hand. The colors were fantastic, a soaring ceiling of pink, orange and burgundy, reflected in the clouds and across the water. Over her cheeks blew a gentle, fresh September breeze. Pelicans winged past, long necks doubled back, wings arcing, heading south. Any moment the magic of a dolphin breaching the ocean’s restless surface could happen.

      She was bored stiff.

      As a matter of fact, she’d been feeling off center and uncharacteristically low for the past several months. Around here they’d put her funk down to some interruption in her chi or planets out of alignment or angry spirits or whatever mystical forces might be at work—but her sensible midwestern roots were looking for a more concrete reason. Maybe she’d been working too hard, maybe she hadn’t been social enough, definitely she hadn’t been getting enough sex. But boredom? That kind of thing wasn’t easy to admit. Only the Boring Get Bored had been her accountant mother’s mantra, which Eva had lived by—often to an excess her mother didn’t approve of.

      But today, during this relatively rare moment of relaxation and reflection, the ugly truth had burst from its hiding place and smacked her across the face.

       Ow.

      For the past three of her twenty-eight years she’d been the proud owner of the Slow Pour coffee shop in the tiny town of Carmia, building a decent business, honing its identity, growing its reputation. Though she totally loved the shop, loved the friendly vibe it put out in the community for residents and tourists alike, was totally into the challenge of keeping the business afloat, underneath it all she was...

      Bored.

      How could this happen? Years of learning beside her father, coffee scientist Dr. Meyer, decades of traveling to major coffee-producing locations—Hawaii, Ethiopia, Brazil, Indonesia—had fostered her dream. All her life she’d known she’d escape the Midwest for the serenity, beauty and open-mindedness of the California coast, that she’d be her own boss with her own shop...she was living a fantasy come true! How many people got to do that?

      Her fraternal twin sister, Chris, older by a whole two minutes and as glamorous and driven as Eva was nonconformist and laid-back, had made her same dream come true in New York City, buying the shop NYEspresso a couple of years after Eva rescued a sad little bankrupt souvenir shop and transformed it into Slow Pour. You didn’t see Chris whining after achieving her life’s goal. What kind of spoiled brat would have it all and still be wanting more?

      She sighed, sipping her tea, watching the sky turn Crayola colors...

      Bored.

      * * *

      “UNGH.” CHRIS FLOPPED onto the narrow bed in her small bedroom in the tiny apartment on East Eighty-Seventh Street that she shared with her roommate, Natalie. Outside her window a siren blared, horns honked, a driver shouted, “Get the heck out of the way, please!”

      Only he didn’t say please. Or heck.

      She was exhausted.

      Not fun to admit. Or to experience. She’d always had the energy of an ant. Or a hummingbird. Or a gazelle. Now she was more like a cow. Or cat. Or sloth. For a while she thought maybe her low mood was due to the death of her favorite season, summer, and the approaching long winter months. Or maybe residual disappointment over her breakup with John, though that had been weeks ago, and they’d only dated four months before realizing they were not so meant to be after all.

      But today she’d actually turned down an invitation to go dancing with friends from her Zumba class. Instead, she’d chosen to come home, eat a bowl of soup and stare at the wall, because she was...

      Exhausted.

      No, no, this was all wrong! Since when did anything even slow her down, let alone wear her out? She’d known her whole life that she’d end up in a major city someday. Noise, bustle and a certain amount of chaos were her bread and butter, her peanut butter and Nutella, her French roast and cream. Bright lights, big city—oh, yeah, bring it on! And had she ever. For the past three years, she’d been part of the amazing ride that was New York City, working first as a manager at Fine Grind and last year buying the store and making it her own, NYEspresso. She hadn’t been turning an amazing profit, but hadn’t run it into the ground, either. Her dream had come true! Somebody pinch her!

      No, someone punch her for all this whining. Her free-spirited twin, Eva, had also achieved coffee nirvana, and she was having a blast, not a boohoo-fest.

      Chris lifted her head, gave up, let it drop back on the pillow.

      Nothing helped. She was simply...

      Exhausted.

      * * *

      THE SUN’S GLOWING disk disappeared over the horizon. Eva hauled her cell out of her pocket to call her sister. Born on Christmas Eve—hence their names—on the surface Chris and Eva were about as different as two souls could be, except for their shared love of all things coffee. But they still had the deep bond of most twins. Chris might not understand Eva’s off mood, but she’d be supportive and helpful, even if it was just to tell Eva to snap out of it.

      Maybe that was all Eva needed.

      Chris picked up immediately. “Hey, twin, how goes it?”

      “Okay.” Eva frowned. “What’s wrong? You don’t sound like yourself.”

      “You don’t sound like yourself, either.”

      “No? Who do I sound like? Wait, don’t tell me. Scarlett Johansson.”

      “I’m thinking...Eva with sharp edges. Who do I sound like?”

      “Chris dulled down.”

      “Tell me what’s going on?” They both spoke at once.

      “You first.”

      “No, you.”

      Eva giggled. Just hearing her twin’s voice made her feel better. “I’m sitting on warm sand watching the sky fade from magenta to coral to pink to navy. There are palm trees behind me, waves making a great swishing sound in front of me...”

      Chris snorted. “And something is wrong?”

      “I know.” She grabbed a handful of sand, let it flow through her fingers. “I’m restless, not feeling peaceful. Been this way for a while, just something not quite right.”

      “Time for new hair?”

      Eva grinned at their joke girlie remedy for whatever was wrong. “I bought a ton of new accessories to decorate it with. Didn’t help.”

      “Accessories? I’m afraid to ask what these are like.” Her sister made a shuddering noise. “Is Slow Pour doing well?”

      “Not great, not bad.”

      “Man trouble?”

      “No man to cause any.”

      “Ha. Maybe that’s