Long Time Coming (A Prequel Novella)

Discover the sweetest surprise of all in this short, sweet & passionate Friends-to-Lovers romance!

Clarita and Charlie have long shared a close friendship and a successful business partnership, but when fate leads them to a local auction, they're in for a delightful twist of destiny.

Sparks fly as Clarita inadvertently hints at desires she's yet to even acknowledge, herself!

And Charlie can't resist the temptation.

Could their bond evolve from loyal confidantes to something more?

Join them on a heartwarming journey of unexpected love, where friendship blooms into romance in the most charming way.

Chapter 1

It's not that she believes in hauntings. Really.

It's just that she can't help but feel like she can feel the "ghosts" of the late Mr. and Mrs. Byrne whenever she’s here or visiting the hardware store.

It's like, even after so many years, both businesses still feel very much theirs.

And lately, she senses the Byrnes's only son, too, looking over her shoulder. Judging how well she's taking care of his birthright.

"Ugh."

Tensing her shoulders, the sound of her dismay and the clink of keys punctuates the early morning quiet as Clarita prepares to unlock the entrance to Fated's sole grocery store.

On the other side of the glass, the narrow, white blinds she's yet to raise quiver in anticipation as she works the knob. Soon enough, an all too familiar jingle marks the entrance of the store's very first occupant for the day.

Like a puppeteer holding strings, the chime unfailingly pulls a small smile across her face.

Had even a day gone by during those bright summer days when she hadn't walked through the grocer's glass door? Or that of the hardware store?

Probably not. Since she's begun managing this store, it seems like the place never runs out of memories for her to revisit.

Frequenting scenes from her hormone-riddled adolescence has become one of her daily chores; an unforeseen side effect of practically living at the store while she helps ensure the town's needs continue to be met.

Funny that this had been one of her dreams. Once. One of many.

There was a time when she had imagined the home she'd build with her husband, the children they'd parent together. She'd even imagined manning the grocery store. Just like Mrs. Byrne.

If only that little girl could see her now, all grown up and "living the dream."

A mocking chuckle sneaks past Clarita's lips as she collapses the door's blinds and then ambles to the long counter outlining the hub of the store.

She's got the house—an inheritance from her grandparents. She's got an amazing daughter—a gift from Zahara's no-good father.

And now, she's got (responsibility for) the store.

At least until Johnny comes back from… wherever he is.

She would have never imagined, in a million years, that she'd be temporarily managing this place while Fated's only living Byrne had up and left town—and for who knows how long?

Though, she can't fault his decision to escape the mess that's been stirred up surrounding his name and his family's legacy.

"I'm sure he's fine," she says softly, attempting to calm the hairs standing on end at the nape of her neck and arms.

And maybe she's also speaking to something, or someone, else, too.

"Speaking of which," she prods, rerouting her attention from the shiver tickling her spine.

If Clarita can't manage to get her head out of the clouds today, Johnny may not even have a store to return to!

Lips pinched, she settles her purse in a cubby beneath the store’s counter before opening the register. Out of the corner of her eye, the delivery of goods she'd received yesterday but had never gotten to glares up at her. Sighing, she crouches, hefting the box onto the counter with a grunt.

There. Now there's no way she can ignore taking it to the back to unpack and add to her inventory.

A knock draws Clarita's attention toward the entrance, where Charlie's smile and wave are framed by the door's window.

Chuckling, she waves him in, glancing at the clock on the wall as he cracks open the door and peeks his head in.

Seven-thirty on the dot, like clockwork.

He's kept this up for weeks, now, she considers, not a little impressed.

“Clarita, Lass," he begins, saturating every syllable in the thickest Scottish accent she's ever heard. "Just checking in. Brought ye a wee bit of breakfast from the bakery," he says as he strolls in and sets a small paper bag on the end of the counter.

“You didn't have to do that."

"I know, Clarita," Charlie chimes with a soft roll of one large shoulder as he easily slips back into his regular speech pattern.

She can only hope her stomach doesn't betray her words even while her eyes linger on the hidden treat. She'd had to choose between grabbing breakfast, or prepping the girls to go over to her dad's house so he and Lleandra could watch them.

"You need anything before I head over to the hardware store?”

"Nope," she assures him with a shake of her head. "I'm just getting started with the morning count. But if you need anything today, let me know. Zahara and Brenee will be here this afternoon so they’ll be able to help, too.”

“Okay. Well, I sure do appreciate your help.”

“I’m happy to be here, Charlie,” she responds, sincerely.

And she'll miss it greatly when the time comes to hand its operation back to its rightful owner.

But, Charlie's expression of appreciation, every single day, softens even that prospect.

It's the sort of earnestness and steadfastness that kind of reminds her of the late Mr. Byrne. How appropriate that Charlie would be entrusted with their stores while Johnny is away.

With a goofy salute that is all Charlie Benton, he grins and begins to turn toward the door before glancing back at the box she'd placed on the counter.

"A delivery this early?"

"Nope. I just put off for today what I should have done yesterday," she admits with a smirk.

"Ah. Yes, I'm familiar with doing that myself. Let me just get that for you," he offers, already striding forward with arms outstretched.

"No, no. I got it," she insists, waving her hand in an attempt to gently shoo him away. "You've got your own work cut out for you, already."

"I know you've got it all covered, Clarita," he responds, easily lifting the box and balancing it on one arm while steadying its weight with the free hand. "But indulge my wee ego, will ye'?" he jests, taking the Scottish accent out for another brief turn as he briskly walks toward the backroom and disappears.

In short order, he returns, nearly jogging as he makes a beeline for the front door. "See, all done."

"Don't suppose you've heard anything about Johnny?" she finds herself blurting.

Is he alive? Is he okay? Is he coming to take back the store?

Charlie stops in front of the counter, resting his hands on his hips as he releases a long breath that speaks volumes. "Nothing."

She's disgusted by the undeniable sense of relief that spreads through her body like hot oil.

It's not that she doesn't want Johnny back in Fated. She prays for his safe return each day, just like everyone else in town.

It's just that, well, she could definitely get used to being in business for herself. Not just for herself. Could be good for Zahara to see that, too.

Maybe it's something Clarita should look into—before Johnny comes home.

"But I promise you," Charlie continues, "if I hear anything, you'll be the first I inform."

Averting her gaze, she's thankful he can't read her mind. He'd probably think she was a horrible, insensitive person for the conflicting feelings his response spurred.

"Thanks Charlie. But I won't hold it against you if you happen to mention it to someone else. Your family, for instance? I imagine they'd be the first you'd share any news with."

Waving away her comment, he replies. "Nah. My sister couldn't hold a secret if she tried. If it wasn't for her hair, our whole family would swear she was born a Tuttle and just got switched at birth."

Clarita can't help the burst of laughter spurred by his comment. In moments, his sweeping humor clears away the residue of her tangled thoughts.

And it's true. Where it concerns gossip, his sister has been known to be nearly as involved as some of the nosiest members of the Tuttle family.

"Does she know that you all think she's a Tuttle in disguise?"

"What do you think her family nickname is?"

She draws her brows together, tilting her head questioningly.

"Little Tattle Tuttle," he says, coaxing more laughter from Clarita.

"That sounds like a tongue twister, not a nickname."

"Worth it to see the look on her face whenever I bring it up," he chuckles.

"The more you tell me about your family the cuter you all sound. Like one of those sitcoms that were my favorite when I was a kid, you know?"

"Oh, I don't know about all 'a that. No family is that perfect."

"Of course not. I just—every family is different, I guess. And, some families are very different from one another."

Some are simpler. Less complicated than her own.

He smiles, gently. "Right. Every family is different. And no more or less a family."

Heartbeats pass between them as he confidently holds her gaze. In the silence, a sense of warmth and assurance, and unadulterated acceptance wells within Clarita, massaging some of the tension from her shoulders.

She's noticed how Charlie seems to have this effect on a lot of folks. And it's a good thing. His gift of empathy and practicality is particularly needed during such a stressful time for the town.

Dragging in a breath, he straightens. "Well, I best get going. See you at lunch?"

Clarita dips her chin. And with another goofy salute, he slips out of the store and strides past the windows lining the front wall.

That big ol' redheaded-boy who helps with the store…

Nostalgia lifts a corner of her mouth as her grandmother's voice rings in her mind more clearly than it has in years.

"That 'red headed-boy' is now the manager, Grandma," Clarita answers, quietly.

A good one.

And a good man, as well. A real, live gentleman, as a matter of fact.

Her eyes remain pointed out the window while her mind wanders back to her and Charlie's conversation a few weeks prior.

“If you’re willing to manage the day-to-day workings of the grocers,” he’d said, looking haggard but hopeful at her offer to help, “I’ll take care of the hardware store, accounting, ordering and everything else.”

By that point, it’d been apparent that he’d been struggling attempting to manage the grocers and hardware store, himself. Even with volunteers helping out part-time.

Still, her offer to assist on an indefinite basis hadn’t been completely selfless. The round of recent layoffs at her cleaning job helped.

Having another mouth to feed means that Clarita doesn’t exactly have the luxury of picking and choosing her opportunities. So, despite the circumstances bringing it about, the timing of this opportunity couldn’t have been more perfect.

Something her daughter and niece are also learning the hard way.

With the start of the school year still weeks away, there's little to fill their days beyond Zahara’s frequent visits to the library and Brenee’s incessant chatter about LL Cool J, Color Me Badd, or whatever other boy band is popular at the moment.

As Clarita assumes more aspects of the store’s management, it had only made sense to begin recruiting them to help out at the register or with inventory.

May not be the summer they'd envisioned, but they can both stand to learn the fact that money is something that is earned, not something that grows out of either of their mothers' pocket books.

And who knows? If the girls can see Clarita managing a business, even for a short while, maybe they'll envision the same for themselves.

Her boy-crazy niece, most of all, could certainly use a good distraction while she visits them over the summer.

So neither girls find themselves a single mother of a one-year-old at just nineteen years old.

Clenching her jaw, she shuts her eyes in answer to the pang of tears. Swallowing the knot that'd lodged in her throat, she forces her attention on the present, pivoting to face the empty store and all of its phantoms.

She can't afford to keep getting lost in her thoughts. Not if she plans on completing her remaining chores by the time she's scheduled to flip the store’s sign from “closed” to “open”.

After mentally going over her to-do list, she eyes the sack that waits for her on the counter, enticing her. In seconds, the air crackles with the sound of the brown paper bag and she's taking a long, deep whiff of its contents.

She moans in response to its siren song, already imagining inhaling the cinnamon roll tempting her with its scent.

Well, her list of tasks can surely spare her one more minute.