413 Cherry Street, page 1
413 Cherry Street
A Cherry Falls Romance
Olivia T. Turner
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
Epilogue
Visit Cherry Falls
Don’t be shy. Come Follow Me…
Audiobooks
Become Obsessed with OTT
Copyright© 2021 by Olivia T. Turner.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including emailing, photocopying, printing, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author. For permission requests, email Olivia@oliviatturner.com
Please respect the author’s hard work and purchase a copy. Thanks!
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, businesses, companies, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
www.OliviaTTurner.com
Edited by Karen Collins Editing
Cover Design by Cormar Covers
For Cindy,
Who always had a thing for lawyers,
until she dated one.
Chapter One
Hazel
“Two black cherry mochas,” I say with a smile as I hand over the drinks to the adorable couple waiting in front of me.
“Thanks!” the girl says as she takes hers. “Oh, I love the little hearts you drew around our names.”
I smile as I watch them take a seat in the corner, completely and utterly in love. It warms my heart.
I’m working at the Cherry Tree Coffee Co., which is a favorite for first dates and adorable couples of the town.
“Always with the hearts, eh?” my coworker Madison says with a grin as she watches me from the cash. “You really are a hopeless romantic, Hazel.”
I scoff even though I know she’s right. “I am not.”
“Oh, please. As soon as you start your shift you always change whatever music is playing to the love song playlist.”
“I like nice music,” I say with a shrug. “What’s the harm in that?”
“And the hearts on all of the couples’ drinks?”
“I like seeing people in love. Doesn’t mean I’m a hopeless romantic.”
She grins. “What’s your cat’s name?”
I gulp.
“Hazel…”
“My cat’s name is Romeo.”
She laughs as the bell over the door rings and a guy walks in. He lowers his hat and heads straight for the most secluded table.
“Oh, sir!” Madison calls out. “You’re supposed to order before you sit down.”
He’s not paying any attention. He looks all fidgety and nervous as he glances at the door.
I’m assuming he’s on a blind date about to meet the love of his life when it hits me that maybe I am a hopeless romantic after all. Guilty as charged.
Well, one thing is for sure—I’m definitely hopeless when it comes to romance. I’m twenty-one years old and I’ve never had a boyfriend, date, or even a first kiss. My experience with love starts and ends with movies and love songs.
“Hey, Juliet,” Madison teases. “Why don’t you go get that hottie’s order since he can’t be bothered to stop at the counter?”
My heart starts pounding as I look over at him. Maybe the intense love affair destined to smack him across the face is with me…
Nah. He’s not the guy. I’ve always believed that when I see him, I’ll know it immediately. It will be love at first sight. A fairy tale in the flesh. A Hollywood worthy moment I’ll never forget and this ain’t it. I’m not having that once in a lifetime moment while wearing this ugly apron. I refuse.
Just in case though, I slip off my apron and name tag before heading over.
“Practice your flirting,” Madison whispers as I walk by her.
I shoot her a look and she laughs.
“Unbutton your shirt.”
“Will you stop?!” I hiss under my breath. I don’t unbutton anything, but I do fluff up my hair as I strut over, trying to sway my hips like Madison always does when she’s with her boyfriend Duke.
“Hi there,” I say with an upbeat chipper voice.
His eyes dart up to mine. They’re all bloodshot like he hasn’t slept in days and there’s a sheen of sweat all over his face. Ew. Now, I’m really hoping this guy is not the one for me. His skin is a greeny-yellowish color and he’s picking at a bloody scab on his hand.
I take a step back. “Can I get you anything?”
“Coffee,” he grunts as he glances at the door for the twentieth time since he’s sat down. “Black.”
“We do make a delicious black cherry mocha if you’d like to try something new. It’s our little shop’s specialty drink. People love it.”
“Coffee. Black.”
This guy is all grunts and tight uneasiness. I start to get a flutter in my stomach telling me to back away, so that’s exactly what I do. “Coming right up.”
“So?” Madison asks with a salacious grin when I arrive behind the counter. “How did it go? Did you give him your number yet?”
“He’s… weird,” I say glancing back at him as I grab a mug from the rack. I pour the coffee and then take my apron and name tag to put it back on. I don’t need to look good for him.
I glance over just in time to see him bolt out of the coffee shop and take off down the street. “What?!” He didn’t even cancel his order! What a jerk.
And he forgot his bag.
I huff out a breath as I toss my name tag and apron back on the counter and run after him. I grab the bag and burst out of the door, sprinting down the street after him.
He stops on the corner and starts unlocking his bike from the street light.
“Hey!” I shout as I rush over to him. “Hey! You forgot your bag!”
He curses under his breath when he sees me with it.
Finally, I catch up. I’m breathing heavily and sweating myself now.
“You forgot your bag.”
He looks so annoyed. What the heck is wrong with this guy?
He pushes it back when I try to hand it to him. “Put the bag back in the shop, lady. What is wrong with you?”
“What?” I’m so confused. “What is wrong with me? I’m trying to give you your bag back!”
A cop car rolls down Cherry Street and parks across the street from us.
“Oh shit!” the guy says when he sees him. “Put the bag back in the fucking shop if you know what’s good for you!”
I’m standing here in shock as he jumps onto his bike and rides away like there’s a demon chasing him.
Suddenly, I get a really bad feeling about the bag in my hands. My heart is pounding as I slowly open it and peek inside.
Oh crap.
I’ve never seen drugs in real life before but I’ve seen enough movies to know that these white bricks are pure uncut cocaine.
The cop steps out of the car and I run over, holding the bag as far away from my body as I can.
“Officer! Officer!”
He turns when I’m a few feet from him. I jerk the bag up to show him what it contains so he can catch the criminal escaping, but as I do, a black handgun tumbles out of a side pocket.
My brain processes it in slow motion as I watch it fall to the concrete road, flipping and turning on the way down. A flash of white light explodes out of the barrel when it slams into the concrete. The gunshot is so loud that my ears start ringing immediately. Another explosion rings out behind me as the bullet slices through the street light, raining glass down on the sidewalk.
All of my senses become muddled. I can’t hear with the ringing. My eyes are blurry. Hands shaky. Heart pounding.
When the ringing subsides, I hear the cop screaming at me to drop the bag and put my hands up.
It takes a few seconds for my fuzzy brain to process what’s happening. He’s pointing a gun at me. There’s a cop pointing a gun at me. And he’s hollering at me to put my hands up.
I just stare. Shocked and confused. Staring at his red face and open mouth. Drops of spittle shoot out as he yells at me to drop the bag and put my hands up.
Finally, my brain catches up. I throw my hands up as he points the gun at my forehead.
I’m so screwed!
“Drop the bag!” he screams in his deep terrifying voice.
I let it go and it falls to my feet. One of the cocaine packs bursts when it hits the ground, sending cocaine flying into the air. A huge cloud of white powder billows all around me, covering me completely in pure uncut cocaine.
In front of a cop.
Now, I’m really screwed.
Chapter Two
Hazel
“Owww!!!” I scream as the cop wrenches my arm behind my back and handcuffs my wrist. He’s shoving me toward the cop car, not letting me move, not letting me explain.
People gather on the sidewalks, watching, filming, judging. My face burns red when I see the nice couple I served earlier, shaking their heads in disapproval as they sip their black cherry mochas that I made them.
“Help me!” I shout at them, pleading with my eyes. “Tell him you know me!”
They shoot each other nervous glances when they realize I’m talking to them.
“Wait! I made you those drinks!”
It’s no use. They’re already gone.
Officer Pushy opens the car door and starts pushing me in as I beg him to stop. “This is all a big misunderstanding!”
“Save it for the judge.”
He pushes me into the backseat—which is wet for some reason, ew—and slams the door.
My mind is racing.
What does he think? That I’m a drug dealer or an assassin? Or both? This is insane!
I watch through the window as he collects the evidence—the bag, the drugs, the gun.
My heart is racing so fast. A million thoughts are spinning through my head like a Gatling gun.
It could be because I’m nervous or because I keep inhaling the cocaine all over my shirt.
I squeeze my eyes shut and grit my teeth.
Think, Hazel. Think!
I could lay on the seat, kick open the window, escape down the street, live my life on the run, fall in love with a hot farm boy who hides me, we could have one of those big farmhouse kitchens, fresh eggs every morning, milk straight from the cow, I’ll change my name to Aubrey, I’ve always loved that name, I’ll cut my hair, maybe die it pink, no that’s too noticeable, brown, definitely brown, we’ll get a goat, a pig, I’ve always wanted a pet pig, I could name him Hamlet—
Yeah, it’s definitely the cocaine.
I take a deep breath as the cop slams the trunk closed and gets behind the wheel.
“You got this all wrong!” I say, my voice racing. “I’m innocent!”
He turns around and looks me over with exasperation written all over his face. “Innocent, huh?”
“Oh, yeah! Totally innocent! I shoplifted a chocolate bar when I was nine, but I felt so bad that I went back when I was seventeen and paid for it. The cashier looked at me funny. I think he just pocketed the money. Maybe you should arrest him.”
He glances down at the white powder all over my black t-shirt. It looks like I had a catastrophic baking accident.
“I’m guessing that cocaine has kicked in.”
I shake my head, wondering why I don’t have the ability to blink anymore. “I’m innocent. I don’t do cocaine.”
“You just sell it?”
“No! I work at the coffee shop. Down the street. You know it?”
He shakes his head. I’ve never seen him in there before. He doesn’t look familiar.
“Well, I work there! I’m working now.”
“Where’s your apron? Or your name tag?”
I swallow hard as I look down at my apron-less waist and name tag-less chest. “It’s on the counter at work. I took it off before I ran outside.”
“How convenient,” he says as he turns back around.
“Hold on!” I screech as he puts his hand on the key. “Don’t drive away! I didn’t do anything wrong. That bag wasn’t mine. I’m innocent!”
How many times do I have to tell this buffoon that before he lets me go?
He turns back around with a huff of frustration. “You think you’re the first handcuffed person I’ve had in that backseat to claim they’re innocent?”
“But I am! This time it’s true!”
“Listen to me. Every criminal I apprehend hoots and hollers about how they’re innocent and how this is all a big misunderstanding. Every. Single. One. Although, most aren’t covered in cocaine while they say it.”
He turns back around and my mind continues to race, although now, it’s only one word spinning around and around—criminal. He called me a criminal.
“I’m not a criminal by the way,” I tell him as the car starts rolling. “I’m a kindergarten teacher.”
He chuckles. “I thought you worked at the coffee shop.”
“I do! I’m studying to be a kindergarten teacher.”
He shakes his head as his eyes stay focused on the road. “Not anymore, you’re not.”
“What? Why?”
His eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror. “You’re going to have a criminal record after today. You can’t teach with a criminal record. Not to mention, you have enough drugs in that bag to send you away for forty years. Add that unlicensed firearm and you won’t get out before you’re eighty years old. At least.”
I’m going to be sick.
“Maybe you can teach convicts to read in prison,” he says with a laugh. “Just try not to get stabbed before you get to the end of the alphabet.”
All I’ve ever wanted was to be a kindergarten teacher.
I’m going to be locked away forever. My life is over.
There’s a numbness in my chest as defeat sets in.
I can’t be a convict. I look horrible in orange.
“Sir,” I say in my sweetest little girl voice. “I’m going to ask you one more time to please, please, let me go.”
He flicks on the radio and blasts it, singing along to Adele as he ignores me.
Tears stream down my cheeks when he hits the high notes.
I feel you, Adele. I feel you.
I get the whole five-star convict treatment at the police station. Photographs, fingerprints, inappropriate frisk down, you name it.
Thankfully, the jail at the police station is empty. There’s not much action in the friendly quaint town of Cherry Falls so I have a cell to myself.
There’s a metal toilet in the corner that is severely lacking in any privacy and a cot that looks like it was confiscated from a crackhouse.
I’m trying hard to hold it together.
I’m behind bars and looking horrible in this orange jumpsuit. Normally, I would get to keep my clothes they told me, but there was evidence sprayed all over mine in white powdered form, so I had to give them up.
The police officer in charge of watching the cells walks by, looking bored as she listens to a podcast on speakerphone. As far as I can tell, it’s about growing your garden through the power of positive thinking. Whatever that means.
“Hey!” I say as she walks by.
She pauses her podcast and looks at me with a sour expression on her face. There’s definitely no positive thinking going on in there. “What?”
“What’s next?”
“What do you mean?”
“When do I get out? What happens next?”
“You came in here with a gun charge and a bag full of cocaine.”
“It wasn’t mine!”
She rolls her eyes. “Right. Well, your imaginary drug dealer friend is nowhere to be found so you’re taking the wrap.”
Panic starts to take over again. My hands are shaking so I grab onto the bars to settle them.
“I have to get out of here.”
“Another drug deal to attend to?”
“My shift at the coffee shop is almost over. I have to punch out.”
She starts laughing as she continues walking. “That’s a good one.”
She hits play on her podcast and the man continues talking about inspired asparagus. Again, whatever that means.
“Wait!” I call after her.
She gives me a fierce look as she whips her head around. “Are you interrupting me again when I’m getting my asparagus on?”
“I get a phone call!”
I think. At least according to Hollywood movies, I do.
She rolls her eyes.
“I’d like to call a lawyer.”
“Do you have a lawyer?”
“Yes.”
No.
“Fine,” she says with a sigh. “You can call your imaginary lawyer. Hopefully, he knows where your imaginary drug dealer is.”
“Real drug dealer,” I correct.
She frowns as she opens my cell and brings me to a phone.
“Ten minutes,” she says. “And don’t interrupt me again. My asparagi look like shit this season and I’m not in the mood.”
She slips her headphones on as I grab the phone book.
There’s only about ten percent of it left, but lucky for me, it’s the part with the lawyers. The pages are circled and all marked up with pencils. Too expensive is written over Barkley and Associates. A big X is marked over Brown, Wiley, & Norris.
