Can't Stop Loving You Read Online Free

or from the upbeat tempo of the contemporary jazz tune flowing from the sound system or from the eclectic gathering of people.
    Café Jireh was the talk of the town. Although it had been open for six months, the buzz about the café’s concept was still making good reviews in local newspapers and was getting talked about in a variety of places from nightclubs and country clubs to church socials. There was a little bit of everyone reflected in the café’s welcoming walls.
    The owner had definitely taken his mix of clientele into consideration, evident from the carefully selected decor. The building’s inside was just as impressive as the outside, with character beyond expectations. Light poured into the room through the stained-glass windows displaying colorful images of coffee cups, casting a myriad of colors across the maple-wood floors.
    The chocolate-brown, black and orange coverings of the sofas and chairs in textures of velvet, suede and wood were classy yet cozy, like sipping hot chocolate while wearing your favorite sweater on a brisk fall day.
    Kaycee particularly admired the candid black-and-white photos of men, women and children, done in the style of Gordon Parks, hanging strategically around the room on the exposed brick walls. For her, the selling point was the beautiful stone fireplace that tied everything together in a neat package.
    Jireh had something for everyone and was a welcome relief for business professionals, college students and artists who had been searching for a reflection of the African-American culture on their own side of town. Finally, somebody had heard the cries of the people for quality in everything—shopping, dining, housing and education.
    Kaycee had a sense of belonging when she entered through the doors that afternoon.
    â€œWelcome to Café Jireh,” A petite woman with a wide friendly smile greeted in a soft Southern accent. “Is this your first time visiting with us?”
    â€œYes,” Kaycee answered. “I’ve heard so many good things about it that I just had to check it out for myself.”
    The woman waved her closer. “Well, don’t stand way back there, come on up and let me take your order!”
    Kaycee did as she was told and strolled up to the glass case to check out the breakfast pastries. Her smile slowly faded in disappointment at what she found. The plate of cinnamon buns with thick white frosting, the Danish with fruit in the center and some slices of pound cake wrapped in cellophane were all too common in black-owned establishments. Her expectations were higher for a place like Jireh.
    Her eyes raised to meet the woman’s. “I don’t mean any harm, but is this all the desserts you have to offer?”
    The greeter, whose name tag identified her as La Jetta, nodded.
    Kaycee paused to search for words that wouldn’t sound as if she were putting the café down. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I expected more in way of desserts than cinnamon rolls and Danish. Do you have an in-house provider or do you buy outside?”
    La Jetta glanced over her shoulder before leaning in toward Kaycee. “I’ve been trying to tell Mr. Rick that he needed to upgrade our dessert menu.”
    â€œWho is Mr. Rick?”
    â€œHe’s the owner,” La Jetta replied. She reached under the counter, pulled out a business card, and handed it to Kaycee.
    â€œFrom day one, he had someone doing the desserts, but things got all messy and he’s been buying from one of those wholesale clubs.”
    Kaycee took the tan card. It was clean and simple with an image of a cup of coffee in the upper left corner and the owner’s information engraved in the center. Café Jireh Coffee House and Bistro. K. Thompson, Owner.
    She shook her head. “That just won’t do.”
    â€œWe have this for a reason,” La Jetta said tapping her nail against the suggestion box on the end of the