Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
“What was that about loving chaos?” I asked as a pair of well-dressed women bustled out, narrowly missing hitting Buttercup with the heavy door.
“God, I can’t wait till that Green Label Coffee Company store opens,” a blonde in a pink short-sleeved sweater chirped to her short, dark-haired friend.
“There’s a Green Label store opening here?” Sam sounded like he was the one with stomach issues.
“No one’s told you?” The blonde pulled a way-too-obviously fake sympathetic smile before gesturing down the street. “I suppose it’s hush-hush, but not for much longer. They’re taking over the old Meramac Bank building. The grand opening is in less than two weeks.”
“They’re really pushing expansion. There’s one every block now in the Bay.” My tone came out pragmatic until I glanced over at Sam. Oh right. Coffee shop owner. “I’m sure Safe Harbor has enough business for two places.”
“I’m sure,” Sam said weakly.
“Yes. It will be good to have choices.” The brunette had a pinched expression as she and her friend continued their exit, leaving Sam and I to enter utter pandemonium, voices greeting us, each louder than the previous.
“I just want a cup of drip coffee.”
“Can’t you run my card later?”
“Where’s Sam?”
“Sam!”
“There you are!” An old man in faded jeans and a Western shirt ambled over to us. “Neither of your workers seems to know which end of the mule to feed.”
“Neither? There’s supposed to be three of them…” Sam swept his gaze around the room, but sure enough, there was only one frazzled clerk wearing a black apron behind the counter. A tall, gawky kid with hair as red as Sam’s had once been, but in a mohawk.
“George?” As we made our way forward, Sam swallowed like he was bracing for the worst. Funny enough, not a soul had mentioned the dog in my arms, and I sure wasn’t going to. “What’s going on here?”
“I don’t even know where to start.” George twisted his apron with long, bony, tattooed fingers. “First, Kyla called in that she’ll be late. Marta’s crying out back because the register locked her out before it bricked itself. Won’t even restart now. And the espresso machine’s broken. Again.”
He gestured at the gleaming, stainless contraption, which made a disconcerting hiss followed by a gulping noise. Clog. And I might not have the first clue what to do about Sam’s absent worker or the crying Marta, but I’d seen this issue before. Finally, something I could damn well fix in a year where I’d handled precisely nothing.
“Here.” I thrust Buttercup at Sam. “You take the dog. Go do what you do well and fix your crying barista. I’ve got the espresso machine.”
“You’re going to look at the problem?” Sam sounded slightly dazed.
“I’m going to fix it,” I corrected him. “It’s a Nuova Simonelli. I’ve owned a similar Italian model and worked on others in college. George and I will handle this part of the mess.”
“We will?” George sounded even less certain than Sam.
“Yes.” I nodded sharply, suddenly having enough certainty for all of us. I tuned out the crowd in the coffee shop, let their voices all blend together, and darted behind the counter to get a closer look at the machine.
“Are you Sam’s boyfriend?” George asked idly as he stood back to let me examine the machine.
I narrowly avoided choking on my own spit. “What would make you say that?”
“That’s his favorite non-work T-shirt.” George pointed at the T-shirt, which advertised some peppy a cappella group. Yep. A Sam special, all right. “Embellish is his favorite group. Sam said he got it on their last Northwest tour.”
“Oh.” I stared down at the shirt. “We’re not…” I trailed off because not anything was neither fair nor accurate to the kindness Sam had shown me. “We’re friends. It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got time.” George leaned against the polished counter.
“You do not.” My voice came out Sam-levels of stern as I found a nearby pad of paper and a pencil. “Start taking orders. Anything that doesn’t require the machine, do those drinks first.”
“How are people supposed to pay without the card reader?” George looked about two seconds away from calling me boomer.
“Keep track of the orders. Quieting the crowd is more important.” I waved him away. “We’ll worry about the register as soon as I get this operable.”
“You sound awfully sure it’s fixable.” George shook his head sadly. “This thing’s older than me and cranky.”
“So am I,” I said dryly. But for the first time in months and months, I had a little glimmer of hope. Maybe I too was…well, fixable might be pushing it, but improvable might be possible. “Now, let’s get to work.”
Chapter Seven
Sam
As it turned out, Buttercup was magic. Not only had she been the reason I’d been able to lure Worth into the house the night before, but she managed to calm Marta’s tears in record time. Marta was new to Blessed Bean, and I’d already lost track of the number of meltdowns over small difficulties.