Chapter One
Finley
“Barb, I need to go,” I tell my seventy-eight-year-old neighbor on my phone screen, cursing the day she learned how to make video calls. I’m hiding in the backroom of the coffee shop where I work, because Barb has called me five times in less than two minutes and I was sure that this time it’s an emergency.
It is not.
“But you didn’t tell me if your hospital gives out free condoms,” she pouts. “Shirley insists they do.”
“I’ve never seen free condoms lying around,” I say with a tight smile, “but I can ask around tonight at work, if you want.” I have no intention of doing so, but what she doesn’t know, won’t hurt her. Most nights I’m too busy running around the hospital drawing blood, and even if I had time to look, I wouldn’t. But if push comes to shove, I’ll buy a ginormous box and bring it home, telling her they were free.
“Shirley says I need to use condoms because senior citizens have a high rate of getting the clap.”
I bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing. Now I’m definitely picking up the box. While I know Barb has an active sex life, it’s never occurred to me to ask if she was using condoms. Then again, safe-sex talks with my neighbor old enough to be my grandmother wasn’t exactly on my bingo card. Now I realize I need to rethink that. “Shirley’s right. I’ll make sure you get some.”
She frowns, her face filling the screen. “What if?—”
“Finley!” my boss, Maggie, shouts from the front. “We’ve got a rush comin’ in.”
“Barb,” I say, already walking to the door, “I really have to go. I’ll find out about the condoms and let you know.” Then I hang up before she can find another reason to keep me on the call.
I shove my phone into the pocket of my red apron, take a deep breath, and push through the swinging door.
Maggie’s right. At least fifteen people are in line, and my coworker, Bethany, already looks haggard trying to keep up.
I flash Bethany an apologetic smile and slide into my position behind the espresso machine.
Most Beans to Go customers work on one of the forty-two floors above us, and right now they all look desperate for caffeine. We’re always busy in the mornings, but the past couple of weeks have been next-level since it’s the holiday season and Christmas is less than two weeks away. Between shopping, decorating, parties, and everything else, our customers need IV drips of energy. Since we’re not qualified to offer those, we sell them caffeinated beverages instead.
“What did Barb want this time?” Bethany asks with a laugh.
She’s heating up a pastry, so I lean closer and lower my voice. “She wanted to know if the hospital gives out free condoms. One of our neighbors told her that seniors have a higher incidence of STDs.”
Bethany’s eyes go wide. “You’re kidding!”
“Kiddin’ about what?” Maggie asks, as she scribbles a name on a cup and sets it on the counter beside me.
I take a quick glance at the name and confirm that Constance from the twenty-fourth floor hasn’t gotten a wild hair up her butt and changed her usual order. It’s the same caramel latte with skim milk she gets every day. I know most of the regulars’ names and drinks, and while some switch it up, most stick to their usual.
“That old people get a lot of STDs,” Bethany says.
Constance pays and moves along the counter toward the espresso machine. “It’s true,” she says with a prim nod. “My aunt caught syphilis when she moved into a retirement community.”
Bethany gets a wicked gleam in her eye. “Don’t you live in a retirement community, Finley?”
I laugh as I steam Constance’s milk. “I live in an apartment complex for seniors, which is very different than a retirement community.” The rent is about three times cheaper, and the only amenity is a laundry room that sometimes has all five washing machines in working order. “But I have to admit that some of my neighbors have very active love lives.”
“Unlike you,” Maggie pipes up, jotting the next name on a cup.
Mike from the sixteenth floor—recently divorced and has two teenage boys who play baseball. His usual drink is a medium Americano.
I grin. “I’m not into men three times my age.”
Mike taps his phone to pay, shooting me a sidelong glance.
I quickly add, “And even if I was, I don’t have time for a love life.” It’s not a lie, even though I said it loud enough for Mike to hear. I’ve seen the interest in his eyes lately. The last thing I want is to risk offending him when I inevitably turn him down.
“You need to live a little, Fin,” Maggie says. “Life is more than work and school. You need to have fun.”
