“Thanks, though. You’re not so bad.”
The praise goes straight to the plant’s head—or soul? How does this thing work?—and it gives off a haughty lifting of its chin. It knows it’s a good plant.
I start up the espresso machine and get all my tools laid out. Within minutes, the first customer strides in, someone I’ve never seen before. They buy a pumpkin caramel latte and tip me a dollar.
Ace speeds down the stairs and pulls up to the bar with a smile.
“Got a latte for your bro?” he asks.
I hum. “Got five dollars for the cash register?”
His face screws up. “I’ll do the dishes tonight.”
“Deal,” I say with a nod, and get to work on his special coffee.
I wasn’t really going to charge him, but dishes in exchange for a coffee? Yes, please.
“It’s a good thing we didn’t win that bed and breakfast by the lake in Michigan,” Ace muses as he fiddles with a little plastic straw.
I scowl as I heat the milk. “I thought you’d hacked the contest.”
He scoffs, playfully offended. “I would never…”
I cock out a hip and a sly grin spreads over his lips.
“I would never while on probation.”
I drop the specialty coffee down in front of him. “So then what, we just got lucky?”
He blows a raspberry. “I guess.”
“You’re lying. How did you do it?” I demand.
He takes a sip and hums. “You’re getting really good at this.”
“Stop deflecting,” I say, putting a lid on his to-go cup.
He shrugs. “I played the numbers game. I used a script to extract all the contests I could scrape off Facepost, Instaframe, etcetera, and then used another to auto-apply Nai Nai’s information on all of them. It was about eight thousand in total, and we only won fourteen. Mostly smaller stuff. And I’m still waiting on that lifetime supply of instant noodles. I think that one may have been a scam.”
I snort-laugh. This kid is too smart.
“Well, thanks. I’m glad we won this place, too.”
“Are we going to stay?” he asks as he hikes up his backpack.
“What do you want?”
“I like it here.” His brow ruffles. “But I miss my Bostonians, so if we could visit for winter break maybe?”
I smile, a sweet relief washing through me. “Yeah, buddy. Whatever you want.”
He grins. “That scooter?”
I groan. “Go to school.”
“For my Christmas birthday present?” he asks.
“We don’t celebrate Christmas, and your birthday present is a new floppy disk drive or whatever.”
