My phone’s on silent mode. I don’t want to deal with any calls right now, but I catch it lighting up. It’s Arielle, my little sister, who is attending her first semester of college, and hasn’t exactly been attending classes. My gaze wafts through the Coffee Loft, not a soul in sight. I unlocked the door, but I need to check my doorstep. I don’t doubt something isup, but I can wait a minute and welcome the distraction. “Hey, El.”
There’s hesitation on the other line before I hear a quiet and out of character, “Heeeey.”
My brows pinch together as I adjust the phone to hear better. “What’s wrong?”
“Can I come stay with you for a while?”
“Here?” I straighten my spine, my attention lasering in on this conversation. “You mean, in New York?”
“Yeah, I can sleep on the floor. It’s not a big deal.”
“Wait a second.” I pace forward, sorting out previous conversations we’d had. Nothing we’d spoken about sounded as if she was in trouble. Still, my big-brother alarm sounds. “What’s going on? Why would you leave college in the middle of the year?”
“Let’s say college isn’t my thing.”
“El,” I press her name firmly. “You know I’ll do anything to help you. Be honest. Why are you quitting school?”
“I didn’t quit.” A crackle of air blows into her phone, projecting loudly on my end. “I sort of lost interest. Now, there isn’t a point.”
“El,” I say softer this time, echoing her sobriety. “I won’t judge you, but are you sure you want to quit this close to the end? You never know. Sometimes it looks worse than it is. You already have half of the year done. It’s worth it to wait.” I swallow, waiting for her to fill in the conversation with her usual chatter, but nothing comes. “El?”
My sister is a talker, and the only reason she’d ever be quiet in a serious conversation is if she’s fighting back tears. I’m more practical than her. I would be stubborn and finish school, but I understood her nature. If she had already quit with her heart, there was no point in her body staying there.
“Ah, sure. You can stay. I’m in a tiny hotel room, but I’ll call the desk to change to a two-bed.” I want to ask her if she had an idea of how long she was staying. However, the lack of her usual chattiness tells me she isn’t in the mood to talk. “When should I expect you?”
“Like ten minutes.”
I check my watch, even though I don’t need it to compute that math. She could not drive or even fly from Massachusetts that fast. “Are you teleporting?”
“Nah, I got an early start.” She pauses for a beat. This is the part where I would normally tease her, but her tonal inflectionswarn me not to. I wait for her to offer further explanation. Even after the longest silence—one that was so stale, it made me cringe—the only thing she whispers is, “Thanks, Christian.”
“Yeah, you bet,” I mumble into the phone. Not because I wasn’t sincere, but I was doing my best to hide my concern. “See ya soon.”
The conversation falls into silence, and I set my phone down. The tension in the back of my head immediately swells. I’m unable to support myself. I’ve dug a deep hole with this Coffee Loft, and there is no way I can help her, too.
Butnothelping her is not an option either.
I rub my temples, wishing for a pressure valve I can crank to release the strain in my head. It does nothing but make me feel overwhelmed. I force a positive thought. “Well, if anything, Arielle can work the counter while I get a job that actually makes money.” I laugh, not in a funny way. My fingers jitter with anxiety, like they want to play a piano. I’ve never played in my life. That’s new. Maybe not the best sign.
Perhaps a coffee can help?
I walk behind the counter, ready my shot glasses for espresso, deciding to switch to half-caff, hoping the reduced caffeine will be better for sudden new jitters. There’s no way I can switch to decaf cold turkey. My counter is perfectly shining, and my grinders are packed to the top with beans the way I left them yesterday when I closed. Nothing is out of place, even though the store’s been open for almost an hour. I hate how clean it is. I haven’t had one customer. I checked both sides of the block when I switched the sign from closed to open, and Portia wasn’t thereyet.I assume it’s only a matter of time.
I’m at a loss for what to do with her if she comes back. What are my options? Maybe file a restraining order for harassment? I can’t sit back and let her ruin my business.
A cold breeze wafts through the air, drawing my attention to the open front door.
Immediate surge of adrenaline.
Not a customer.
“Boy, you must have been sitting in the parking lot.” I smile genuinely as Arielle stomps between the narrow pass of tables. A knit beanie sits on her head, with her not-showered blonde hair hanging out at the bottom. She’s wearing that scowl she became famous for. The one that says, I’m-not-a-morning person. Now that I see she’s safe in one piece, I can’t resist teasing her. “Who stole your puppy?”
She plants her feet on the other side of the counter, glaring as if she whole-heartedly believes I stole her make-believe puppy. She has so much disdain clouding her ordinarily bright blue eyes, I’m thinking I need to check the backroom for a dog. “What did I do?” I seal my coffee cup lid and take a sip. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I call Dad and tell him that you’re here—”
“No.” Her hand flies up in a stop motion. “Don’t call Dad. Not before I get a job, or he’ll make me come home to work for him.”
“Then you better start talking.” Completely understanding her dread of not wanting to work for a construction company, I motion to the table behind her. I pull out a chair for her, taking the one across from it for myself. “Are you in trouble?”
