I glance at the list of orders, running through them like a checklist in my head. Latte, mocha, flat white—easy enough. I start preparing the latte, carefully measuring the coffee grounds and pouring the steamed milk, creating a perfect layer of froth on top. I’ve been getting pretty good at that, if I do say so myself.
But just as I admire my masterpiece, my focus is pulled by the escalating noise from Rick and Cody. Frothing milk can only drown out so much, and they’re practically having a shouting match.
I glance over my shoulder and immediately notice the impending storm brewing in Rick’s face. He looks like he’s just about to burst. And Cody seems to be well aware of it, relishing in it in fact. He’sgrinning.
Cody’s mischievous eyes catch mine. “I think I broke your
boss,” he deadpans.
I bite back a laugh. “I can see that,” I reply, keeping my voice light.
“I still can’t believe he’s your boss,” he adds, shaking his head, looking genuinely confused at the thought.
Rick’s face darkens further, his jaw clenched so tight I’m half-worried his teeth will shatter. He looks like he’s running through a list of plausible ways to get away with murder, but Cody doesn’t seem the least bit concerned.
Then Rick’s phone rings, cutting through the tension. He shoots me a glare—because apparently, this is somehow my fault—before answering it. “Hey, Mum,” he says, his voice strained.
Cody snorts, and I can feel the trouble brewing before he even speaks. “Of course, it’s his mum,” he says loudly enough for everyone to hear. “As if anyone else would call him.”
I slap a hand over my mouth to muffle my laugh. Camille, standing behind me, doesn’t even bother trying to hide hers.
Rick shoots Cody a sharp glare, to which he flashes an innocent smile, completely unfazed. “Just pointing out the malfunctions in your social life,” he says with a shrug.
I hear Camille chuckle from behind me.
Her chuckle falls into a whisper. “Now that’s what he gets for trying to fire you,” she says. “Karma’s a bitch. And in this case, its name is Cody.”
Camille leans over, whispering to me through her giggles, “I think we should keep him around. He’s chaos, but, like, the fun kind.”
Rick, meanwhile, looks like he’s about to combust. He might as well have steam coming out of his ears.
I wish I could say I feel bad for him, but honestly? Watching Rick get flustered like this? It’s the highlight of my day.
***
I slip into the seat next to Naomi, forcing a reassuring smile that doesn’t quite feel convincing. “Hey… I called Sam,” I tell her, my voice a little too bright. “She actually picked up, you know.” I let out a weak laugh, hoping to ease the tension. “She’s on her way. Shouldn’t be long.”
Naomi turns to me with a small nod. Her face is pale, her eyes wide and haunted, and seeing her like this hurts in a way I can’t describe.
“Okay,” she says softly, her voice barely audible.
I exhale, running a hand through my hair. “I know you’re scared, freaked out… and I’m so sorry you got dragged into this,” I say, my words tumbling out. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
Naomi doesn’t say anything, just nods again. “I, uh, finally got the bookshop job,” I blurt out, trying to steer the conversation somewhere—anywhere—else. “Took a ridiculous number of emails, but they caved.”
Her lips twitch, almost like she’s trying to smile, but her gaze keeps darting toward the window. Sam’s car pulls up outside, and the faintest flicker of relief crosses her face.
Naomi stands, smoothing her hands over her jeans. “Good luck,” she murmurs. “We’ll talk later.”
I step aside to let her out, watching as she heads for the door. “Don’t tell Sam yet,” I manage to say, the words catching in my throat.
Naomi pauses at the door, turning back to look at me. “I’ll wait for you,” she says softly.
And the thing is, I believe her. I shouldn’t. I know better. But I do.
Ialwaysdo.
Maybe that’s my problem.
