Hah!
At the doorway, Maisie's expression finally cleared. "Ohhhhh. Right."
"And you know what else?"
"What?"
I tried to look severe. "These new cookies – they'll totally ruin Ryder's prank."They wouldn't actually. But itwouldbalance the karma – because as long as I was looking out for myself, it didn't hurt to look out for Ryder, too.
Regardless, Maisie finally laughed, making me smile in return. It wasn't that my troubles were forgotten. But itdidhelp chase away the gloom.
By the time she showered and left for work – taking some freshly baked cookies along with that box of raisin-slathered doom – the kitchen was clean, and I was ready to face another day at the coffee shop.
Sure, I'd be a few hours late, but honestly, I was finding it hard to feel guilty. Or maybe I was just so overwhelmed with guilt over Delaney's money that showing up late for a coffee shift paled in comparison.
Other than being late, I expected it to be a normal day. Turns out, it was anything but.
And it all started with an ugly handwritten sign.
50
Closed for What?
Tessa
I wasn't the only one staring.A dozen tourists were bunched around the coffee shop door, reading the same signIwas reading.
CLOSED UNTIL NOON.
Barista Drama.
No Further Questions.
It was scribbled in thick red ink on plain white paper, with the first line scrawled in all caps like someone had been mad and in a hurry. The ink was smudged, the paper was crinkled, and one corner of the sheet was missing, like a rat had taken a chomp.
But it was the actual message – not the ragged state of the sign – that made me blurt out, "Drama? Seriously?"
The woman in front – a brunette in her mid-forties – turned to me and said, "I bet it's a love triangle. That happens, you know."
I was still trying to come up with a response – not that I had any idea what to say – when the guy next to her said, "It can't be a love triangle. The way I hear it, the shop has only two workers."
A squat guy in a Detroit Lions jersey chimed in, "It could be drama over tips. One time in Ferndale, I saw two baristas going ham over the jar."
I didn't even know whatgoing hammeant, but I listened with morbid fascination as he added, "And then, the jar went flying, sending money everywhere. It was a fuckin' free-for-all."
A woman near the back gasped. "Language!"
He shrugged. "Sorry. But it was." He grinned. "Scored me a fiver though."
A youngish woman in an oversized hoodie turned to glare. "So youstolethe tip? What the hell is wrong with you?"
"It wasn't justonetip," he said. "It was five. Weren't you listening?"
She was still glaring. "Yeah, but yousaida fiver, not five singles."
"Sure. For five people that were all together. So five tips, see?"
She threw up her hands. "I don't care if it was for a full hockey team. It was still wrong."
