You arethe queen of your domainApril thought to herself as she rested her elbows on the counter and looked around Riversong, her family’s coffee shop.And right now, your domain is in desperate need of a new espresso machine, or at least someone who can actually repair the one you’ve got.
Bang!
“Dammit!”
April turned and bent sideways to check on her dad. “Was that your noggin hitting something?”
Sonny growled as he rubbed his forehead. “Yes. And if I hit my head one more time, I might finally knock loose the genius fix this damn thing needs.”
He scooted out from behind the antique espresso machine, wiping his hands on a threadbare rag. “Pump’s on its last legs, boiler’s more scale than metal, and I just found a cracked solenoid valve. Honestly, April, if this thing was a horse, I’d have shot it by now.”
She winced. “How bad?”
“Worst case? New pump, new boiler, full descale, plus labor. We’re looking at three grand minimum—and that’s only if she’s worth saving.” Sonny fondly patted the espresso machine he’dcursed out only a moment ago. “I don’t want to replace her. She’s been good to us, and they don’t make ’em like this anymore.” He considered. “Well, they do, but they start around thirteen grand.”
April flinched. She knew a brand-new espresso machine the size and quality of the one they had would be expensive, but thirteen grand? “That’s a lotta lattes.”
Sonny nodded in agreement. “A lotta-lotta lattes.” He stared past the counter at the empty tables during the slowest part of the day on the slowest day of the week, Thursday. Even April’s friend Rochelle, who practically lived at Riversong while she was working, was not in her usual spot in the window seat. The late-spring day was just too beautiful to waste sitting inside.
Sonny sighed as he ran a hand through his short, graying hair. “Think we can make it through the weekend with just pour-overs and drip?”
A fresh pit hollowed out in her stomach. “Maybe. But half the town runs on lattes, and if word gets out that Riversong can’t pull a proper espresso…” She didn’t finish the sentence.
Sonny folded his arms and leaned against the counter. “Perfect. Just what we need. A thirteen-thousand-dollar paperweight and our caffeine-deprived regulars taking their business elsewhere.”
April offered her dad a tired smile. “We could always put it on display. Call it industrial art. ‘Mid-Mod Heartbreaker.’”
“Smartass.” But he said it with a grin as he reached out to tousle her hair like he’d done since she was a kid.
“Here’s what we’ll do,” April said. “It’s supposed to be hotter this weekend, so let’s get a few cases of seltzer water and use our syrups to make Italian sodas. I’ll send out a newsletter and put a sign out front advertising cool, refreshing summer drinks and iced, pour-over coffee.”
Sonny’s grin turned into a full-fledged smile. “That’s my girl. Always thinking.” He tapped his temple as he picked up the shop phone’s receiver. “I’ll order the seltzer, you start on the newsletter.”
“Sounds good.”
Sonny covered the mouthpiece. “I mean it when I say we couldn’t do this without you.”
“Thanks,” April said as she tried not to wince. Her dad meant it as a compliment, not as a barbed reminder of the years she wasn’t around to help. At least not physically around—she’d wired money home as soon as she could, to help pay off the loan. That damned Mr. Foti had also made sure there was a huge penalty for paying it off early—which Sonny had agreed to, figuring he wouldn’t ever have the cash to do so anyway—ensuring her family would be at his mercy for years. So she sent several payments a year, always a different amount and from a different city.
When she’d returned home years later—Mr. Foti’s threat laughably small now that she was older and sadly wiser—her mom told her Sonny had hired a PI to find April after she started sending the money home. They would have kept looking for her, but he’d eventually told them, ‘She’s in fucking Billings now. Last time she was in Coeur d'Alene. The time before that, the money came from Reno. She’s all over the place. God knows where she’s at now. You might as well just give me the money she sends you because that’s how much it’s gonna cost for me to try and track her down. You could buy a new coffee shop for the same amount you’d pay me to find her. Just let her go. She’s obviously doing good enough to send you money and she loves you enough to do it. You’re lucky. Trust me. This story has the happiest ending you can hope for. I’ve seen worse.’
So, her family stopped trying to find her, settling for the money and the yearly Christmas card telling them she lovedthem, she was doing well, and she was happy. At least the first two were true.
It was all the contact April could bring herself to make.
Worst daughter in the world.
Now, she did everything she could to make up for those lost years.
April pointed to the door leading to the back while her dad talked to one of their vendors. He nodded, and she headed for the office, leaving the front of the shop in his care. Her younger sister, Hannah, was taking the day off along with their mom, for Hannah’s birthday. The two were shopaholics and loved bargain hunting. They were hitting the thrift stores up in Vail, the outlets at Silver Plume, then dinner in Idaho Springs followed by a couple hours soaking in the hot springs (April’s gift to her sister) and wouldn’t be home until around midnight.
Hannah had texted April earlier, sending her a photo of a pair of used Jimmy Choo shoes with a ridiculously low price. Vail and Aspen both had the most amazing thrift stores thanks to the rich folks who lived there. April had smiled at the photo and remembered when she’d had a closet full of Jimmy Choos and other designer clothing, all bought at retail price. Almost all of it was gone now.
She looked around the scruffy office with its second-hand office chairs and desks, the walls covered with photos of her family, and smiled. There was no place in the world she’d rather be, and she was grateful for it.
April sat down and woke up the computer. She’d have enough time to draft the newsletter, find some cute photos, and send it out before her son, Kevin, would bike to Riversong from school. He was in detention yet again. She was halfway through drafting the newsletter when her cellphone buzzed on the desk. April groaned as she looked at the name that popped up—Principal Jackass.
“Great. What does he want now?” She blew out a breath before hitting speaker.
