West narrows his eyes, unconvinced. “I mean it, Raelynn. Hidden Agenda works because we’ve all learned not to keep secrets. You want to go it alone? That’s your call. But you can’t do it here. So get your head on straight or I will bench you. Indefinitely.”
Nash
Wallet in hand, I stare into my backpack. Inside a special, waterproof pocket, my little sister’s ratty old sloth peers up at me. Twenty years, and I’ve carried it everywhere. Always safe. Always close.
In Cheyanne, Wyoming, it had its own shelf above my bed. In Durango, Texas, I kept it in my nightstand drawer. Lodi, California? The stuffed animal perched on top of an old wine barrel I used as a coffee table.
Here, in this tiny studio apartment over a coffee shop in Seattle, the sloth spends its nights watching me from a bookcase across the room. But whenever I leave, it comes with me.
Every day, I lose more of my memories of Mae. All I have left now are flashes. Big green eyes, red hair, freckles. Her small fingers wrapped around mine when she’d crawl into my bed at night and ask me to tell her a story.
“You doing all right in there, Bandit?” The matted ball of brown and white fluff won’t answer me, but I feel closer to Mae whenever I see him. “Good talk. Thanks.”
With the backpack slung over my shoulder, I thud down the back stairs. The rich scent of coffee tickles my nose, and my mouth waters.
Since I moved in to this studio perched over one of the best coffee shops in Seattle, my caffeine habit has gotten out of control. In less than two months, I’ve gone from the occasional latte or drip to a double espresso every day. I should switch to decaf before I’m truly addicted.
Yeah, right.
“Nash!” Adam, Broadcast Coffee’s owner, waves at me from behind the counter. His eyes light up—or maybe that’s all the caffeine he’s had today—as he works the lever on the fancy espresso machine. Whenever the man sees me, he insists on making me something. Usually with at least two shots. “Have a seat!”
“I was just on my way out…” My protest fades as he slides a small cup across the bar, his wide grin infectious. So what if I’m vibrating by the time I get to Georgetown? It’ll keep me warm. The weather report said it was supposed to rain all day.
I set my backpack on the stool next to me and take a sip. “Peruvian?”
“Hot damn. You’re getting good at this. Watch out tomorrow. I’m going to throw you a curve ball.” He slams the filter full of compressed grounds down over the in-counter trash bin with a dull thud.
“Bring it.” The coffee tastes of citrus and vanilla, and I finish the cup quickly—too quickly—because Adam offers to make me another. “Can’t today. The upholstery for the new chairs is supposed to be delivered in a couple of hours. Shaking hands don’t make for straight stitches.”
He chuckles. “Everything you’ve built for the shop has been amazing, Nash. The stools, the shelving unit for the storeroom, and hell…you fixed that bad outlet in the studio less than a week after you moved in.”
“I needed to charge my phone. That was the closest plug to the bed.” I shrug off the work like it was nothing, even though it took me two full days to find the fault in the wiring.
“Don’t be memorable. Stay under the radar. Everyone you meet needs to forget you as soon as you’re gone.”
Pops—Frank—would give me hell if he could see me now. I’m doing a fucking terrible job of staying incognito.
“Earth to Nash…”
With a hard blink, I lift my gaze. “I gotta go if I want to be there when the courier shows up. I might be able to finish all four chairs by Monday.”
“Already?” He toasts me with his own espresso. “You’re a machine.”
I force a smile as I haul to my feet. “The cabinets upstairs will take me another couple of weeks. After that, you’ll be able to list the place for twice what you were getting before.”
“You’re not moving out, are you?” Adam looks me over with earnest eyes, a crease forming between his brows. “The studio’s yours for as long as you want it.”
“Uh…yeah.” One shoulder lifts in a half shrug. “I thought I’d move on soon. Maybe check out Idaho for a while.”
Leaning against the back counter, defeat darkens his gaze. “Sure I can’t convince you to stick around for a while?”
Shit. I can’t tell him why I need to keep moving. Why I never stay in one place for more than six months. Not even a place I love, like Seattle.
“Sorry, Adam. I’ve been on the run since I was fourteen. I have no idea if anyone’s still after me, but I don’t want to find out.”
He’d either ask endless questions or write me off as delusional. Probably both.
“Nash,” he says, breaking the awkward silence. “You’ve done great work. And you’re any landlord’s dream—even without paying a dime in rent. Selfishly, I was hoping you’d stay long term. I’m opening a new location in Green Lake this summer and I could really use your talent. Say…for a custom coffee bar? Among other things.”
