Brighton noted the machines were at least turned on?—that’d save time. “What can I get for you?”
“I’m going to assume there’s no cold brew,” she said more as an accusation than a question. “So, how about a macchiato. Can you do that?”
“Sure, traditional or like you get from the siren?”
“Siren.”
“Caramel?”
“Of course.”
“Name for the order?”
The woman laughed. “It’s not like you have a line.”
“Yet,” Brighton added ruefully.
After a long look, the woman smiled. “Chandra.”
“One macchiato with caramel for Chandra coming right up.” Brighton slid easily into the routine of preparing the macchiato?—pulling the shots, steaming the milk, preparing the cup with caramel drizzle??—and found that she missed this life. Missed who she was back then??—fun-loving, carefree, full of dreams. Before she could deliver Chandra her macchiato, two more people were in line.
Brighton couldn’t help arching her eyebrows toward them as she asked the woman, “You were saying?”
“Touché.” Chandra lifted her cup in a toast but stayed at the counter.
After serving the next two, Brighton tidied up with the intent to return to her room before Stone saw her.
“How do you like working with … Mr. Mulroney?”
“I don’t.” Wait. Oops. Working with Mr. Mulroney???—Stone. Heat spiraled through Brighton, realizing her mistake. “I rarely see him,” she amended. “That’s why I’m here??—he can’t pull shots to save his life.” Was that laugh too hollow?
“How on earth did he ever find such a beauty and convince you to come to our sleepy neck of the mountain?” Insinuation rich as the drink she consumed, Chandra took another sip. “This is delicious.”
“Glad you approve.” Brighton diverted the conversation. “The key is not leaving the shot too long before adding it to the drink or you kill it.” When she turned, she was pleased to find Stone’s mother in line. “Mrs. Clara, good to see you. Would you like something?”
“Tea, dear. Whatever kind you have.”
“Hot or cold?”
“Hot.”
“Sweet or unsweetened?”
“A little honey.”
“Coming right up.” After eying the supplies, she started a green tea. “How’s Brooke?”
“Oh.” She waved a hand. “Left days ago??—got some urgent call and zipped out. Almost didn’t even say good-bye. She’s pretty important up in that New York City law firm where she’s a partner at.” She scanned the hotel lobby and lounge. “Have you seen my son?”
Brighton avoided looking at Chandra but felt the woman’s interest pique. “I believe he’s in town at the moment.” She used a bear-shaped container to sweeten the hot tea.
“You’re St?—the owner’s mother?” Chandra was a wolf stalking prey. But had she almost said Stone?
Mrs. Clara glanced over her shoulder at the taller woman and somehow seemed to assess things in that split-second examination. “I am.”
“I … Can I ask, what do you think of his … conduct?”
Freezing, Brighton drew in a sharp breath, wondering if she’d been outed. Afraid his mom would mention her or maybe Mrs. Pellet already knew. Is that why she’d been hanging around the café?
