The second I turned eighteen, the pressure of that potential responsibility wrapped around my throat like a noose, squeezing until spots danced across my vision. I’d already worked every single day after school to pay for my car and the several lines of credit my parents had already taken out in my name. I couldn’t imagine continuing to bust my ass for the rest of my life just to give it all away to someone else because of a misguided sense of responsibility. I cared about my parents, but they weren’t good people by any stretch of the word. Hell, they weren’t even morally questionable people who were decent parents. That I could’ve handled. They were apathetic at best and deceitful at worst. I got the hell out of Florida as fast as I could and never looked back.
Pulling open the back door, I see Rory, my closest friend and former barista, leaning over the front counter, locking lips with her husband. You’d think after you marry someone, you’d gettired of being around them all the time, but with these two, you never get that vibe.
“Gross! Not around the danishes!” I say, covering my eyes.
Rory laughs, untying her apron and handing it to me as she rounds the front counter.
“Aww, what are you gonna do? Fire me?” She bumps her hip against mine.
“Didn’t I already do that?” I laugh, and she just rolls her eyes. Most days I miss her terribly. But I’m so proud of her for finally fulfilling her dream and opening a dance studio here in Grovewood.
“Thank you for covering. I really appreciate it. Ended up being a colossal waste of time, but still. I appreciate you always helping me out when I need it,” I hug her tightly, knowing she absolutely isn’t a hugger but not giving her the chance to escape my affection.
“I’m always here, Ness. Don’t hesitate to reach out. This early in the morning, I can’t even open the studio, so I’m happy to help,” she tells me with a warm smile.
“Yeah, and I love free shit.” Breaker says, holding up his cup and scone. She smacks his arm, and he just shrugs.
“Oh, don’t act like you don’t get free shit here all the time!” I tell him. Breaker does all the IT work for everyone in this building. This coffee shop, the tattoo studio next door, and the jewelry shop on the corner are all his domain when it comes to our internet or cybersecurity needs. Digitally, I’m pretty much useless, so I’m grateful to have him.
“Thanks, Ness. See you later!” He calls out as the bell over the front door signals their exit.
Two girls in workout clothes come in, and the routine of my morning begins. The flurry of iced macchiato’s and venti cold foams is almost enough to make me lose track of the fact Helo’sfriend is supposed to be stopping by at some point to sign this rental agreement.
I’ll admit, I was surprised when he suggested he knew someone who could sublet the apartment above the coffee shop. Helo has been my accountant for about a year now. Apart from his coffee order and love for his wife, Willow, I know relatively nothing about him or who he associates with. But I trust he would never suggest someone who would destroy the place or leave me in a bind.
When I moved to Grovewood, the universe brought me to this coffee shop. I’m a firm believer in being in just the right place at just the right time, and that’s exactly what happened when I met April.
Technically, it’s April who owns Mug Life and the apartment upstairs, on paper. But she’s living it up, retired, tan, and drunk in the Bahamas or Italy or wherever her heart has taken her this month. She trusts me to make all the decisions here because I’ve proven to her I can handle these responsibilities. And I know one day, when I can afford it, all this will be mine. To some, it may seem like a small dream. Like pennies in a wishing well. But to me, it’s everything I’ve ever wanted. It’s the chance to live the life I want to live, not under someone else’s thumb or expectations.
The bell over the door rings, and a man crosses the threshold. I swear all the air leaves the building. Is that shit even possible?? I read about things like this happening in the smutty books Rory and her friends recommend to me all the time, but I’ve never actually experienced it for myself until this very moment. He’s the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. He’s every single thing my intuition tells me I should run the fuck away from as fast as I can, and never ever look back.
But for some reason, I can’t drag my eyes away from him. He looks refined, elegant almost. Which feels like such a weird statement to make about a man. He’s over six feet of flawlessolive skin in an Armani button-down. It’s not something you see every day in a small town in South Carolina. I’ve definitely never seen a man with a neck tattoo that wasn’t Satan in a fucking Sunday hat.
My favorite alternative metal singer’s rich voice pulls me back to reality as the band’s music plays through the speakers around the shop. The two girls at the counter talk back and forth about the daily specials before they both order venti iced skinny lattes. I watch Satan’s gaze trail down their bodies from where he stands behind them in line.
First ick.
He steps up to the counter, his eyes meeting mine as I work to finish their drinks. They widen slightly, honing in on my chest before coming back up to meet my unamused stare.
Second ick.
I’ve always been a curvier woman with a big chest. Men have had full-blown conversations with my tits before, but I’ll be dead and buried before that happens to me in my fucking place of business.
“Welcome to Mug Life. Can I help you?” I ask, doing my best to mask the disdain in my voice.
I finish one iced latte, sliding it across the bar to one of the girls while starting the other. The man stands there, silent and unmoving. Just watching me work. It’s completely unnerving.
He may be the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen in my entire life, but the silent, predatory way he’s watching me is fucking creepy.
“Sir, are you going to order?” I ask again, and he smirks.
“Depends,Bambina. Are you on the menu?” He asks with the confidence of a man who is used to getting exactly what he wants, when he wants it.
My jaw drops. Iced caramel latte flies through the air before my mind has time to compute what I’m doing. The Latina in me has always reacted before thinking.
The bell over the door chimes, but this man and I are caught in a stare down, a battle of wills, and neither of us is willing to be the first to break. He’s furious, dangerously so. The twitch in his jaw and the murderous glare in his eyes tell me so. But he should learn to watch his mouth before speaking to a lady he’s just met.
I see Helo walk up behind the man out of the corner of my eye, his face ashen.
