Chapter 1
Ellie
The bell over my shop door doesn’t ring.
That’s the first wrong thing. Not the foreclosure notice. Not the panic crawling up my throat.
“What the hell,” I whisper, leaning in. My breath fogs the glass. I can see my own reflection—messy bun, hoodie, leggings, the kind of outfit I wear when I’m planning to melt chocolate and pretend I have my life together.
I press my palm to the window and peer inside.
The lights are off, but the sun hits the copper kettles and the polished counter. My display case is there. The trays I set up last night. The chalkboard menu I rewrote because the “Devil’s Kiss” lettering wasn’t slanted enough.
Everything looks normal.
Except for the neon-orange paper taped dead center on the inside of the glass.
My stomach drops.
I bend, squint through the glare, and read the first line. My throat closes around it.
NOTICE OF DEFAULT.
I straighten too fast and nearly stumble. My coffee sloshes, hot liquid splashing my fingers, but I barely feel it.
No.
No, no, no.
I pull my phone out with hands that suddenly don’t work right and tap my banking app. It spins. Loads. Spins again.
Then a red banner flashes.
ACCOUNT RESTRICTED.
My ears start ringing.
I swipe through notifications. Missed emails. Missed calls. A voicemail timestamped last night.
I hit play and press the phone to my ear.
“Ms. James,” a man’s voice says, flat and official, like he’s reading off a script he uses to ruin people’s lives before lunch. “This is regarding your outstanding balance. The bank is exercising its rights under your agreement. Effective immediately, the property is in foreclosure proceedings. Do not attempt entry. You will be contacted with next steps.”
Beep.
My mouth goes dry.
Do not attempt entry.
My chest tightens like I’m being squeezed from the inside. I stare through the glass, at the counters, the shelves, the back room door. My inventory is in there. My paperwork. My receipts. My equipment.
My emergency bag is in there. My entire life is locked in the one bedroom studio apartment upstairs.
All of myclothes.
I just stepped away for coffee atThe Devil’s Brewfor twenty minutes and now I’m locked out of my life and livelihood.
I try the door again anyway, like the universe is going to remember who I am.
