“At least we don’t have to worry about one last snow dat was gonna kill me and you and all the other old folk,” Tyrone, our only customer, says from his spot at the counter.
He’s not normally an early bird but he does love to chat. He always seems to bein the mood for coffeewhen the rumor factory is up spinning. Which it is, after the loafer incident.
I grin to myself. How unfortunate the Vanderbully has to buy new shoes.
“We are not old folk!” Maxine huffs.
The doorbell rings and Steven breezes in even more amped than usual. He does not need the large lattes heusually orders.
“But I heard the trucks got stuck a few times. Right, Harper?” Tyrone fishes.
“Yes,” I say.
“Heard it was quite the spectacle…” Maxine adds on.
I try to shrug it off but Steven is here.
“Oh, don’t try and deny it Harper Brown, you little liar! It was! Aiden and Ren both angry and flexing and grunting and those forearms! I cannot!”
“Heard youcouldnot. You need to step up your workouts, pretty boy,” Maxine teases.
Steven laughs, “I tried! I was distracted.” He points at me. “We all were! Admit it.”
I just shake my head.
I’m not admitting anything.
Vanderbutt isnothot. His toned, veiny forearms arenotthat amazing. His angry eyes staring at me, trying to communicate that it was on like donkey king,not hot!
“You’re shrugging but you’re also blushing under that bandanna!”
I turn away from Steven but Maxine laughs and Tyrone piles on with the teasing, “You can run but you can’t hide. We can still see your ears, red as a rose!”
I wave a dismissive hand as I work on Steven’s usual latte.
When they stop their joking, Steven clears his throat.
“I also need a, uh, a large, black, special blend coffee, please.”
He did not just say that.
In what feels like slow motion, I turn, flatten my mouth, raise my eyebrows and cross my arms. I don’t have to say it out loud:you’ve never ordered a black coffee in your life Steven Mayweather!
“What? Miles is cutting back on his calories!” Steven tries.
Tyrone’s laugh fills the store again before he says, “You betta watch out before you get banned too, my boy!”
“She wouldn’t…” I hold my stare and he goes on, “You wouldn’t!”
I hold his latte—which he knows is made with the leftover maple espresso I’m about to run out of—over the trash.
“Fine! He’s waiting outside. He glared at me and you know how he glares! What was I supposed to do?”
I wordlessly move the latte from over the trash, but set it down beside me.
“I’m so glad I decided to come by this morning,” Maxine chuckles, watching.
“Come on! What am I supposed to tell him?”
