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Liv: RUBY HART

Liv: GEMMA JUST CALLED ME

Liv: A MAN????

Liv: IN YOUR APARTMENT????

Liv: WHO ISN’T TECHNICALLY A MAN????

Gemma: I shared that information in confidence, Olivia.

Liv: And I’m processing it with EXTREME maturity. Ruby. Critical question. Is he hot?

Avery: That’s your priority right now?

Liv: It’s EVERYONE’S priority, some of us are just brave enough to say it out loud.

Gemma: His physical appearance has no bearing on the situation.

Liv: So he IS hot?!

I type a response, delete it, type another one, delete that. A customer orders a cappuccino, and I make it on autopilot while composing a text that I erase four times before sending.

Ruby: Can we please talk about this AFTER my shift? Come over tonight. All of you.

Avery: Should I bring wine or a weapon?

Liv: Wine. And questions. I have SO many questions. This is the most exciting thing that’s happened in this group chat since Gemma accidentally went on a date with her cousin.

Gemma: He was a SECOND cousin, it was a CONFERENCE MIXER, and I am never forgiving you for bringing that up.

Avery: I’ll bring wine. And a weapon. Covering both bases.

I shove the phone back in my pocket and try to focus on the espresso machine, which is making a sound that might be dying or might just be Tuesday. Above me, the floor creaks, and I go completely still.

He’s moving up there.

I told him not to touch anything, and he’s moving.

I close my eyes, take a breath, and remind myself that panicking behind the counter during a lunch rush is not an option and that whatever he’s doing up there is a problem for future Ruby. Present Ruby has customers.

My mother arrives at 2:15 p.m. without warning.

She comes through the front door carrying a reusable bag. Her hair is freshly done, and her lipstick is the aggressive coral she wears when she has an agenda, which is always.

“Sweetheart!” She sets the bag on the counter—I can see bananas and what appears to be a container of soup and at least two magazines—and leans across to kiss my cheek. “I was in the neighborhood.”

“You live forty minutes away.”

“I was in the general neighborhood.” She looks around the bakery with the expression she always has when she’s here, equal parts pride and worry. “How’s business?”

“Great.”

“How’s the oven?”

“Fixed.”

It’s not fixed.