Chapter 1
Grace
The morning rhythmof The Velvet Bean gave me joy. The swirl of voices, the purr of the espresso machine, and the familiar thud of mugs on hardwood tables were music to my ears. Sunlight streamed through the wall of windows, painting everything from the plants by the window to the coffee grinders behind the counter in warm, rich hues. I wiped down a table and loaded some empty mugs into my bus bin.
The first notes of “Build Me Up Buttercup” played in the background, and all on their own, my hips began to sway.
My caffeinated haven was heaven on Earth.
I laughed quietly to myself—aheavenly haven.
“Seven a.m., like clockwork.” Vanessa, my barista-turned-assistant manager, stopped next to me and wiped her hands on her apron.
The bell over the door chimed as several regulars walked in: a college student with baggy sweats and bleary eyes, a local artist with bright pink hair, and Mr. Kendrick in his tweed jacket, with his ever-present newspaper tucked under his arm. Right behind them would be a stream of patrons intent on sitting and enjoying the atmosphere, rather than snagging coffee on the go.
“Want me on the register or the bar?” she asked.
“I’ll take the register.” I stowed my cleaning supplies and bin, then headed for the counter with her. “You’re better with the milk foam art, anyway.”
“You just want to keep me away from your precious ordering system.” Vanessa grinned, her voice laced with friendly sass. “I’ll have it completely redesigned before you get back.”
“I could fire you for that,” I said, feigning an air of importance.
“But you’d be lost without me, boss.” She patted my shoulder in an exaggerated display of comfort before taking up her position in front of the espresso machine.
“Hi, Mr. Kendrick.” I unlocked the register and smiled at him. The others had let the older man by, so he’d be up first. “Large house blend, two cream, two sugar?”
He tipped his hat and retrieved his wallet. “Same as every day.”
I tapped the order onto the touchscreen. “How’s the crossword treating you so far?”
“Terrible.” He chuckled, sliding the exact change across to me. “I might need your input if you have time.”
On cue, Vanessa placed his mug beside me, and I handed it to him. “Let me know if any of them have to do with coffee trivia. That’s my specialty.”
He shuffled to his usual table, a cozy corner near the big windows facing the street, with enough room for his newspaper. I moved on to the next customers, ringing up a chai latte for the artist and an extra-large Americano for the college student whose heavy lids told me he’d pulled an all-nighter.
Behind me, Vanessa deftly managed the machines. She wasn’t simply more artistic than I was; she was faster. Which was lucky for me, since the barista who normally worked theearly shift with us was out with a broken arm. Four more orders followed before I had enough of a lull to tidy the pastry case.
After serving her last drink, Vanessa joined me. “How did the interview go?”
“Good.” I pulled out an empty tray. We needed more cheese scones. “New guy will be in tomorrow to learn the ropes.”
“Right on time for your trip?”
I nodded, handing her the tray. “You’ll have to keep him in line while I’m gone.”
“Is he cute?” Vanessa raised her hopeful eyebrows.
“For someone who won’t be his boss? He might be.”
“You should stay in London longer.”
I rolled my eyes at her and pointed toward the kitchen. “Go get more scones.”
“Aye, aye, captain.”
The door chimed like a small announcement, and Vanessa and I both turned to look. The first man through was Tristan McCallum, whose mother owned the art gallery a few buildings down the road. His sharp eyes and quick smirk always made him seem like he was hiding a secret. He wore a charcoal T-shirt that fit smoothly across his frame, jeans, and work boots. The gossip I’d originally had on him—since we both grew up in Brenton, even though he was a few years older than me—was that he’d moved here in his teens with his mother, left after high school to serve in the Navy, and had moved back to Brenton six months ago.
