Tyler headed to the front to load up the display cabinet as I was slicing into a tray of fresh brownies, and something about his tone caught my attention when he called, “Hey, uh, Lee?”
I slid the brownies onto a tray and carried them out to him—and okay, maybe Bobby Merritt was smarter than I’d given himcredit for because there was already a crowd gathered under the awning in front of the store.
For a split second I was convinced we’d lost track of time, but a quick check of the hideous goose-shaped wall clock showed that we didn’t open for another hour. Apparently, the people of Goose Run were just really fucking enthusiastic about fresh baked goods. And having seen what was on offer at the gas station, I couldn’t blame them.
“Cookies,” I said to Tyler, already calculating. “We’re gonna need a lot more cookies. And start another two brownie mixes. I’ll get more Danishes ready.”
Tyler gave a sharp nod and headed to the back, and a minute later I heard both the stand mixers start up. I slid my tray of brownies into the cabinet and flashed a smile at a middle-aged woman who practically had her nose pressed against the glass doors and then escaped to the back to help Tyler.
We worked our asses off for the next while, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t riding a high in anticipation of opening the doors. I really wanted this to be a success, and if the crowd gathered out front was any indicator, it looked like we might be.
Of course they might all be here for the free samples, but I didn’t think that was the case. I mean, were people really that broke they were willing to line up for a mini cupcake?
Besides, they seemed like they were in a mood to shop, pointing to the various display cases and nodding to their neighbors. Some of them had even brought folding chairs for the wait. It looked like the opening of Gobble de Goose was set to be the big social event of the day.
I checked my watch and my jaw tightened. It was ten minutes to opening, and my barista wasn’t here yet. I hadn’t met the guy but Bobby had assured me that he was “a true craftsman,” whatever that meant. I didn’t care if he was a craftsman. I onlycared if he turned up on time, made a decent espresso, and was halfway civil to the customers.
And right now, he was failing at the first one.
Just as I headed to the back to call Bobby and see if he knew where the barista might be, someone rattled the door handle. I ignored it and kept walking, but then it rattled again. I pinched the bridge of my nose. I knew that if I opened that door so much as an inch, people would assume we were open for business and start coming inside. It was best to pretend I was temporarily deaf and blind.
There was a furious rapping on the glass, and the door rattled again.
I looked at Tyler and he shrugged. “It’s probably our barista.”
Yeah, that made sense. I stepped back through to the front of the store—where I was greeted by the sight of Chase from Goose Run Gas rapping on the door frantically.
He froze when he saw me, and I did the same. Then he tapped his wrist, pointed at the espresso machine, and pointed at the locked door, rolling his eyes.
The message was clear.
Gas-station-asshole Chase, can’t-make-a-coffee Chase, rude-as-hell Chase, was here to start work as my new barista.
Well, fuck.
CHAPTER 5
CHASE
Iducked down behind the counter pretending to look for something on one of the lower shelves. In reality, I was hiding from the line of customers. Why wasn’t it getting any shorter? There weren’t this many people in Goose Run, I was pretty sure. I slipped my hand into the pocket of my jeans, and my fingertips brushed the little fluffy animal on a key chain. It was maybe a cat, but who knew? It was a fuzzy black blob with green beads for eyes that one of the old ladies at Sunny Fields had made for Cash, and he’d decided it was his good luck charm. He’d loaned it to me for today but it was defective, because not only were there six million people lined up to buy coffee and cupcakes, but my new boss was Brown Jacket Guy.
This was a nightmare.
I couldn’t evenmakecoffee. Why the hell had I assumed this was a good idea? Oh, right. Because it got me off graveyard shifts and because I’d stupidly forgotten to take into account the fact that there would be actual customers.
I was so far out of my depth that I couldn’t even see the shore from here, and I was sinking faster with every second. I tried not to let panic overtake me, but it was pretty clear that I’d fucked up. Bobby was going to fire my ass as soon as Brown JacketGuy—Lee Torres, apparently—told him I didn’t know what I was doing. And with the way I’d treated Lee before now, there was zero chance that he wasn’t going to throw me under the bus, let’s be real. Hell, I was surprised he hadn’t already sent me packing.
There was the sound of a throat clearing and I reluctantly stood and faced the customer standing there—a young woman with a toddler on her hip. “Hey,” I said and forced a smile that felt like a grimace.
“Two of the white macadamia cookies and a large Americano, please,” she said, smiling expectantly.
“Sure,” I said, writing down her coffee order. I bagged her cookies—thatpart I could do—and then I offered her kid a mini cupcake. His eyes widened, and he dug a chubby finger into the frosting and licked it, then beamed at me. It was cute as shit, and I found myself grinning back despite the disaster unfolding around me.
“Will there be much of a wait?” the woman asked, eyeing the growing pile of order slips that refused to disappear no matter how hard I ignored them.
“I’m starting them now,” I lied, and I added the Americano order to the pile. That familiar ugly feeling I got when life fucked me over bubbled up in the pit of my stomach. Fuck Bobby and his fancy job offer. I should have known something this good wasn’t meant for me.
I took a shaky breath and stepped toward the machine and froze, staring at the array of settings. This was even bigger and more confusing than the machine at the gas station. I wassofucked.
