Page 31 of An Espresso Machine’s Guide to Love & Mischief

“Urgh, why would you mix those three things?”

I frown. “You don’t like it?”

“I mean… it’s… healthily delicious?”

I wiggle my eyebrows again. “Wow. That’s exactly what Ellen from the cubicle next to mine said! But then I saw the bottle in her trash can with all the juice still in it.”

“Ummm… she must have dropped it.”

“That’s right! She probably did!” I grin. “And I still need to guess your chore.” I glance around.

“Actually, I—”

“Oh, I know!” I gesture to the woman playing guitar on the other side of the street. “You’re out here listening to buskers to learn new songs for that old woman you sing lullabies to?” I trail off as I think of a different elderly woman. “Poor Mrs. Ellis.”

Fletcher’s face falls. “She deserved better.”

“I’m really going to miss her cookies. And her tea. She’d always put a bit of milk in it. It really brought out the cookie flavor. We should have some tonight in her honor.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Fletcher nods morosely. “You know, I’ve been thinking about it, and it seems strange to me that she was out here in possum form, and not human.”

“Maybe she liked the feel of the night wind on her fur? I like to be naked outside sometimes, but humans can’t do that, so I shift and walk around. Maybe she was doing that.”

“Mrs. Ellis doesn’t seem like the type.”

“She could have been a nudist, you don’t know that.”

“Could be.” Fletcher doesn’t sound convinced. “But she hated downtown.”

“She did. She liked to say that there’s nothing good south of Sheppard—except me when I go to work, of course. And you, Fletcher. I’m sure she meant both of us.”

He shakes his head. “Something feels off. I’ve been thinking of talking to her wife tonight, but… I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I think you should trust your instincts,” I tell him. “Plus, we should offer our ordinances—”

“Condolences,” Fletcher corrects.

“Right, condolences, to Mrs. Jones. We can bring oatmeal raisin cookies. Mrs. Ellis always said they were her wife’s favorite.”

“We’ll go as soon as you’re done working—and I’m finished helping Diva.” Fletcher nods. “That’s why I’m out here. I’m waiting for her and Nephrite.”

“Oh, there’s a second espresso machine? Or is Nephrite a… a… teakettle?”

“What?” Fletcher finishes his topokki and tosses the stick in the trash. “No, Nephrite is her friend.”

“Her mug friend?”

“No, Nephrite is a pony.”

“Ponies like coffee?”

“Pony shifter, man. Pony shifter. She owns a cafe in the States. That’s where Diva’s from.”

I scratch my head. “So you plan to buy Diva from Nephrite?”

“I… I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead. I just want to see her again and be with her, you know?”

“Oh…” This machine fetish is getting a bit weird, but I would never kink-shame someone, so I turn my head away from Fletcher before he notices my ‘what the fuck, man’ expression.