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“How did you end up with the name Sugar Mugs?”
“Ben tried to convince me to call it Sugar Jugs and do the whole bikini-barista thing.”
Mack smirked. “Really? I mean, that’s a tough one. Do I support women’s empowerment? Yes? Female entrepreneurship? Yes. Do I think it has a deeply misogynistic history? Also, yes. But maybe the women are flipping the script?”
“Exactly. Like more power to the woman that wants to do that. I just couldn’t. Not that I wouldn’t kill it in a bikini.” Charlie shimmied her shoulders. “But I’d get too cold and then cranky.”
The waiter dropped off arroz con dulce, and Charlie savored the cream melting into her tongue. “Ben was right. This dessert is so good.”
Mack took a bite and licked her lips, and Charlie focused on nothing else.
“Can you please add therapy to my floor labor bill I owe you?” Charlie scooped the spoon back into the rice dessert. “I cannot believe I talked that much about myself.”
“I loved every minute of getting to know more about you. Besides, if I ever need to blackmail you, we’re solid.”
“Deal. All right, your turn. Did you always want to be a writer?”
Mack bit into the dessert and her jaw worked in a circle. “No. Well, yes and no. I used to write all the time, short stories and things.”
“Poems?”
“God, no. The people who write poems are brilliant. I can’t write a poem to save my life.” She set the spoon on the side of the bowl. “Ever since I was young and had trouble falling asleep, I created stories. I could see every tiny detail. The character’s eyebrow shape and if their pointer finger was taller than their ring finger. I heard their voices and pictured their smells. As I got older, the story evolved, and I’d get pissed when I’d fall asleep because I wanted to solve the mystery or figure out different twists.”
“Did you do this forThe Edge of the Shadow?”
Mack nodded.
“Robbery gone wrong, murder, and mistaken identity helped you fall asleep?”
Mack laughed. “Morbid, I know. I’m the same person who loves serial killer documentaries and podcasts.”
“Oh, hell no.” Charlie waved her wrist. “That stuff scares the crap out of me. I can’t even do scary movies. I sawThe Sixth Sensewhen I was a kid, and I’m still sleeping with a night-light.”
“The one with the cute little boy who saw dead people?”
“Exactly! Dead people!”
Charlie wanted everything in Mack’s head implanted into hers. As Mack spoke, her heart grew, her limbs ached, and her mind wandered.
Mack. Was. Perfect.
For the first time in months, Charlie wasn’t thinking about her shop, bills, or a pending bankruptcy. She wanted to know every part of Mack, to sink into her soul’s wading pool, swim around, and uncover all her secrets. What made Mack happiest? Did she talk in her sleep? Did she ever have a dog?
She rolled the spoon in her mouth and glanced at Mack. “Where do you get your inspiration?”
“Ideas come from all over the place. I was at a conference in Minnesota a few months ago and drove by a sparkly billboard in the middle of a cornfield with a really obscure message. I don’t even remember what it said. But it was so odd that I wondered if some ultra-rich, secret society of farmers lived there that spread mind-chip devices in the soil instead of corn. Or maybe some lonely farmer fell in love with Pluto and put this billboard up to beam a message to it. Random stuff.”
How does that even happen?Just coming up with the name Sugar Mugs depleted her entire bucket of creative juice. “My brain could never go there. I love this stuff. Give me another one.”
“Hmmm… let me think.” Mack played with the straw. “Okay, the twist inThe Edge of the Shadowcame from watching the news. They had a story about the cops busting a woman for a string of armed bank robberies. I kept thinking,But she’s so pretty. How does someone so pretty commit crimes?” Mack shook her head. “I know it’s an asinine thought, but I never stop thinking those things because it often leads to something. So, I kept at it, like, oh, she’s doing it for a different purpose. Or she isn’t the real criminal but instead part of an elite squad hired by the bank to showcase security flaws. Then that morphed into what if she did it because an evil person kidnapped someone she loved. And ittook off from there. But inspiration comes from everywhere. TV. A song, reading, overhearing conversations at coffee shops or restaurants.”
“Writers do that?”
“Yeah, all the time. I call it mining for word gold.”
Charlie crossed her arms. “I’d feel so violated if someone did that to me.”
Mack’s face went pale before it turned red. She coughed and took a sip of water. “You would?”
