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I push away the thoughts of Harrison and head back into my shop.
“Was that who I think it was?” Deanna says, raising a brow.
I nod. “Yeah, I think he was spying on me.”
Deanna’s lived here her whole life and is around our age. So, I’m sure she knows him better than I do. Not that I know him at all.
“Real shame about his father,” Deanna says, glancing down for a moment. “That man used to be the life of this town. It was sweet of Harrison to come back and fulfill his father’s dream.”
Okay, she definitely knows him better than me.
Deanna’s worked for me since I opened my shop. She’s like my right hand.
“His father’s dream was to open a loud coffee shop?”
Deanna laughs, her red hair spilling over her shoulders. “Yes. He was probably one of the coolest men I’d ever met. He used to tell stories. He was really cool.”
I think about this man I’ve never met. “When did he die?”
Deanna looks sad again. “About eight or nine months ago.”
I don’t know what’s happening to me, but it feels like my heart is opening to Harrison. Like a sense of empathy, or I feel sorry for him.
Coming from a large family, I couldn't imagine losing any of them. “That must have been hard on Harrison.”
She nods. “Yeah, I’m sure it was.”
For a fleeting moment, I want to ask Deanna everything about Harrison. I want all the info, but I push through the door leading to the back area and head to my office. My eyes linger on the spot where Harrison almost kissed me the other night.
Why didn’t I let him kiss me?
No, I know why. I can’t go around kissing random men. Especially ones I don’t know at all. I know nothing about Harrison.
Before I can really think too long or hard on the subject, I feel a water droplet hit my nose. I glance up.
“What the…” My words fall away as more water rains down on me.
“It must be a broken pipe,” Deanna calls from the front of the shop.
And then, it just gets worse.
I rush out to the front of the coffee shop and see water dripping from the ceiling. “Everyone, please remain calm,” I tell the guests of my shop who are obviously freaking out.
I help everyone outside and apologize profusely.
This can’t be happening.
The water rains from the ceiling, and I call Jack, the plumber. After talking to him, I call Mitchell, the building owner.
What a nightmare.
I can’t believe this is happening.
As if matters couldn’t get any worse, Petra strolls over from the Gazette building across the street.
“Is everything all right?” she asks me, concern etched on her face.
“I don’t even know. This might take weeks to fix.” I hate the words on the tip of my tongue, feeling a surge of nausea as bile rises from the pit of my stomach. Tremors course through me. “I think Deja Brew is going to have to withdraw from the competition for best latte.”
