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Prologue
“Jamie Tolliver had no idea how important today would be,” the voice-over inside her head said in that deep throaty voice of his. She liked the sound of that, hoping the day would be memorable. So far, everything had been status quo. The quick train ride to work. The three-block walk past businesses not yet open. The sun giving them a tiny glimpse on the horizon. As Jamie pushed open the double glass doors to the bar just before six a.m., she took a deep inhale. Heaven on Earth. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee served as her greeting each morning, and she never got tired of it. She gave her shoulders a happy shake. The streets of New York were still sleepy and empty for the most part, which meant it was time to get her coffee bar ready to bring caffeinated goodness to her customers, whom she adored. They’d be arriving soon. She dropped her bag behind the counter and stretched like a cat. “Morning, Leo.”
Her longtime employee and friend was already behind the counter, hard at work on a blueberry latte for her and his traditional Americano. Dependable.
“Morning, James. Incoming.”
She opened her hand and blindly accepted the warm drink like impeccably executed choreography, perfected over years of working together.
The voice-over didn’t miss a beat. “The world better prepare. Jamie Tolliver was the kind of person who saved the day.” She took a satisfying drink of the warm liquid and grinned. The espresso was rich and deep, a perfect balance of bitter paired with the sweetness of theblueberry. Harmonious in all the right ways. That’s right, voice-over. She was a day-saver.
As she powered up the point-of-sale station for opening, the deep voice continued. “In fact, she stunned the world regularly with her fast-acting, problem-solving, crime-fighting prowess. Small business owner by day. Sexy superhero by night.” She nodded along happily as if bopping to a great song. “In fact, Jamie rarely slept and liked it that way. Citizens of New York City cheered when she arrived on the scene, knowing justice was on the way.” She flexed her muscles. “Women threw themselves at her feet.” Record scratch. He’d gone too far with that.
And unfortunately, very little of the rest was true either.
Except the small business part. Jamie did have one of those and was incredibly proud of it. But alone in the privacy of her thoughts, the voice-over inside her head took over, and she pretended to be a badass ninja, capable of executing a lethal roundhouse kick, dark hair flying until she landed with catlike stealth. She’d then sign autographs for adoring children and advise them that they could be just like her one day. “Stay in school,” she’d say, with a ruffling of their hair.
It was a fun little fantasy she kept going, knowing full well that she was not necessarily a brave person, nor did she live an extraordinary life. She was just Jamie. Not a lot of people stopped and took notice, but that was okay. She counted her blessings. As a New Yorker, she was one of nine million souls moving around an awesome island, anonymous and driven. It was a fun club to be part of and, in many ways, made her a different brand of badass.
“Ready?” Leo asked, moving to the door, poised to open with his keys in hand. His dark hair was coiffed to perfection and his black T-shirt hugged the impressive biceps he fought for nightly in the gym. There were already three or four people lined up, ready to snag a coffee or a doughnut on their way to work, school, or just life. But they’d be a part of their morning, and Jamie liked that.
“Let the people come,” she said, positioning herself behind the register. Their customers were great, and so was the neighborhood. Talk about a lucky score. They’d carved out a space in Chelsea, chock-full of history and culture. These days, the area was super trendy and more than a little gay. It had quickly embraced Bordeauxnuts, her funky coffee bar that turned into a cozy wine spot at four p.m. A change inmusic, a dimming of the lights, glasses swapped for mugs, and voilà. The vino flowed while the coffee slid into the back seat until morning. Two vibes in one.
Inside, the café was fun and eclectic. A chalkboard menu, redecorated weekly, blasted their seasonal offerings as well as the drink of the day. The tables and chairs in the main dining area came with cushions for comfort and extra space for laptops and friend chats. Just to keep things interesting and give their customers options, a second room jutted off the first, designed for comfort. Couches arranged in multiple sitting areas offered soft spaces to lounge for those wanting a more laid-back experience. There was also a seven-foot bookcase on its far wall, overflowing with books and games for the grabbing. Jamie adored the ever-changing decor. The walls featured the work of local artists in a monthly rotation, all available for purchase. Lots of fantastic pieces had been sold off the walls of Bordeauxnuts, some for impressive prices.
As a result of good food and drink, warm service, and an immersive atmosphere, people loved spending time in what Jamie affectionately referred to asthe bar, tick-tacking away on their laptops, watching the world go by out her picture windows, or staring into each other’s eyes on a quiet date night out. Outside, the city bustled, deals were struck, and lofty dreams were coming true. Jamie often scrunched her shoulders to her ears just thinking about it. There was an energy on the streets of New York that couldn’t be upended. It sent vibrations through the soles of her feet and had Jamie convinced that she lived in the most exciting city in the entire world.
But even that didn’t make her a superhero.
“But didn’t it?” the voice-over asked.
She shook her head. The only brave thing she’d done was come out to her parents a decade earlier. They’d made her tomato soup, argued about what brand of crackers Jamie would like best, and told her that they supported her one hundred percent. So maybe she’d given herself too much credit declaring the proclamation a brave act. Still. She’d been proud of herself that day.
“Morning, Marvin. Are we feeling the skim today?” Marvin was often her first customer of the day, a dedicated regular. Jamie popped a cup into her hand from the tall stack to her left and grabbed her trusty Sharpie with her right. Leo geared up at the drink making station,primed to pounce on the impending rush. He was the fastest barista she’d ever seen and would soon be going hard with cups lined up and the steam wand screaming. A master behind the espresso machine and the best in the biz, there would often be a trickle of men just wanting the chance to watch him work. This was Chelsea, after all.
“No skim. I’m cheating today.” Marvin sighed dramatically. His curly hair was about three inches taller than normal. “I’ll walk home instead of taking the train. My penance. Give me the two percent so I can wallow in calories.”
Jamie nodded. “You got it, and don’t you dare feel bad about that.” She scribbled his name, the letterUfor usual, and checked his big milk splurge box on the side of the cup before sliding it into Leo’s queue. “Big day?”
He grimaced, making the lines on his forehead turn wavy like Charlie Brown’s. It tracked. He’d always reminded her of a nervous cartoon. “It’s looking ominous if I’m being frank. I don’t like the trends.” He had a copy ofThe New York Timesfirmly tucked beneath his arm and red glasses perched on his nose. Marvin was a day trader slash finance blogger and would stow away in the corner of the shop for the next three to four hours, ready to move and groove once the markets opened. He’d order a second hazelnut latte in about two hours and sometimes an order of mini-doughnuts, which were responsible for the amazing aromas that grabbed folks from the sidewalk and dragged them inside. Jamie’s secret weapon. She didn’t try to understand Marvin’s life or work. She did, however, appreciate his continued patronage.
In fact, Jamietreasuredher group of regular customers, who in many ways had become an extended family. They knew each other’s habits, quirks, and coffee orders. They were a unique breakfast club, as unlikely as they were dedicated. No one in the group could predict what might turn up in the news or flip the world on its head next, but they knew they’d see each other each weekday morning. It was their glue. What more did a group of humans need?
Marvin sniffed the air. “Doughnuts come out in the last five minutes?” She glanced behind her at Mikey, their industrial mini-doughnut machine. Mikey wasn’t fancy or even gourmet, but he turned out the most heavenly miniature fried doughnuts that Jamie and co then dusted with cinnamon sugar or powdered, customer’s choice. When served hot and fresh, as they should be, nothing made for a tastierbreakfast. Five doughnuts in a waxed paper bag for four dollars flat. Because of the bar’s unique concept—the trinity of coffee, wine, and doughnuts, implemented way before the format became trendy—Bordeauxnuts had been featured on the local news multiple times as well as on a variety of food blogs and podcasts over the years. That kind of coverage kept new customers coming in, but it was their product that kept them coming back.
Jamie glanced behind her. “Less than five. You in?”
“I’ll take a bag,” Marvin said, using his hand to waft the smell his way. Mikey’s powers always came through. People couldn’t say no. “Cinnamon sugar. A dash extra. Three napkins. No fork needed.”
“You’re cooking now, Marvin.”
Jamie rang him up and moved to the next customer. “Flat white,” the businessman said. She asked him about his morning, and he let her know that his assistant was out and he’d have a lot on his hands.
“You take it one task at a time. I know without a doubt that you’re gonna have an awesome day.” A conservative smile blossomed, and he moved on.
The next woman was gorgeous and ordered an iced cap with almond milk. No doughnuts. Her loss. A man in a ball cap opted for the house roast, black, with a blueberry muffin on the side.
“You’ve gotta try these doughnuts, too. Fresh batch.” She handed him a bag on the house, knowing full well he’d be back for more another day. Jamie was no fool. She didn’t set out to be a tiny doughnut dealer, but that’s who she’d become. Once folks got a hot bag, the suckers sold themselves.
