Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
I wasn’t unsympathetic, as I understood all too well how frustration and teen hormones could give way to tears. Marta was tall but slight with thin limbs, wispy brown hair, a long nose, a square jaw, a soft voice, and watery blue eyes.
“Thank you for bringing your new dog to cheer me up.” Marta cuddled Buttercup closer. For her part, Buttercup ate up the attention, preening this way and that.
“She’s not exactly mine,” I hedged, not wanting to distract her with the whole tale of the night before.
“Does she need a home?” Marta asked with big doe eyes. Marta, Kyla, and two other nineteen-year-olds shared a two-bedroom house with a postage-stamp yard. From what I’d gathered, they lived on coffee, spaghetti, and boxed cookies. Still, the situation wouldn’t be terrible for Buttercup.
You can’t just leave her there. Worth’s plea echoed in my ears, and as if on cue, Buttercup glanced back at the rear door of the coffee shop. She and Worth were meant for each other, and that was that.
“She belongs to a friend. The same friend who’s currently trying to fix the espresso machine. Do you think you feel up to going back inside?”
“I guess I can try again.” Marta seemed to have no energy for the task, but as we stood, Kyla, with her riot of rainbow curls, arrived on her bike.
“Sorry. I know I’m late. Fourth of July kicked my behind.” Removing her helmet, she rubbed her bleary eyes.
“You’re here now.” I gave her a look that said we’d talk later about punctuality. “Your team needs you. They’ve had quite the morning.”
“Sorry.” Kyla slung an easy arm around Marta’s shoulders as we threaded our way through the back to the front counter of the coffee shop. I stopped abruptly in the doorway to the main part of the building, narrowly avoiding both girls crashing into me.
“Wow,” I whispered into the quiet calm. There was a shop full of people drinking beverages, eating muffins, and not a raised voice to be heard. A short, neat line stood by the coffee bar, and George had an actual smile as he helped customers while Worth pulled shots from an apparently functional espresso machine. “He really did fix it.”
“Who’s that?” Kyla pushed up next to me.
“He’s a ‘friend’ of Sam’s.” Marta might as well have used air quotes.
“Sam has a boyfriend?”
“Um…” I made a strangled noise. My inner fourteen-year-old wanted to say yes, pretend, if only a moment, that Worth Stapleton was my guy. “Not…”
“It’s complicated?” Kyla suggested cheerily. And much too loudly. “Or, more specifically, you’re working on it?”
“Worth’s a friend I’m helping.” I gestured vaguely.
“Looks like he’s helping you.” Kyla’s tone was a little too appreciative. “Can blond guys be Daddies? Because damn, he’s—”
“A friend,” I said firmly. Watching Worth work was a pleasure, especially after the last twelve hours. Gone was the scared, surly guy who’d refused to leave his tree, and in his place was a competent, apron-wearing, fast-moving barista who actually stopped to crack some joke for George, who laughed. This. This was the Worth I knew and missed: quick with a golden smile, competent, and dripping with confidence.
“Oh hey.” He looked up, finally catching sight of the three of us standing there gawking at him. “We’re almost all caught up here.”
“You’re amazing.” I shook my head. Ping. The register tablet chimed as George swiped another customer’s card. “The register is working again? Marta said it turned into a brick?”
“Secret reset button. George found it.” Shrugging, Worth smiled. A real, wide, patented Worth Stapleton homecoming king and valedictorian grin.
“Only because you suggested it.” George bumped Worth’s shoulder on his way to collect another order.
“Okay, now who had the soy latte, extra foam, extra shot, no sweetener?” George glanced down at the blocky writing on the cup. “Liza?”
“You’ve got George writing names on cups?” While standard barista practice, George had resisted this part of the job for weeks.
“Yep. Told him it was fine to print and to ask the customer to spell their name for him.”
“Oh.” I nodded, more mad at myself than anything else. Of course. George had dropped out shortly after ninth grade and possibly had some undiagnosed learning differences. I should have thought of ways to make the task easier, like Worth had.
“Next,” George called out, but Worth went suddenly pale as a familiar face wheeled to the counter.
“Worth Stapleton, is that you?” Holden’s voice was even louder than Kyla’s. His eyes were wide, and next to him, Cal frowned, expression frosty as he placed a protective hand on the back of Holden’s chair. Holden continued, “Sam, why didn’t you tell us Worth was back? And apparently working for you?”
“I asked him not to call last night.” Worth straightened his shoulders.
“It was late.” If Worth was going to defend me, I could return the favor.