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…um…I’m not in the Bay at the moment,” I admitted. “I went home.”
“Home?” Unlike Sam, who would have thrilled to hear me call it that, Professor Jenkins, a lifelong San Francisco resident, sounded mildly horrified. “I wasn’t aware you came from somewhere else.”
“Safe Harbor. It’s a little town in Oregon. I’ve been…visiting a few weeks now.” I glanced around for anyone listening. I shouldn’t have said visiting, but I wasn’t sure what else to call my unplanned stay. My neck prickled. I wasn’t sure why I felt disloyal, but I did.
“Well, get your behind back to where you belong so we can start planning the semester. There’s still a career for you in finance, Worth.”
“I’m grateful.” I drew each word out, trying to buy time for a real answer.
“But?” Professor Jenkins always had cut to the chase. “Are you wanting out of the industry altogether?”
“No. It’s…complicated.” The professor wouldn’t understand this little coffee shop and the joy I’d found here. And she might understand my feelings for Sam, but knowing her brisk style, she’d simply tell me to pack him up too. I’d dreamed of a call like this one for months, but now that the opportunity was here, my lips seemed to have forgotten how to say yes. And as to my heart, well, that was the complicated part.
“I suppose I can give you a few days to think and see if you can uncomplicate things, but then I’ll need to move down my shortlist. You’re at the top.”
“Thank you. I understand.” This was an opportunity many would jump at, and I honestly wasn’t sure why I wasn’t more excited. I pocketed my phone and sat in silence.
My stomach rumbled unhappily, the gnawing pain as bad as it had been in weeks. In fact, when I pictured the Sanford campus and the hustle and bustle of the surrounding Bay Area, my stomach rebelled more. If I took the job, I’d need more ulcer meds. If. I needed to tell Sam. I owed him that much, but I didn’t know which would be worse: if he told me to take the job or begged me not to.
“Worth! Come quick!” George came to the patio door, hair even more wild than usual and apron splattered with coffee and milk. “I think the espresso machine is done for.”
Oh no. This was all Sam needed. A broken machine would break what was left of the bank for the business. And now my news would have to wait. I’d promised to help Sam save the business, but without an espresso machine, there might not be much business to save.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sam
“Tell me it’s fixable.” I paced back and forth behind Worth, who was bent over the espresso machine, muttering and cursing as he searched for why it had suddenly stopped heating and would only sputter cool water.
“I’m not sure.” Worth motioned me to come closer with my phone, which we were using as a flashlight so he could examine the machine’s innards.
“But you fixed it last time.” I tried for an optimistic tone for my own benefit as well as for George and Marta, who were both hovering nearby. “I have faith in you.”
“Maybe it’s a matter of ordering a new part?” Marta suggested.
“That’s smart.” George nodded up and down like a yo-yo on a string.
Shaking his head, Worth let out a defeated groan. Sweat beaded up on his temples. “That would assume I knew what was broken.”
“We’ll figure it out.” I forced a smile as I turned toward Marta. “For now, put up a sign that the espresso machine is down, but we can do iced drinks and non-coffee drinks.”
“On it.” Marta headed to the art closet with George fast on her heels.
“There’s the problem.” Worth made a noise not unlike a tire rapidly deflating. “Fu—darn it.”
I winced. “That bad?”
“I was hoping it was simply a gasket we could replace. But it looks like it’s the boiler itself and part of the control board. It’s an old machine. These kinds of catastrophic failures aren’t unheard of.” Mouth puckered and eyes pained, Worth dried off his hands on a rag.
“It was used when we got it.” Since the teens were occupied, I let some weariness creep into my voice. “It’s held together with love and hope at this point. But like Marta said, we can order the parts, right?”
“That’s assuming the manufacturer still makes parts for this old model. The cost of a boiler might be close to a down payment on a decent new machine. And good luck finding someone who can service one this old and in this condition.” Worth squished his eyes shut. “I’m good, but replacing a control board and boiler is beyond me. Fuck.”
“You tried.” I didn’t bother censuring his language. We only had a couple of customers in the shop, and it was the only applicable word to the situation. Putting an arm around his shoulders, I gathered him close. “It’s okay, Worth.”