Finney moved from painting to painting, examining the tags. He sighed dejectedly as he encountered another label without the telltale little dot indicating it had been sold. He slumped into one of the cushioned chairs. Finney wasn’t up to his regular animated chatter. His opening party had been packed and full of bustling energy. The coffee shop did well in sales, but Finney had only sold one small painting. According to him, the opening had been a complete waste of time.

Seth rattled dishes as he made his way into the back and started the dishwasher. Honey cleaned the front counter, avoiding the midday maintenance on the coffee machine. Finney’s dejected attitude was merely a reflection of the slow afternoon.

The bells over the door tinkled. Honey looked up from her task, prepared to rush around the counter and wash her hands before serving the new guest. She heard Finney gasp before she registered her own pleased reaction. Morgan.

“Morgan, you are a sight for sore eyes.” Finney cooed. “Sit, sit, sit,” he directed. “Hey, Honey, look. Morgan’s here.”

Morgan smiled broadly at her as he sat in the chair Finney directed.

“Hi, Morgan,” she said, wiping her hands on the towel tucked into her apron. His presence was a welcome change in the monotony of the day.

“Honey. Finney.” Morgan nodded to each in turn. He leaned back into his chair. “This is perfect, but,” he began to rise. “I should order before I get too comfortable.”

“Nonsense,” Finney chided. “Honey will bring your order over, won’t you, Honey?”

“Why not? It’s not like I’m doing anything else,” she harrumphed. “What can I get you?”

“You sure? Large, black, high octane, and something sweet,” he paused.

“But not lemon.” Honey finished for him, remembering he had left behind the lemon bar his first day in the shop. She remembered Lana eating it, claiming that after all, it was paid for and abandoned by the man because he “didn’t do lemon.”

“But not lemon,” he confirmed.

“You want anything else while I’m at it, Finney?”

“Now that you mention it, I could use another tea and something sweet sounds great. Bring me whatever you bring him.”

Honey shook her head as she walked behind the counter. Finney was obviously crushing on Morgan. Finney was a stickler for always having the right pastry with his tea. And if lemon bars were available, he always ate a lemon bar. Even if it was misdirected, at least Finney was branching out. Morgan wasn’t Finney’s type either. Finny tended to like younger men in lots of leather.

Hmmm, misdirected. She thought Morgan had been flirting with her, at least she realized she had wanted him to be flirting with her. Could she be sure? He could still be gay and flirt with her. He could be bi and flirt with her. Maybe he was just being nice.

She tried to eavesdrop on Finney and Morgan’s conversation. Maybe she could pick up nuances that would tell her whether Morgan was responsive to Finney. Maybe Morgan secretly was a leather boy? But all Finney blathered on about was how much of his soul went into his paintings and how “the Philistines around here just don’t appreciate good art.”

Honey carried over a tray with Finney’s hot water, a fresh tea bag, Morgan’s large coffee, and two plates with gooey cinnamon rolls.

“Abstract Expressionism is hard to sell in a place full of tourists and all the galleries in Carmel, especially when most people are looking for something to commemorate their trip here.” Honey tried to explain.

“I have to agree. Your work would probably sell better in a bigger city. LA, New York.” Morgan added. He grinned at Honey as he took his plate from her and smelled the large frosted roll. “Smells great. Another of Lana’s creations?”

Honey nodded.

“Well, I live and work here,” Finney whined. “I don’t like having to shill myself in those other places. Too crowded, too noisy.”

“What you need, Finney is an agent,” Morgan suggested. “They do all the legwork in the cities for you. You stay here and paint.”

Honey watched as Finney played with his tea bag, thinking. She thought it a brilliant suggestion. Finney should as well, but Honey expected Finney to start making excuses as to why it wouldn’t work.

The door bells tinkled again. A group of Asian tourists came chattering in the door. Honey moved to be of service behind the counter and left the two men to discuss Finney’s abysmal career.

She smiled and returned the mini bows the tourists gave her as she delivered their drinks. She reflected on a time in her past when she would have been annoyed trying to order in a foreign country. She didn’t speak any languages other than English, and she wasn’t the most polite foreigner. In her previous life, she had never really appreciated the travel opportunities she had been given. It had all seemed like such a bore, an attitude she had clearly picked up from those around her.

She was in a better place mentally now. Sure the clothes weren’t as exciting and the shoes were downright functional rather than decorative, but she was learning who she was inside. She was a different person than she had been.

Morgan’s deep voice pulled her from her reverie. “Honey? Honey, hey.”

She blinked at his close face. Damn, could that dimple in his chin actually be making him better looking? She had zoned out completely. Suddenly realizing she was staring at Morgan, she said, “Sorry. I got lost there for a moment. She shook her head to bring her awareness back to the here and now.

“I need to get back to work.” He held something out to her. She glanced down at the credit card extended in front of her.

“Right, sorry.” She took the card. While she hit keys on the register to total his bill, Morgan said, “Add Finney’s tab to that. He’s pretty down about not selling anything.”

“Yeah, he really needs a sale and not just for the money. If he doesn’t sell something soon, he’ll spiral into a depression. His work gets really bleak when he’s depressed.”

“It was just a cinnamon roll. I doubt it will fend off depression.”

Honey added in Finney’s tea and pastry. “It’s still sweet of you. I think he likes you,” she whispered conspiratorially.

“I think you’re right,” Morgan whispered back. “But we’re clear where we stand. Buying a drink for a buddy who is feeling rejected isn’t sending mixed signals, is it?”

“No, I think he’ll appreciate the gesture. It’s not like a secret come-on, especially since it’s tea. Now if it were a martini and you’d showed up in studded leather chaps—” She snapped her thumb and third finger together then pointed her index finger at his chest. “—that would be mixed signals. You’re safe, for now.”

Morgan chuckled as he folded his receipt and put his credit card back in his wallet. He turned then pivoted back toward the counter. “Let Lana know her buns are the best.”

A voice from behind Honey rang out, “I heard that!”

“You were supposed to!” He turned his attention back to Honey. “See ya’.” He nodded and winked at her before leaving.

Morgan was different and surprising. He had only been around for a few days and already he fit in nicely with the regulars and everyone else at The Corner. He was being a good friend to Finney and trading teasing quips with Lana as if he’s known her for years. If Honey let herself, she could really like him.

The tourists left. Finney sipped tea. Lana disappeared back into the office. Seth made too much noise banging dishes around, and Honey returned to cleaning parts of the counter. Everything returned to how it had been before the brief interlude with Morgan and the tourists.

The phone rang. Honey heard Lana answer then proceeded to ignore it.

“Finney.” Lana’s voice sounded stern, commanding. “You need to come over here. Give Honey your phone.”

“What’s going on?” Finney asked.

“Trust me on this. Give your phone to Honey.” Cautiously, he handed the phone to Honey. She took it, a question in her eyes.

“Start recording this.” Lana directed.

“What?” Honey was as confused as Finney.

Lana smirked. Honey recognized that expression, Lana was being mischievous. Something was up. “Trust me. This needs to be recorded.”

Honey nodded and held up the phone to record. “Just keep it on Finney,” she paused. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

“Okay, it’s recording.” Honey focused on Finney’s confused expression.

Lana began speaking, “I just received a call from an anonymous buyer and a bank transfer is being made. I have a delivery address, but no name.” Finney looked even more confused. Lana started walking towards the middle of the shop. “Camera on me for a sec.”

Honey moved so that the phone recorded Lana. She held up a green dot on the tip of her finger. Finney squealed in delight. Honey refocused on him as Lana slowly walked past several small paintings. Honey continued recording Finney’s anticipation. Lana carefully placed the dot next to the painting Desespoir Agréable. Finney’s expression gave way to shock, then tears of joy as he realized the painting had sold.

“It sold? It sold!” Finney’s voice rose in happy shock.

“Yep. The money transfer should be complete in the next few days. The buyer expects it to ship when we pull the show down.”

“Oh, my God! It sold!” Finney glowed, still absorbing the happy news.

Honey continued to record. She knew Finney would want the recording to share with all his friends.

“Where’s it being shipped to? Who is the buyer?” He shot questions rapidly at Lana.

“Buyer—I honestly don’t know. I spoke with a bank person. And the shipping address is in New York,” Lana explained.

“New York?”

“New York.”

“I need to call my mother.” Finney patted all his pockets. “Where’s my phone?” He returned to his chair and continued to look around. “Where the hell is my effing phone?”

Honey laughed as he looked directly at her and both realized she held his phone. She stopped the recording and handed Finney his phone. She knew that last part would be edited and put on the Internet. It was too funny not to share. And Finney was a member of the over-sharers club.

Finney took his phone, and in seconds, he happily chattered away with someone on the other end of the line.

“Seriously?” Honey asked Lana.

Lana nodded. “I’ve never done that before. Bank transfers and anonymous purchases. It felt all so very upmarket.”

“Any idea who bought it?”

Lana shook her head.

“Well, I’m glad he has a fan with deep pockets. The commission on that piece does not suck.”

“So now what?” Honey asked, not feeling like returning to cleaning after the excitement of Finney’s big sale.

“Now we listen to Finney tell us repeatedly his version of the tale of intrigue over the big sale.

Honey laughed. Lana was right. Finney loved to share, and this was a particularly juicy story.