Unbelievable. Un-be-lieve-a-ble.

I unlock the front door of Medium Roast. My foot hits something tucked into the recessed doorway—three bags of coffee beans, two bags of espresso beans. I scoop them all up in my arms and go in, kicking the door shut behind me.

“Unbelievable!” I shout into the empty store. 

This would happen to me. Mr. Sex On Two Legs moves to town, seems into me, and then turns out to be my worst enemy.

I lock the door and check it twice. There can be no lights, even now, because it would bring people flocking. Even now, they’re out there on the sidewalks, looking for any sign that businesses are open. A bunch of them are. Not me. If I have to make one more latte today my soul will explode like an overworked espresso machine. 

Cleaning in the dark it is.

I pull out the disinfecting spray and start with the big things first. Dash did his best to keep up with me, but there are still random mugs littered everywhere. Can you believe that? Some people still wanted to sit at the tables in here and on the sidewalk and drink out of a real cup, never mind the hordes. There’s still smoothie mix spattered everywhere. Smoothie boxes were harmed in the making of the first summer weekend in Lakewood. How did I not know? Even the waitress at Good Eats knew about the big Fish-Off. She did seem a little bewildered by the size of the crowd. I’m going to look into that. Maybe we made a list of the top ten random towns in New York to visit.

I scrub and scrub, my back aching. The mats on the floor do an okay job of buffering my feet from the hard tile floor, but I’ve been tamping down espresso into portafilters since the dawn of time, and it’s taking its toll.

How could he? 

The thought rattles around in my brain, echoing again and again in time with the sanitizer. I have so many questions. Why didn’t he tell me that he was moving here to be my direct competitor? Why did he bail me out today if he’s only going to open a shop across the street? People will be into the novelty. This place will go under in a second. It’s barely hanging on as it is.

It was only a little awkward at Good Eats, when I shoved the rest of my sandwich into my mouth, got up, and left. Not quite yet, he’d said. And I’d mumbled never through the sandwich and walked away with my head held high.

When the bathroom toilet is scrubbed, and the floors are mopped, I wash my hands in the sink for a luxurious several minutes and get on the phone. First call, Leonard. He answers on the first ring.

“Ellery,” he says, sounding wary.

“I got your delivery,” I tell him. “Thanks.”

“But?”

“You know what I’m going to say. This weekend’s the first big Fish-Off in Lakewood history. I’m totally slammed, and it’ll be the same tomorrow.”

“How much do you need?”

This is beginning to sound illicit. I eye the bags on the front counter. “If you don’t want to keep driving back here every two hours, I’ll need at least five bags of coffee. Same of espresso.”

“They’re micro-batches, Ellery, I can’t just—”

“Leonard, look. I appreciate the craft here, but at this point, I’m making a daily announcement that we’re out of coffee. How do you think that looks in a coffee shop?”

There’s a pause. “Not good.” He half-stifles a sigh. “I’ll get on it tonight, okay? I’ll swing by again in the morning. How’s your aunt?”

“She’s doing all right.” I think. “Thanks, Leonard.”

No sooner have I hung up the phone than it rings again. Medium Roast doesn’t get a lot of calls as a general rule, so my guess is pretty good.

“Medium Roast, Lakewood’s Premier Coffee Shop,” I say into the phone.

“Ellery,” answers my aunt. That’s all it takes. Things are not good down in Bradenton.

“Aunt Lisa,” I say, injecting every ounce of chipper into my tone that I possibly can. However tired I am, she sounds a thousand times more exhausted. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine, I’m fine.” There’s a lingering pause. “Fred’s mother isn’t doing well. She’s having trouble healing. You know, her hip—” A lump comes to my throat at the sound of her struggle. She’s always been the one helping other people, not burdening them with her problems. I don’t know how to assure her that it’s no burden. “It’s hard on Fred. You know how he is.” I do know. It must be killing him that he can’t fix this.

“I’m so sorry,” I murmur into the phone. “Are you doing all right? You know, I’m sure my dad would come down if—”

“No, no,” she says with a subdued laugh. “I’d never want to take David away from his work.”

“His work is a farm.” Yes. My father did quit his job as a software developer to become a farmer when I was halfway through high school. Don’t ask me why. Something about loyalty to the land. “I’m sure the animals can survive for a few—”

“How’s everything at Medium Roast?” Her tone turns wistful. “I wish I was there. I always loved the summers in Lakewood.”

“It’s…” God, I’ve never been so torn in my life. I want to tell her that things are crazy. I want to ask her for a little more leeway with the suppliers. But is now the best time, when she’s clearly looking for good news? “It’s busy,” I say, settling somewhere in the middle. “We’ve been running out of cups and lids.” I chuckle a little to make it seem zany instead of worrisome.

It makes Aunt Lisa laugh. “You never can tell with that shop,” she says as if she’s talking about a wayward child who she still loves dearly. “Customers don’t seem to mind. Gives the place a little character.”

“Yes, but—”

“I’m working on the financials for last month as soon as I get a minute,” she barrels on. “Your paychecks are coming through all right?”

Before she left, she set up a new direct deposit system for me. It was easy because there are no other employees. “Yes, they’re fine. But I think we’re going to need a few more people on staff. Honestly, Aunt Lisa, it’s—”

“I know. Busy on the weekends, dead during the week. It’s a tough call.” I can practically see her thinking face over the phone. “If you can find a person to help you on the weekends, that might be all right.”

“It’s not only the weekends, but—” How do I phrase this gently?

Someone calls for her in the background. “I’ll be right there, Fred. Anything else, Ellery? I’m sorry we don’t have much time to talk.”

“No. Nope, everything else is fine.”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you—” There’s a click as she hangs up mid-sentence.

I stand in the silence and stare across at the boarded-up storefront across the street.

All of this pales in comparison to the biggest question of all.

Why do I still want him?